She was vinegar and hot sauce to me, but I liked flavor in my life. Mim intrigued me. “Double shot latte, please.” I pulled my tie over my head and proceeded to finish dressing.
“That much caffeine will keep you up all night.”
“Would seem that I’ll need it. I have a project to finish three weeks early.” I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and folded it in half.
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but her lips twisted in a satisfied grin. “That’s a shame.”
The barista placed our drinks on the counter in front of us.
“Definitely.”
“Will that cut into your social life?” She pulled the cup to her mouth and blew on the steaming liquid. I could smell the spice in her tea waft through the air.
“Are you asking out of interest?” What was her game? I was so out of the dating scene. I had no idea how women my age behaved.
“Possibly.”
“I thought my ego offended you.” I wasn’t used to people casting me aside and pulling me back. She was playing me well.
“Your ego arouses my curiosity. I’d love to see what holds that up.”
‘Arouse’ was an interesting word to use when talking about my self-esteem. “I’m told it’s my incredible traps.” I flexed my muscles to make a point.
She tried to suppress her laugh but ended up bursting out loud. “No wonder you work out. It must take a lot of muscles to hold up your head.”
“Now you’re just being mean, but I’ll forgive you if you have dinner with me.” What the hell was I doing?
She pulled my folded napkin from under my cup, took a pen from her backpack and wrote her address on it. “I’m free next Thursday. Seven works for me. I like Italian.” She checked me out again before she rose from her seat and walked away.
I sat there, dumbfounded. I had a Thursday date with a frustrating woman who apparently liked Italian. That was one area in which I could deliver. A slow smile spread across my face.
* * *
The Saturday night crazies were swarming Times Square by the time the cab dropped me off at the hotel. I was never late to an appointment, although I’d come close yesterday when an accident in the subway delayed me by an hour. Today, I’d started out early. I picked up the key to Claire’s hotel room with plenty of time to spare.
I'd let myself into the room decorated in various shades of white. The purity of the color contrasted with the darkness of my soul. Life had become blurred. The only difference between a porn star and me was a porn star got paid to get laid on camera. I got paid to satisfy women. I didn't allow cameras. Voyeurism wasn’t my thing.
After a glance around the suite, I knew Claire would want to be had on every surface in this room. The bed, the sofa, the tub, and the damn granite counter of the bar. My dick would be on fire before the evening was over.
The windows beckoned with the bright light of Times Square flashing before me. I yanked the curtains closed, shutting out the real world around me while I produced one client’s fantasy.
After a call to room service, I set about earning my pay. Claire had specifics she liked ready when she arrived. The tub had to be filled with hot water and bubbles. The champagne chilled in a silver bucket by the bed. I started the bath, lit the candles, and prepared the items she’d had delivered. When I took the lid off the box left behind, I wanted to scream. I hated this stupid fetish of hers. There were cuffs and a flogger, a handful of hundreds, and a brand new package of condoms.
I knew how this would play out. I'd answer the door in my thousand-dollar suit, and she'd pretend she was the escort. She'd show up in a trench coat with little or nothing beneath it. I'd sweet talk her into taking a bath where she would make me watch her masturbate. Priming herself was what she called it, but all it did was make the second orgasm much harder for her to reach. It lengthened the game I wanted to shorten.
I'd pretend to pay her, and she would tie me up and have her way. In any other setting it could be considered rape, but in this setting it was prostitution. I would sell myself once again to reach my goals: success, financial freedom, and respect.
When the knock came, I checked myself in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, giving it what Claire would call a mussed up, sexy look. Making her wait was part of the game, so I straightened my tie and picked lint off my collar until the second knock sounded. It would annoy her to have to wait, but she got off on pent-up frustration. I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes and prepped for the long night ahead. I tucked my self-loathing away and put on my Ken doll smile. Showtime.
I opened the door in a coat and dagger fashion, a sliver at a time. It added to her excitement. "Are you the girl?" I deepened my voice because she loved it. A baritone voice would earn me a sizable tip.
"Yes, I'm what you wanted," her words breathy and soft. So unlike the powerhouse of a woman I knew her to be. She was a CEO at Evictus Financial Group, a large firm specializing in penny stocks. I always gave Claire what she wanted because she had what I needed—money and a foot in the door at her company.
