Free The Pleasure Slave by Gena Showalter

let-me-get-this-over-with obligation. How pathetic if she were.
    Yes, how pathetic. In a secret part of her heart, she’d always longed for a fairy-tale existence—a man who thought her the most beautiful woman in the world, who loved her madly and deeply. Who worshiped at the altar of her loveliness. Okay, the last was a bit much, but that dream of happily-ever-after had never faded and would never fade.
    There had to be someone out there for her. Please let there be someone out there for me, she prayed. If she found him, maybe then she could regain her sense of contentment.
    Closing her eyes, she blocked the image of Tristanfrom her mind and pictured the type of man who would find her desirable, yet wouldn’t intimidate her. His features were plain, but he had an easy, gentle smile. Heightwise, he stood below average, not much taller than she. He was kind and tender and just a little shy. Most importantly, he never once made her feel stupid or unattractive or unworthy.
    Was that asking for too much?
    “No, it’s not,” she muttered. In fact, the more she considered this paragon of manly virtue, the more he took the shape of her new next-door neighbor, Peter. Peter had brown hair, kind hazel eyes, and always wore a good-natured grin. Oh, she wasn’t attracted to him physically, but she did feel comfortable in his presence. The only problem was, the few times they’d spoken, Peter hadn’t acted as if he was interested in her.
    You didn’t act as if you were interested in him, either, she reminded herself.
    A sigh slipped past her lips. How would Peter react if she called right now and asked him out on a date? Fall to his knees and thank her? Or demand she never call him again? In a spurt of determination, she decided she didn’t care how he reacted. She would simply pick up the phone and invite him to dinner. Now. Today. This very second.
    Well, maybe in the morning.
    Confidence swiftly draining, she burrowed deeper into the covers and recalled the first and only date she’d ever experienced. She’d been sixteen, very shy if a bit mischievous. Brian Davidson, the most popular boy inschool, had invited her to dinner. Since she’d had a crush on him for years, she foolishly agreed.
    The night of their date, they shared a pizza at the local hangout and talked about their lives. He treated her with such care, was so complimentary, she floated on a rainbow of dreams, imagining the flowers, candy and romance in her future. She’d placed no significance on his glances to the door, or on his laugh, which had rasped a little too high, a little too forced.
    Later in the evening, Brian drove her to his home. His parents were out of town, so they were alone. Or so she’d assumed.
    They talked some more, and Julia shyly admitted how much she liked him, how she wanted her first time to be with him. He smiled, his eyes cold, and leaned down to kiss her. A heartbeat before his lips met hers and all her dreams came true, she heard a deep voice say, “Gross, Bri. You’re not actually going to kiss Julie Ghoulie, are you? We dared you to be seen with her in public, not to make out with her.”
    Hunter Stevens, Brian’s best friend, stood in the hallway, three other boys behind him. All of them doubled over with laughter.
    “Brian, you’re so wonderful,” one of the boys mimicked. “Man, if I heard her say that one more time, I was going to puke.”
    Brian jerked back, his gaze flitting guiltily from hers. “I had to shut her up, didn’t I? What took you guys so damn long? Another second and I would’ve had to do something desperate.”
    While the boys continued to laugh and taunt her, Julia had gathered her pride and run out of the house, head high. Each step home, the dam holding her emotions together cracked a bit more. Finally, humiliation and despair consumed her. She had sunk to the ground and sobbed until her tear ducts threatened to burst from the strain.
    That one night had destroyed every ounce of