by Anthology
If she wanted more money, I’d send her more—enough that she’d never be able to make a comment like that again. But I had to send something fast or my guilt would eat me alive—and Avery Johansson didn’t do guilt.
Reaching into the pocket of my hoodie, I withdrew my phone and scrolled through my contacts. My thumb hovered over a name I hated above all others. It wasn’t because of his bad hair or unpleasant breath. It was strictly a personality thing. But he paid amazingly well and I wanted to make a point. I needed to prove to my mom that she couldn’t afford to be hurtful to me. My thumb tapped down.
“Well, well, well. It’s been a long time.”
“Hi, Don. How have you been?”
“The same. And you, my little doll?”
I rolled my eyes. “The same. I was wondering if you were looking for company?”
He grunted and I could hear him shifting his position over the phone, his breathing that of a man carrying an extra hundred pounds. “I’m always up for your company, sugar. What do you say to tomorrow night at seven?”
I hesitated and shut my eyes. “How should I dress?”
“Mmm. I want a skirt short enough that I can tell the color of your panties and a shirt low enough that it’s a guessing game when your little nipples are going to show. And put in some pigtails.”
And this was why he paid well. “How long and where?”
“I’ll pick a nice place. Say, four hours?”
A second longer and I wouldn’t be able to take it. “That’ll be two.”
“Your price went up.”
“Inflation. Did you still want to meet?”
“Four hours, two grand? You better hope I see your nipples. All right. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”
Do I ever? “I’ll see you then.”
I ended the call and dropped my head back to the fridge. Four hours and I’d send my mom enough money to shut her up for at least a few months. And then I’d just have to get through my last semester and never have to do this again.
Feeling a bit more grounded, now that I had a plan in place, I went to my desk and stacked my school stuff to the side. My bills weren’t overdue, but they were piling up and they were high. I hated debt, hated owing anyone anything, which was why I was so pleased to be financing my own education and graduating without a single student loan to my name.
One by one, I signed off on checks and slowly emptied my savings until there was only enough for a few meals and most of next semester’s tuition. Once school was paid there would hardly be enough to buy anything else, but I’d get by. I always got by.
The next day was one of those off days that started on the wrong foot and never straightened out. First, it was the machines at the gym. Did no one know how to clean up after themselves?
Then it was a red sock someone left in the laundry room. I didn’t think anyone used the facility except me, but apparently, there was another person too poor to hire a service. And now they were running around with one red sock while half my white wardrobe looked like an Easter peep costume.
After that, it was my Lit professor, who apparently hated me for some reason and refused to give me anything more than a C+. My last paper was at least B worthy. Part of me questioned if she even read the papers. Maybe she had a TA grading them and that person just randomly threw out any old grade he or she felt like assigning.
If that wasn’t enough, my conditioner bottle was empty, leaving my hair a disaster of tangles that wouldn’t cooperate. And the bra I intended to wear tonight was nowhere to be found.
Suffice it to say, by six fifty-four I still wasn’t ready and Don was going to be there any minute. I couldn’t keep him waiting or I wouldn’t earn my full rate. He had very strict rules about these things.
Hustling out the door, my ass practically hanging past my short miniskirt and my tits bursting from the top of my skintight blouse, I quickly locked up.
“Costume party?”
My back stiffened. Of course, he’d see me dressed like this.
“Ha. Ha. Sad you’re not invited?” The second I turned to face him, I regretted it.
Noah’s lips parted as his eyes dropped down to my hips and back up to my chest. “Damn.”
I fidgeted, shoving my arms into my coat and covering myself as quickly as possible. “Stare much?”
“Sorry… I just… You look…”
“Whatever. I’m late.”
“Hey, Avery, I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. The other night I was out of line and I can see now you were right about things getting awkward between—”
“Now, you can see? And why is that? Does it have anything to do with how I’m dressed?”
“Jesus, are you always such a bitch?”
I drew back. “Excuse me?”
“I’m trying to apologize and you’re twisting everything—”
“I don’t need an apology. I need you to get out of my way before I’m late for my appointment. And I need my neighbors to stop stealing my mail and basically leave me the fuck alone.”
His brow lowered. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” Just then the elevator pinged and I wanted to cry. God fucking damn it with this day!
Without turning around, Noah gaze narrowed. “Let me guess… Your appointment.”
If I could vanish into thin air that would be fantastic, but my life would never be that easy. Fuck! “Please just go into your apartment.”
His frown deepened, his natural easy going expression tightening with a much more severe look and something else I couldn’t quite name. “Tell him to go home. Tell him you changed your mind.”
I couldn’t see over his shoulder, but I heard the doors open and Don’s heavy breathing. This was going to be brutal.
Blinking up at Noah, I gave him a pleading look, silently begging him not to be another person that judged me. Why it mattered what he thought of me I didn’t know, but for some reason it did.
“I can’t.”
His expression blanked and he turned, only to do a double take on the man now hogging the hall. Don wore a lecherous smirk, his ruddy coloring coated in a glaze of sweat and his greasy hair combed over his scalp so severely, each strand lay like a black wax strip of dried out licorice. There was no way Noah wasn’t judging me.