"You are indeed what I ordered." I ran my hand down her cheek. "Stunning." I pulled her into the room and peeked out the door as if someone could be watching. I had to play my part to perfection.
I'd been screwing my way into the door of Evictus for eighteen months now. A year and a half was a long time to be with the same client. She was one of my first, and we had this date every Saturday night like clockwork. Different hotel. Same situation. I'd pound her flesh so she'd be sore until our next date. She'd pay me and often press a generous tip in my pocket. In turn, I'd pay my rent, buy my groceries, and chip at my student loans. It was a living, but hardly a life.
For a second, I thought of Mim and locked the thought away behind my smile. She wasn’t part of this world, and I wouldn’t dirty her by thinking about her while I was on the job.
"Don't forget,” said Claire. “I get paid up front." Yep, she always did, and she'd turn around later and hand over the cash for a night well spent.
I pulled out the bills I’d put in my wallet. Two circular divots marred the inside pocket. One came from the MBA coin my favorite professor gave me when I was struggling to pass my classes. "Keep your eye on the prize," he told me, and I've kept the talisman in my pocket ever since. The second circle used to contain my Saint Christopher, but now the space was empty. I had taken it out and put it in my drawer. I didn’t need a daily reminder of how far I’d fallen.
I fanned the bills in front of her. "This should take care of it." I folded the wad of bills and placed them in her coat pocket. Let the games begin. With a firm tug, I pulled the belt of the coat loose and let it fall open. Hmm, black lingerie tonight. She must have had a terrible week. Anxiety slithered up my spine, wrapped around my neck and threatened to choke me. If her mood was dark, she'd want it rough and hard, which meant she'd give my body no mercy.
"What should I call you?"
"Call me Claire." The use of her real name was a surprise. She dropped the coat on the floor and pushed her body against me. For a woman in her forties, she had a rockin' body, but I was pretty sure it was because she devoured lesser men for sport.
“Well, Claire, I’ve prepared a bath for you. Climb in while I get you a drink.” She turned toward the bathroom and walked away, exaggerating the sway of her hips. I knew she’d turn around and expect me to be watching her. I stayed and stared, and she looked over her shoulder and smiled. She was pleased, and that would earn me another bonus.
When I entered the bathroom, she was tucked neck deep in the water with her hair pulled up in a clip. The light of the candles flickered across the bubbles, creating a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Champagne?” I offered her a filled flute.
“No, you drink the bubbly. Tonight, I need something stronger. I’d prefer scotch.” Her jade green eyes had turned the color of beached seaweed. Something was up. She was a creature of habit, and this wasn’t our usual routine. “Get me a real drink.”
What the h
ell was going on?
If I asked her, the fantasy would be ruined. I couldn’t afford for that to happen. I needed tonight’s gig for my rent, so I buried my questions and did as I was asked.
When I returned to the bathroom, she had her knees pulled up to her chest and was crying. “Tears?” The scotch sloshed back and forth from my unsteady hand. “What can I do?” I wasn’t prepped for this. I was hardwired to avoid emotion since the day I began this job.
“Take off your clothes and get in the bath.” Her voice cracked ever so slightly. Whatever was happening, she was clutching the ledge with her fingers, causing the tips to turn white.
Moisture had affected her mascara, making the black gel run into the fine lines on her face. Typically so put together, Claire seemed a bit worn tonight, and that made her look vulnerable and soft—a side I’d never seen from this woman. We didn’t share love or affection, but we had a mutual respect for one another.
I wanted to reach out and comfort her, and that scared me. “I don’t think so, I hired you.” It was important for me to get back on script. “I want you bathed, naked, and in bed in ten minutes.” Pivoting on my heels, I exited the bathroom.
Her scream followed me into the bedroom. “Forget the script! I need to be held and comforted. Earn your money, Luca, and get your ass in here.”
Rage surged through me. When I sold my body, it came with a bit of my soul attached. I felt thin, stretched out, and so very cold. My teeth ground until my jaw hurt. It was the only way to hold in the anger.
Since the Dom Perignon was mine alone, I pulled it from the bucket and guzzled straight from the bottle. Something told me things were about to change, and I’d need the 12.5% alcohol by volume to survive the night. Hell, I might need Claire’s scotch to make it through the next hour.
