Breaking All the Rules by Cynthia Sax

come and go as you please. You determine what you eat or wear. You can refuse my advances at any time.”
    “Right.” I snort. “And if I refuse all of your advances?” I lift my chin, calling his bluff.
    “Then it will be a very long month,” Nate says quietly.
    It will be a very long month for both of us. He knows I can’t resist him. I pivot on my heels and walk to the windows, confused, trusting the man but not the contract. What does Nate want?
    He can’t want me, the true me. No one wants a rebel. “You can’t change me.” I stare at the white fluffy clouds floating freely across the blue sky.
    I tried to change for the other girls in the commune, for my classmates in school, for my first three boyfriends, and for countless others, striving to be less defiant, less passionate, less me.
    Those changes never stuck, never became permanent, never felt natural or right. It was too difficult to be someone I wasn’t, and eventually the true me resurfaced, betraying, hurting, angering the people around me, the people who trusted me, who believed in my manufactured façade.
    I can’t do that to Nate. I can’t see that look in his eyes.
    “I don’t want to change you,” he murmurs into my right ear, his voice deep. He rubs my back, his touch warm and soothing.
    “You say that yet you want me to sign a contract, to follow your rules.” I stretch my arms along the window, splaying my fingers on the glass, resting my right cheek against the cool surface. This is as close to being outside, to being free, as I can manage.
    “We’re setting expectations. I’m protecting you.” Nate moves his hands in gentle circles, unknotting my muscles, restoring my calm. “You don’t have to change. I promise you.”
    He promises me. Nate always keeps his promises. The tightness around my chest eases. My breathing levels. He doesn’t want to change me.
    Maybe he’s tired of his vanilla-sex yes-women. Maybe I’m a vacation for him, a unique sexual experience. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be the man who finally accepts me for me, who loves me.
    I’d be a fool not to chance it. The alternative is a lifetime alone. “I need to have my own things.”
    “Give me your security codes and your keys and I’ll have the entire contents of your apartment moved today,” Nate vows. “I’ll also transfer funds into your bank account daily.” He pulls the elastic out of my hair and threads his fingers through the green strands. “You can verify your balance whenever you want.”
    I’ll have my things reminding me who I am, what I stand for. I don’t care about the money. “If you try to change me you’ll be unsuccessful,” I warn.
    Nate chuckles. “If I tried to change you I’d be a fool.” He reaches around me and unbuttons my blazer. “Our arrangement lasts a month, Camille.” He slips the garment off my shoulders and more of my tension dissipates. “Give me thirty days.”
    Thirty days is all he wants because a normal man like Nate won’t ever seek a permanent relationship with a screwed-up rebel child like me. He won’t ever love me. I’m merely a short-term fling for him, Nate’s version of a back-alley fuck.
    He’s more than that for me, much more. I gaze at the sky, wishing I could fly away from the pain that is sure to come. Nate unzips my skirt and the fabric falls to the floor. I’m nude from the waist down, cold air wafting over my bare ass cheeks.
    “What are you doing?” I glance over my shoulder, distracted by his actions, his proximity, his everything. I want him again, always.
    “I’m freeing you.” Nate skims his fingers over my corset, his touch relayed through the thin leather, branding my skin, owning me. “Showing the world how special you are.”
    He cups my breasts, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, and my body pulses to his rhythm, my nipples puckering into rigid points, my pussy moistening.
    “Everyone returning from lunch can see you standing here.” He nuzzles into