“You ready, my little doll?” His hand slipped under my coat and around my hip and I cringed. He tugged one of my pigtails. “My pretty little doll.” As if just noticing Noah, Don tipped his chin. “How ya doin’?”
Noah didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He stood stiffly, watching me with a blank expression.
Part of me wanted to say fuck you and mind your own business! But another part wanted to explain that this was just a job, conversation and cocktails, nothing more—except maybe a few uncomfortable pictures this one liked to save as keepsakes—all for four hours and two grand. Who would turn that down? Maybe a normal girl, but I was long past normal.
I lowered my gaze and accompanied Don to the elevator, nudging his hand away when it lowered to grip my ass. He chuckled as if grab ass was a game we both enjoyed.
I didn’t look at Noah. This time it wasn’t about playing coy or keeping the upper hand. It was about plain old cowardice and shame. My gaze remained on the ground until we reached the first floor, far away from my neighbor’s judgment. And then the clock was ticking. Eight dollars and thirty-three cents a minute.
Chapter Seven
“Would you like insurance?”
“Yes, on all six, please.” The limit for postal insurance was four hundred dollars so I was shipping my mother six tightly taped boxes of cold, hard-earned cash. All for the price of letting some fat pig breathe into my ear at an uptown bar and stare down my cleavage while taking faceless pictures of my body for four hours.
It was worth it. I had to keep telling myself that until I believed it to be true. But my dignity took a hit this week no amount of money could compensate. It wasn’t about what others saw, but wha
t I endured privately. I might have escaped guilt, proving I’d do more than most women would, but I’d never actually sell my body for sex. But shame was a sticky thing.
The following night I was scheduled for a gala with Micah. My dress was recycled couture and my jewels were the same paste garbage I always wore, but they looked excellent. My hair was slicked into a smart ponytail and my makeup was extreme, giving me the devastating look of a woman on the catwalk in Milan.
Not wanting any drama, I decided to wait in the lobby for Micah to arrive, but Noah caught me locking up and there was something different about the way he watched me. His eyes were no longer friendly, yet his focus unapologetically followed my every move. I hated it. I wanted the old Noah stare back, but I knew our last encounter spoiled any chance of that happening.
“Another appointment?”
My molars locked, my mood shifting from regretful to downright pissed. “Why don’t we do each other a favor and keep to our own sides of the building?”
Hands deep in his suit pockets, he held my gaze and dramatically stepped into my half of the hallway. Then he took another step. And another until he had me backed against my door.
“Noah.”
“You’re a busy girl, Avery.”
And you’re a dick. “Excuse—”
“Why a different date every night? Let’s call it what it is. You’re not off to a business meeting dressed like that.”
His lashes lowered as his gaze traveled down the front of my dress, held at my nails, my purse, and lifted to the rhinestone necklace at my throat and then traveled to my glossy lips.
In that moment I hated him. “Back off.” You judgmental dick.
The side of his mouth quirked. “I think you like me this close.”
“I think you’re delusional.”
My heart rattled behind my ribs as my body pressed against the support of the door. What the hell was wrong with me? He was cornering me, goading me, and I was allowing it.
Enough.
I lifted my chin, hiding any sense that he might be intimidating me. “One of these days you’re going to push your luck with me and it won’t end well for you.”
“Oh, I disagree.”
The clear vision of my hand slapping across his beautiful face flashed through my mind and my body warmed, liquid heat pulling slowly through my veins the way it absolutely shouldn’t.
“You’re getting aroused, Avery. I can see it in the way your breath just quickened and your cheeks are pinker than usual. Your eyes are darker, too, and your tits are pressing so hard against your dress my fingers are itching to touch them. A hundred bucks says your panties are wet.”
“I think you have a gambling problem.”
“I think you should admit I turn you on.”
Maybe I was slightly aroused, but he’d be whimpering if he saw into my head, saw the ways I imagined punishing him for being such a colossal shithead. “Not for the reason you think.”
His half smile stretched into an even grin and he leaned closer. “No?”
“No,” I rasped.
I could see it so clearly, his body stretched beneath mine in all its glory. Taut muscle and sinew wearing a sheen of sweat as I teased him into a needy frenzy. His body pulsing with desire while I denied him every pleasure and inflicted little nips of pain.
I’d track my nails down his chest, leaving slightly raised trails as he arched into my touch. My breath would tease his cock, but I wouldn’t touch him. Torment, blow, scrape, beg… I bet I could make him come without ever using more than my words.
Then, when he was just about to cry out I’d grip him hard enough to force it back. He’d jerk at the repudiation, fight it, try to hide the struggle, and fail. And then he’d beg for forgiveness, accepting I was the one in total control.
My gaze lifted to his mouth and I fought the urge to drag my tongue over his lips. I wanted to wrench his head back, my fist gripping tightly in his beautiful hair. If he was a good boy I might let him fuck me, but my way, on my terms.
He’d do everything I commanded and make me come as many times as I wanted. He’d worship me, beg for me, and never once think he could outmaneuver me like he thought he was doing now.
