Текст книги "Aurora James"
Автор книги: Jessica Ingro
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“Look, Reanna obviously thought you’d be a good asset here. You have the looks and if you want to work here, great. All you have to do is follow the rules I just outlined and do as you’re told. If this isn’t the life you want, I suggest you get moving. I don’t have time to waste on you if you aren’t serious.” He stood from the desk and made to walk towards the door.
My bottom lip quivered and tears fill my eyes. Images of Sophie crying over her empty stomach swam in front of me. Tears began falling down my cheeks in earnest because I was utterly hopeless and there was nothing I could do to take care of my daughter the way she needed me to.
Sure, I could continue to work for Malachi and eventually have enough money to fix the car or even buy another junker, but she would suffer in the meantime. Generic food, worn clothes, broken toys, no money to do anything exciting, and heat when I could swing it wasn’t something I wanted for my daughter. Plus, I wouldn’t always be able to take her with me to work and I couldn’t afford a sitter. Ruth had been more than kind in helping me whenever she could, but she had Mikey to worry about as well.
“Please,” I begged Ghost just as he was about to open the door. “You’re my last hope. My husband’s in jail and I can’t afford to feed my daughter. I’m one step away from having to live out of my car. It’s no life for a child.”
After staring at me for several seconds, he muttered something under his breath about how he was sick of bitches tripping. It didn’t sound promising for me with the hard glare he had pointed in my direction, which only served to have another set of fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. Next thing I knew, he was walking back to the desk and pressing a button on the phone.
“What?” A deep, sharp and masculine voice rang out over the speaker.
“Got a situation here,” Ghost answered with a blank look on his face.
“Don’t I pay you to handle situations?” The disembodied voice was even sharper if that was possible.
“You’re going to want to see this one for yourself,” was Ghost’s vague response to that.
Without replying, the unknown man disconnected the phone. I stared in disbelief when Ghost rounded the desk and perched on the arm of the sofa again as if he hadn’t just been hung up on.
Before I could ask what was happening, the door behind me opened. I spun around, realizing I was still mostly nude, and came face-to-face with the most brutally scary, intensely beautiful man I had ever seen in my life.
My mouth hung open as I took in the sight of the man standing in the doorway.
He was easily six foot three, with black hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed as if they saw right through me. His facial features were hard and masculine, like that of a gladiator—strong jaw, straight nose, high cheekbones. And good lord, he was built. His muscles were barely contained by the blue dress shirt that covered his upper body. And through his black suit pants, I could see large, muscular thighs.
“Please don’t tell me this is the situation,” he said to Ghost in an infuriated tone.
“Sure is.” Ghost’s grin stretched across his face and if I knew any better, I’d say he thought the whole situation was amusing, which only served to take me from self-pity to straight out pissed off. Nothing about a single mother struggling to make ends meet was funny in my opinion.
I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to curse when the man shut the door behind him, drawing my attention back towards him. He really was a fine specimen of eye candy. Muscles in my lower belly clenched at the unbidden thought of his large body over mine.
“Why the fuck did you bother me with this?” the man snapped, clearly pissed off and not finding the situation amusing either.
“She wants to dance out front,” Ghost explained.
“All the girls dance out front,” the man replied in agitation.
“She only wants to dance out front,” Ghost further explained.
A bark of disbelief came from the man’s lips, and he turned his full attention to me. “What makes you think you’re better than the other girls here?”
“I… I don’t,” I stammered. His gaze was hard and his eyes were cold as they raked over my body with precision.
“Then bend over and show me what you’re working with or get the fuck out.”
The color drained from my face at his harsh words, even as those muscles tightened again in anticipation. This was insane. No way could I possibly be this turned on by a stranger who was a complete asshole.
And in the end isn’t that exactly what Kevin ended up being? A stranger and complete asshole? My inner voice taunted me.
“Who do you think you are coming in here and demanding me to bend over like I’m nothing more than a piece of meat?” I demanded. I was in full-on defensive mode. I hated being talked about like I wasn’t in the room, and I despised being treated like a piece of shit.
He closed the distance between us until he was so close his breath caressed the skin on my cheek. My heart galloped wildly in my chest at being this close to him. I had to fight the urge to lean forward, bury my nose in his neck and sniff his collar when his woodsy scent wafted around me.
