Even though the relationship was as fresh as three months, it still felt like you and Clayton had known each other for a longer amount of time. He was a bit of a homebody, enjoying the tranquility of staying in his penthouse. He was a people pleaser, and he’d do anything to please you.

You, on the other hand, loved to go out. You partied almost every weekend, wearing tight clothing on your body and an exorbitant purse that Clayton provided you with. He loved showing you off. You were his doll, his beautiful little thing to present. And he’d make it known you were his in as many ways as he could.

At these parties, you’d let loose and have all of the fun in the world. That typically involved your body on the dance floor, with a drink in hand and a few coursing through your system. Clayton either watched with a smirk, recorded you on his phone to save the videos for later, or he danced right behind you, hands never leaving your body.

No one else appealed to you like he did. His riches and looks were a part of the appeal, but the persona and the aura dragged you in and kept you with him. It appeared as though he had you wrapped around his finger. But it was the other way around. Clayton would give you anything just to hear words of praise from your pretty pink lips.

As the two of you navigated the enormous mansion, music played loudly, the bass physically rattling the walls around you. People were dancing and conversing all over the place. As you approached the dance floor, you became the life of the party, and Clayton was along for it.

A song you absolutely adored started to play. You flashed Clayton a knowing smile before holding out your newest bag— a classic Chanel handbag.

“Hold my bag, baby?” You asked him. His smirk widened and he took the bag without argument.

“You don’t gotta ask me.” His voice carried smoothly over the deafening music, the two of you standing there with contrasting expressions.