I walked back into the bathroom, tugging at the tie Claire had given me last month. The Windsor knot of the blue silk tie nearly choked me. Whoever said fake it until you make it must have worked on Wall Street. Every day I showed up to work, I prayed it would be my last, but the reality was, I knew I’d keep doing this until my goals were met.
Claire’s eyes dimmed, and I suppressed the panic that inched up my throat to gag me.
“Get in the tub, Luca.” She tipped the scotch glass back and emptied the tumbler. “Refill first.” The crystal glass screeched as she pushed it across the marble surround of the tub.
This was my life. She called, and I came. She demanded, and I delivered. She paid, and I performed. Rather than pour two fingers of scotch, I poured four to avoid another trip to the decanter. Despite wanting to drown myself in alcohol, I abstained. One of us had to be in control.
I transferred the glass to her hand and began the slow process of removing my suit. She needed comfort, and I needed money. With sixty thousand dollars remaining on my student loan, I couldn’t take my eye off the goal.
I slid into the hot bubbles and situated myself across from her. I left the foil condom wrapper in clear view so there was no doubt where me, naked, and in the bathtub, would lead. She cupped the amber liquid with both hands and watched me over the rim.
Like a cat being stalked by a mouse, my internal protection mechanisms screamed for me to escape and evade, but I planted my ass and held my ground. For enough money, I’d ignore the warnings.
“Do you want to talk?”
My relationship with her was unique. She never shared personal information, which was probably why this arrangement had lasted so long. We weren’t friends. Once all the bells and whistles were removed, I was simply a dick for hire, and she was a checkbook and a reference letter. For fourteen hundred dollars a night, I’d suffer through it.
“No.” She stretched her foot out and rubbed her toes between my legs.
Habit required I make a sound of satisfaction. “Mmm,” came from my mouth without thought or feeling. It was amazing how much a body could do on autopilot.
“Feel good?”
“It always feels good.”
Slow, steady breaths helped me get my head in the game. I was like Pavlov’s dog. In the zone, I could perform without thinking. When thrown off my game, it took a lot of coaxing. Tonight, I was out of my element.
Below the bubbles, I massaged her foot with one hand and my dick with the other. Once hard, I pulled her body toward me and set her between my thighs.
“What do you want, Claire?” The question was asked out of courtesy. This woman was a whip-wielding rough rider. She was a take-no-prisoners client. I imagined she operated much the same way in the boardroom as she did in the bedroom.
“I want to feel wanted.” Her usually demanding voice diminished with each word. “I want to feel valued.” Her shoulders rolled forward. “I want you to take charge.”
Whoa. “What the hell is going on here? If you want to change the dynamics of our relationship, I need to know the new rules.” This dicking around was driving me crazy.
“I was fired today.”
Her body shook, and sobs escaped.
“What the hell?”
The air was sucked from my lungs. Although I was head and shoulders above the bubbles, I was drowning under the weight of what her statement meant. All my eggs were in her basket. I’d nourished this relationship, made it a priority because making her happy gave me what I needed. Now, after eighteen months of letting her use me and control me, I was no closer to getting what I wanted. Eighteen damn months of whips and cuffs for nothing. Despair made me go limp. I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget about it.”
She turned around and straddled me. She squeezed and pulled at my flesh, but there was no way my flaccid penis would rise to the occasion. My libido had sunk as low as my hope.
After several minutes, she gave up and collapsed back into the water.
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Acknowledgments
This book was inspired by an article written in a popular newspaper. When I decided to write the story the following authors gave me the encouragement I needed to write a love story based on a controversial topic.
No book gets written without a village of people. I’d like to give a shout out to my village. Sharon, Anne, Leeann W., Heidi K., Heidi B., LeAnn F., Zam, Melinda, Connie, Margie, Janice, Joyce, Terry, and Cynthia Collins.
Thanks Michelecatalanocreative.com for the awesome cover.
Whew! I couldn’t have done it without you.
About the Author
International bestselling author of more than thirty novels, Kelly Collins writes with the intention of keeping the love alive. Always a romantic, she blends real-life events with her vivid imagination to create characters and stories that lovers of contemporary romance, new adult, and romantic suspense will return to again and again.
Kelly lives in Colorado at the base of the Rocky Mountains with her husband of twenty-seven years, their two dogs, and a bird that hates her. She has three amazing children, whom she loves to pieces.
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The Dean’s List Page 27