“Don’t you ever question who the fuck I am. I’m motherfucking God as far as you’re concerned. No one steps into my den and shows me disrespect. No one. You got that?” His tone held a razor-sharp edge that I felt lash at my skin with each word.
“Yes,” I squeaked out, my head bobbing up and down in concurrence. If I’d thought Ghost was scary before, he had nothing on this man. He was on a whole other level from scary. The word scary would be closer to describing a tiny little bunny than it would be to describing him.
Coherent thoughts flew out of my head when I felt his hand on my hip. His touch was a hot brand against my skin, making my breath come in harsh pants. His proximity was breaking down all my defenses and making me feel like a bitch in heat.
The material of my thong tightened against my skin right before I heard the material rip. I looked down in disbelief at the torn lace dangling from his large hand.
Holy shit. He destroyed my underwear… with one hand.
On the one hand, I couldn’t believe he’d done that. On the other, I found it to be an incredible turn-on.
What was wrong with me?
“Now bend over and show me your pussy,” he demanded, knocking some sense back into me with his callous words.
“No,” I said more breathlessly than I wanted.
“If you want to work here, then I damn well will know what the fuck I’m selling.” His empty hand gripped my hair and tugged my head back. It was a move to elicit fear, but all it did was awaken a deep need inside me to be dominated by this man. My teeth sank into my lip in an effort to hold back a moan that was working its way up my throat. Looking into his mesmerizing gaze, I would have done just about anything he wanted me to at that moment.
The feeling passed just as quickly as it came when he impatiently bit out, “This is a whorehouse, so either bend your pretty little ass over or get the fuck out.”
I knew this was my last chance. Even though the man in front of me both disgusted me and drove me to complete lust, staying away from him was not going to be an option. Even if it was the most logical and rational thing to do.
My only real choice for a happy ending somewhere down the line was to succumb to the pressure and do what I had to do to survive. I’d had a big dose of reality at a very early age after I lost everyone I loved. Spending my teenage years in foster care, I’d learned firsthand the lengths people would go to tear you down and what needed to be done to beat the odds. And there was no doubt in my mind I needed to beat the odds.
I wasn’t one of those girls who couldn’t separate love from sex. I’d had my fair share of one-night stands before marrying Kevin. And if I was going to sell my body, at least I’d be doing it in a high-scale establishment.
Besides, if I lived simply and made decent money, I could crawl out of the sinkhole I had been in for the last eight months and maybe finally have a brighter future with Sophie.
Having sex with strangers was a means to an end. It wasn’t something I would have to do forever.
I pushed on his chest until a few feet separated us. Turning around, I widened my stance and bent over. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a quick intake of breath behind me, but I couldn’t be sure. Just as quickly as I bent down, I lifted myself back up and spun around to face the men.
“You’re no better than Dick over at Pussy Willows.” At the mention of Dick’s name, the man’s face darkened and the energy in the room became electric. I took a step back, amazed that his mood could so thoroughly fill the room, but continued on my tirade.
“If this is what men want from me, fine! It’s theirs. I’ll do whatever it takes, and while you might have me between a rock and a hard place, it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a little bit of respect either.” I finished my rant on a shout, my chest heaving with frustration.
A look of admiration flitted across his features and the danger level in the room lowered before he spoke to Ghost. “Marx called and wants a girl for the night. Send…” He trailed off, waiting for my name.
“Alyssa. Alyssa Swanson,” I answered him, hope blooming in my chest that he wasn’t scraping me off just yet, especially after my outburst.
“Send Alyssa.” Then he stepped forward so that his body was brushing mine again, my hard nipples grazing his chest. “This is a trial. Pass tonight and we’ll go from there.”
Ghost was looking at his boss like he was crazy. And maybe he was. Didn’t matter, though. I’d make this work. I could practically see a better future forming right before my very eyes.
“A car will pick you up at nine o’clock sharp tonight. You better not be late.” With that he stormed out, leaving me standing there completely naked and reeling from his absence.
Xavier O’Brien sat at the large, distressed oak desk staring at a piece of paper but not actually seeing the words written on it. Not when all he could see was the blinding beauty of Alyssa Swanson. The fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the dip of her naval, her creamy white thighs and the small strip of hair between them.