“You don’t know a thing about me, Noah, and I doubt you have the patience or stamina to figure me out.”
“All I need is one night. Let me take you out, prove I’m better than the rest.”
“So persistent.”
“Always, especially when I see something I want.”
“And what is it you want?”
He lifted a brow. “Are we being honest?”
I held his stare, unflinching. “Why not?”
“Fine. I want to strip you naked and lick every gorgeous curve of your body. I want to hold you by your hair as you swallow my cock. And when your shoulders tense and your eyes water, I want you to look up at me with that determined look I see in your eyes now, and I want you to show me you can handle every last inch of me. I want to fuck your tits, your cunt, and your tight little asshole. I want to make it so good for you, there’s never a doubt in your mind that I’m the best you’ll ever have. And then, I want to sleep with you, naked and soft, worn out from everything I did to you, everything you begged me to do. Then we’ll wake up and do it all over again until my skin smells like yours and you’re wearing a rosy glow of whisker burn, come, and me.”
My breath shook as it filled my lungs. No one had ever said anything so graphic and arrogant to me. It was not only improbable, it was also the exact opposite of what I liked, so why the hell was I breathing so fast? He was rattling me.
Enough, Avery. This game had to end. I moved my mouth to speak, but my voice had dried up.
Clearing my throat, I straightened my shoulders and looked him directly in the eye, whittling all my excuses down to the sharpest point. “You can’t afford me.”
He stiffened. His glance took another perusal of my attire and he cocked his head as if something occurred to him. “I think you underestimate the size of my … bank account.”
An unexpected ache formed in my chest. On some level, he comprehended what I was confessing and didn’t bat an eye. His acceptance that I came with a rather large price tag withered something inside of me, maybe my confidence, but more likely my pride. He might not realize my profession, but he certainly understood I wasn’t free and his awareness revealed an unpredicted pain in my chest I wasn’t prepared to process.
My statement should have scared him away, changed his intentions, or at least made him chuckle under the assumption I was only kidding, but he joined the ranks of all the other men in my life and now saw me as an asset, a person who could be bought.
Blinking fast, I considered the quickest way to get away from him and this entire situation of awkward embarrassment. I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat and forced my emotions out of the way. If he wanted to treat me like an object, I’d treat him like a client.
“You misunderstand. Sex isn’t on the table. That’s not what I do.”
His brow knit as uncertainty flashed in his glacial stare. While my job was uncommon, living as a sugar baby was an actual business. And it was not to be confused with prostitution. Every client needed to fully understand that.
Although, he would never be my client. Never.
“Avery…” His focus pulled off my body for a split second, but when it returned his eyes were more challenging than ever. “With us, sex’ll be on the table, the bed, the floor, the wall, and any other surface you can think of. I’m not someone who negotiates that shit before it happens, so don’t try to pigeonhole me with … the other men you’re seeing. I’m different and eventually, you’ll get that.”
A flutter of satisfaction teased in my stomach as he rejected the idea of being one of many, of seeing our interactions as any sort of business agreement. But he wasn’t different and that little thrill died as fast as a lone breeze on an ordinary day. I didn’t want to tell him what I did, but I needed him to know. It wa
s the only way to move his interest to someone else, which was exactly what I needed to do for my own good.
Why wasn’t he asking more questions? Didn’t he want explanations? Need reassurance that I wasn’t actually taking money from the men he saw me with even though I was? It wasn’t human for a man to be that cocky with hardly any facts, especially when I just basically told him I charged by the hour.
“Aren’t you curious about how I make a living?”
He silently chuckled, the slight quirk of his lips drawing my attention to his mouth. “You want to know if I think you fuck all the men who come to your door? I don’t, and I don’t need you to clarify. I see where you live, how you live. I also see you lugging your little backpack up and down the hall as you scurry off to class, looking like an average twenty-something trying to make a future for herself. This…” He brushed a finger over my fake diamond bracelet. “This isn’t you. It’s an act and I bet you play the part damn well. But you aren’t going to play with me—not in that way.”
No. He wasn’t supposed to just accept my circumstances. He was supposed to be revolted and lose interest. It was the only way I could stop this distracting flirting vendetta he had for me. The only way I would eventually stop thinking about him.
I tried to be crystal clear. “I don’t date.”
“Sure you do. You just date the wrong men. Why not try something real for a change?”
My gaze dragged over his clothing, noting all the telltale signs of wealth. He didn’t have to live a secret life to afford his home. Nor did he have to tolerate things he hated to make his bills. He was almost too upfront, too raw and unfiltered, and I wasn’t the sort to gamble with all my cards on the table. It was time to fold and leave the game once and for all.
He thought my appearance was an act. But he didn’t realize all of it was an act. Avery Johansson wasn’t a college student living a few miles from home. She didn’t exist before I arrived.
Avery Dean Mudd might have earned the scholarship that started this, but Avery Johansson had been paying her tuition since. The girl I left behind was a piece of trash and the woman I became didn’t know any more about social graces than she could learn online and by emulating others.