She was such a paradox. Her eyes wide with innocence, her face full of vulnerability, and a body of fucking sin—hot, sweaty, no-holds-barred sin. His favorite kind.
His fingers tightened around the pen in his hand at the reminder of the way she drank in the sight of him, her teeth sinking erotically into her bottom lip when he informed her if she wanted a job in this business he’d damn well know what he was selling. She wanted that, he thought, for him to sample her. And fuck but he wanted that too.
“Boss?” Ghost broke Xavier from his thoughts. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
“What?” he barked at the man in the doorway, mostly pissed that the images on play in his mind of Alyssa’s body were being interrupted.
“You sure you want to send her to Marx?” Ghost’s face was hard, all business where the lovely brunette was concerned. Xavier chose not to explore why he was far more pleased than he should have been at the realization that the man wasn’t taken with her. He might not like the answer he discovered if he did.
If it weren't for the fact that he paid Ghost to help run the business, he would have shot the man for even implying that he didn’t know what he was doing. Just the same, he pulled the Glock out of his drawer and leveled it on him. A little fear, even in your right-hand man, went a long way in this business.
“I call the fucking shots around here and I said to set it up. I don’t pay you to question me.” Xavier’s tone was cold and lethal, exactly what he was known for. It was the reason he was still alive. “Follow her and report back to me. If she so much as sneezes, I want to know about it.”
With a quick nod and a blank face, Ghost shut the door behind him, leaving Xavier alone with his perilous thoughts.
Alyssa Swanson was a distraction—a dangerous one—and he would do well to remember that.
At nine fifteen on the dot, the black town car pulled up to the high-rise building made of mostly glass. The driver opened the door and held his hand out to help me from the car. Standing on the sidewalk, I looked up, and up, and up towards where Marx’s condo was located—all the way up the forty-two stories—the penthouse level.
My mind was working overtime after the day I’d had. Between signing up to be a prostitute and then lying to Ruth about being a prostitute—something I detested greatly—I couldn’t calm my brain if I tried.
To say Ruth was disappointed in my decision to be a stripper would be an understatement. She lectured me for a solid twenty minutes before I finally couldn’t take it and had to politely tell her it was my life and I would live it the way I saw fit. She finally agreed that she didn’t have to approve of my choices, only support me as I made them. I wasn’t sure how long that would last, and seeing as she was the only person I considered a friend, and with no family to speak of, it would suck if I had to cut her out of my life.
Which is why I lied to her. It made me feel guilty and shady, but it was the only way to save her from both the heart attack I was sure she’d have and from having our relationship combust instantaneously. She had been good to me, and I owed her not to have her worry as much as I knew she would if she learned the truth about me selling my body to the highest bidder.
Women made good money exposing their bodies in one way or another all the time. Even models pimped their bodies out for people to ogle and exploit. I was choosing to believe I was no different.
I knew that one day I very well might look back on my decision and regret it. Sophie might not understand her mother’s decision to sell her body when she was old enough to know what that meant. Maybe she would be proud of me for being self-assured and strong enough to make a hard decision for the greater good rather than be ashamed of me. I didn’t know.
Life wasn’t all about getting what you wanted. But I was damn sure going to make certain we had what we needed.
With a deep, calming breath to soothe my rattled nerves, I walked towards the entrance of the building where a doorman ushered me inside. One look at the décor and I knew I was out of my element. White marble gleamed from every surface of the lobby, announcing to anyone who walked through it that it was a fancy establishment.
A portly, older man stood from the desk and smiled at me as I approached.
“Good evening,” he welcomed me warmly.
“Good evening,” I returned. “I’m here for Mr. Marx.”
“Your name?”
“Uh… Alyssa Swanson,” I answered. If he noticed my slight hesitation, he didn’t mention it. Were prostitutes allowed to use their real names? The Den would have told me if I needed an alias, right?
“Oh yes, ma’am. Your name is on the list. I’ll just call up to Mr. Marx and get the elevator for you.” A small part of me sagged in relief that there were no issues to contend with. Real name it was, then.
I gave him a smile that probably did nothing to hide my nerves, and a few minutes later I was standing on the elevator as it smoothly rose up to the top floor. Each second felt like an eternity as I drew closer and closer to my fate. Doubt niggled at the edges of my brain, and I feared I might bolt before the deed was done.
When the elevator doors opened, I found myself in a large foyer. Rich woods and cream-colored marble dominated the space.
The swanky penthouse should have set my nerves at ease. It did just the opposite, however. I was so out of place standing there in my off-the-rack black dress—my only dress—that was nearly three years old and my red heels from Target, it wasn’t even funny.
Footsteps sounded to my right, amping up my trepidation. I turned towards the sound and sucked in a breath at the man as he rounded the corner.
In a three-piece suit, Mr. Marx was the epitome of the term GQ, with a lean body and toned muscles covered in tan skin. He had a classic Ken doll look about him, right down to his dirty-blond hair and green eyes.
There was no doubt this man had a lock on sex appeal as he crossed the foyer with animal grace, his eyes like a gentle caress over my entire body.
This was good. I could definitely have sex with him. I’d just pretend it wasn’t for money.
The thought stopped me and my musings right in their tracks.
Why was this beautiful man seeking a paid prostitute for affection? Something had to be wrong with him. Either he was married to a cold fish or he had strange kinks that no one wanted to service. A quick glance at his left hand, which was clearly not sporting any tan lines from a ring, and I knew it had to be the latter. Hadn’t Ghost warned me I would get the worst jobs while on probation? The idea made me shudder. Thankfully Marx was too busy checking my legs out to notice.
“Hello, Mr. Marx,” I greeted him, forcing his attention to my face.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Swanson. I must say I’m quite pleased with who Xavier’s sent this evening.” He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, making my breath hitch. He certainly didn’t waste any time.
“Thank you,” I demurred at his compliment.
“Please. Follow me into the other room. I’m quite looking forward to what I have planned for us.” His hand wrapped around mine, drawing me into the living room and down a short hall, into the master bedroom.
The room was decorated in creams and blues. A massive king-sized bed sat in the middle of the space, its backdrop the city skyline. It was breathtaking, and I found myself longing to have an extravagant room like this all to myself.
Marx stopped at the foot of the bed and faced me. He removed his suit coat, tossing it on a plush chair off to the side. Next he loosened his tie and slipped it from around his neck before removing his vest. He opened several buttons on his dress shirt before stopping and holding his hand out to me.
With slow, slinky steps, I crossed the carpeted floor, hoping I was coming across as sexy and sensual, all the while my heart beat like a steady drum inside my chest. There were so many butterflies in my stomach I was afraid I might puke all over his expensive shoes and fancy bedroom.
Once I was standing in front of him, he grasped my hands in his and raised them to his chest. His hands dropped away, leaving mine pressed against his rather firm pecs. “Undress me,” he instructed.
With trembling hands, I slowly opened the remaining buttons before pushing the silky fabric off his shoulders. I felt like a buffoon when I realized I hadn’t unbuttoned his cuffs and the material trapped his arms at his sides. I let out a self-conscious laugh and tried opening them, but I fumbled a time or two in my nervous haste, almost as if I had two left thumbs.
Marx grabbed my hands with his and my eyes darted up to his face. “It’s okay,” he whispered, and a small part of me relaxed at his kind words. I had been so worried about making a good impression on him up until that point. So focused on trying to be seductive. Maybe if I was just myself, it would go a lot more smoothly.
I had never had to think so damn much when sleeping with someone before. There was far more pressure in performing for money than I had realized there would be.
I took a deep breath and gave him a little nod to let him know I was past my freak-out. With more confidence than I’d had previously, my hands finished their task and then pulled the shirt down his arms before tossing it to the side where his coat had landed.
I bit my bottom lip as my hands ran over the smooth expanse of his muscular chest. His pecs were firm and his nipples pebbled under my touch. My fingers circled the flat discs—earning me a low groan—before gliding lower towards his neatly groomed happy trail.
Being with him wasn’t as difficult as I’d thought it would be. For a moment, I imagined we had been on a romantic date, after which he’d whisked me away to his penthouse in the sky. I pictured the soft kisses he would place on my lips before exploring the rest of my body. And then finally his hard thrusts as he took my body and sent me rushing headlong into blinding passion.
When my hand reached his pants, I opened his belt slowly to build his anticipation. I was rewarded when the impressive bulge in his pants began to grow in front of my very eyes.
His pants slid over his hips and landed with a soft thud on the floor. Marx stepped out of his shoes and kicked his pants to the side. Standing in front of me with nothing but tight black boxer briefs, he was one of the hottest men I had ever been with.
Tingles spread through my core, knowing what was coming. And to my surprise, a small part of me couldn’t wait to see what he had to offer.
My fingers dipped under the elastic on either side of his hips, but before I could divest him of the last of his clothing, he took a step back and shook his head.
Feeling slightly put out, I caught myself pouting, which made him chuckle. The laugh lines around his eyes crinkled and his mouth curled up into a sensual smirk.
“First things first,” he said as he found the zipper on the side of my dress and lowered it.
If it was at all possible, I found my heart beating even more erratically as he pulled my dress off my body. My hands were clammy as my nerves came back in full force.
Standing in nothing but a red lace thong, I felt vulnerable. My mind reeled with the need to cover myself in front of this stranger. It had been so much easier when I was in control of the situation. Now I felt lost and unsure and highly self-conscious.
“Beautiful,” he murmured lowly before leading me over to the side of the bed. His hands lightly caressed my arms and back as he positioned me on my hands and knees on the mattress. With my ass pointed in his direction, he wasted no time giving me the same teasing touches over the skin there. I jumped slightly when I felt his finger graze my opening and barely sink inside.
Before I could adjust to this new intimacy, his hand was gone, only to come back as a pressure between my shoulder blades when he pushed my lower body down onto the bed. There were rustling noises behind me, and I strained to figure out what he was doing.
Several moments later, his hand took mine from where it rested on the bed next to my head and pulled it behind my back. He repeated the motion with my other hand, locking my arms in his firm grip. Next, I felt the smooth yet rough material of rope being wrapped tightly around my hands.
My lungs seized when he tied me up, leaving me completely vulnerable now. He was free to do practically whatever he wanted with me. And while the thought was thrilling in its own right, I found myself on the verge of a freak-out, seeing as how that was an awful lot of trust to be putting into a stranger.
Trussed up, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Marx had stood back to admire his handiwork. His boxers were now gone, and he was stroking his erection almost absently as he appraised my body.
With deft fingers, he drew my thong over my ass and down my thighs, effectively cutting off my ability to move my legs, before running them through my slit. It was the slightest of grazes against my clitoris that had me growing wet and starting to squirm.
“So responsive,” he whispered, continuing the maddening pace of his exploration.
My hips began circling and pushing back, seeking more friction from his touch. That’s when his hand swatted my ass. It wasn’t an incredibly hard slap, but it was a hard enough crack that I yelped right before I saw him step away in my peripheral vision.
“What are you doing?” I asked with irritation in my tone. I didn’t like getting worked up just to be left hanging. If he thought my idea of a good time was being teased, he was sorely mistaken.
“Patience,” was his answer.
I huffed when he walked through a door located next to the bed. A moment later he returned with a plush towel that he laid on the floor behind me. Then he drew the chair, next to where his clothes lay, closer to the bed.
“Now, Alyssa. I want you to listen very, very carefully.”
“Okay,” I whispered, wondering where this was going.
“I want you to struggle against your binds. Pretend like you’re afraid and can’t wait to get free. And be vocal about it.” When he was done speaking, he slipped a torn strip of sheet between my lips and tied it behind my head.
How the fuck did he expect me to be vocal with a gag in my mouth?
When he didn’t say any more, I assumed he wanted me to start. A quick glance over my shoulder showed he had sat in the chair and was watching me with hooded eyes. Hunger was written all over his face, and it wasn’t for food.
Such a good-looking guy… such a kinky freak. No wonder I got this job.
Welp, if I want to make money, I best get moaning.
Pulling on the rope that bound my hands together, I didn’t need to act when I moaned out from the pain. Thank God I was still flexible from dance and gymnastics in my early adolescence. Otherwise, I’d be in a hell of a lot more pain with the unnatural way my body was positioned.
Marx’s groans and low, murmured praises spurred me on as I tugged and fought against my hold. I found myself getting worked up, imagining him behind me as he jerked himself to orgasm.
Did it make me a slut that this was turning me on more than I ever thought it could? Or did I have a dormant kinky side somewhere in me?
My inner musings were interrupted when Marx stood abruptly and grunted as he came all over the towel on the floor, ensuring no sticky cleanup.
“Very good,” he praised in a huskier voice than he had before. “I think I’ll reward you for being such a good girl.”
A light buzzing sound began behind me, and my body felt electrified when without warning he set a vibrator against my sensitive clit. His free hand pet my ass cheek as he worked me over with the toy, changing the pressure against my skin, circling it and dipping it inside my body before drawing it back up to the bundle of nerves that were screaming for attention.
Faster than I would care to admit, I found myself on the edge. Marx turned the speed up on the vibrator, pushing me over and headlong into an orgasm that had me shaking and convulsing on the bed.
When he had wrung the last of my orgasm from me, he put the vibrator on the nightstand while my body slumped as best it could onto the mattress. It had been a while since my last orgasm. My mind had been too overwhelmed with making ends meet to even consider self-gratification. Sure, this was a strange way to break the dry spell, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying.
Marx left me tied up when he took the towel into the bathroom. I heard water running and I assumed he was washing himself. He strutted back into the room, wearing low-slung pajama pants, looking just as good hardly dressed as he had earlier in his suit.
His fingers worked on the rope binding my hands. Once my arms were free, I pushed myself up so I was kneeling on the bed. A quick glance at the clock showed the whole thing was thirty minutes all-in, if that. Not too shabby.
“Did I tie you too tight?” Marx asked as his hands massaged my arms, helping to increase the circulation and stop the pinprick sensation that accompanied being tied up.
“No,” I assured him. Once the blood flow had returned to my extremities, Marx helped me up from the bed and handed me my dress while I pulled my thong back up.
“You can clean up in the bathroom,” he told me. “I’ll meet you out at the bar when you’re done.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a smile before walking into his opulent bathroom and shutting the door. Making quick work of washing up, I tried not to think about how strange it would be to face someone after doing what we had just done. And the craziest part of it all was that he was going to be paying me. Or was he? I’d never found out how this all worked. Shit. Now I felt like a heel for not at least asking before coming here.
Squaring my shoulders, I faced my reflection in the mirror. “Well, Alyssa. Nothing you can do now but go out there with your head held high and face him without any shame.”
I found Marx sitting on a stool in front of the antique looking semi-circle bar off the main living area. There were dozens of bottles lining the shelves behind it along with decanters filled with different colored liquors and glasses of all shapes and sizes. He even had a beer tap built into it.
“What can I get you?” he asked, immediately standing and rounding the bar.
“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” I tried.
“I insist,” he said in a firmer tone.
Not wanting to piss off the client, I nodded and said, “How about a vodka martini?”
“Olive or with a twist?” He raised his eyebrow on the question, and I felt my heart flutter a little at how sexy he looked. It would be so easy to pretend we were something other than what we were.
“Twist,” I answered and took a seat next to his vacated stool.
He set the drink in front of me and leaned over the bar on his elbows.
“You’re new,” he said in what I presumed was an effort to make small talk.
“What gave it away?” I asked, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. Was I that much of a greenhorn?
“Nothing. I’ve just never seen you before and I know Xavier. He would have sent you to me a long time ago if you were in his stable.”
I wrinkled my nose up at his choice of words but couldn’t really argue. I was in fact now part of someone’s stable. I fought the shudder that thought created. He chuckled at my expression and held his hands up defensively in front of himself. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
“No, it’s fine.” I sat up a little straighter and downed the rest of my drink, relishing the smooth taste of the expensive liquor. “I should probably go, though.”
Considering this hadn’t lasted nearly as long as I’d expected, I could still pick Sophie up at Ruth’s if I hurried. After my crazy evening, I wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with my daughter.
“I really didn’t mean to offend—” he began, but I cut him off.
“I’m not. I really just need to get going.” I stood in front of him and rose up on my tiptoes to touch his lips with mine. It might have been inappropriate, but overall Marx seemed like a decent man and I didn’t want him to think he had offended me in any way.
