Good Girl Gone Bad

by Falcone, Carmen

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer,” she said. She didn’t need to read a Booty Call 101 textbook to sense his uneasiness.

  He shrugged and turned to her, peering at her with those gorgeous brown eyes yet still managing not to give away much. “Contracts help me keep things in perspective. I don’t want to disappoint anyone who’s thinking I’ll give them what I’m not interested in giving. I don’t lie, Lily. Besides, the confidentiality agreement ensures people won’t be writing things about me, or posting on social media.”

  She drummed her fingers on the marbled counter. Behind all that overconfidence lurked the fear of compromising, which was even worse than commitment. At least in bed, she mused inwardly, Marco was a giver. “Isn’t it boring, though? To know exactly how each of your relationships will evolve? Or in your case, not evolve?”

  He opened a drawer and fetched silverware. “Contracts may be the same, but people aren’t,” he said, and continued to fumble with plates and other appliances. Her father always cleaned when issues at the church worried him, or he needed a breather. He hated cleaning, so whenever she or her mother found him wiping the kitchen countertops or dusting the shelves, they knew something bothered him.

  “Truth. Why did you invite me to go on a trip and not one of your girlfriends?” she asked, her gaze following his movements even if he didn’t stop to answer.

  He grabbed the napkin holder and put it on the island. How many other objects would he move until she finished this conversation? “I did invite a girlfriend first. An ex. But she didn’t take to the idea of pretending we were engaged after only dating for a few months.”

  “Oh. Do you miss her?”

  “No,” he said without hesitation.

  The same way he won’t miss me when I’m gone. “Because you don’t get attached?”

  He produced a wine bottle from the fridge and opened it. “Because I knew what to expect.”

  She toyed with the fork he’d arranged in front of her. “I guess I see a point. I always hope for the best and sometimes get kicked to the curb. I thought I’d be with my first boyfriend Harry forever. But after three years together, he slept with this girl from work.”

  “He was an idiot. But his loss is my gain,” he said, filling two glasses of wine.

  “That’s right. A one-month gain,” she said, emphasizing the amount of time they’d have together—if not to him, to herself.

  He handed her a glass. “Cheers.”

  She enjoyed the straightforward light white wine with a fruity note. While he finished cooking the pasta, sautéing the shrimp and scallops in a sauce that teased her nostrils, she mused. Growing up, her parents always emphasized that sex was an act of love. Her father, more conservative, linked intercourse to marriage, family, commitment. Her mother thankfully, kept up with the times, but she still taught her one didn’t screw another without special feelings involved. Certainly not for money.

  They had a point, but why shouldn’t she find out for herself? If anyone could teach her a thing or two about walking on the wild side, Marco Giordano fit the bill. Hell to the yes.

  When he put a plate of angel hair pasta with shaved cheese and seafood in front of her, she breathed in the exquisite aroma. “This looks amazing.”

  He slid into the seat next to her, bringing his own plate. She never expected him to cook so well. She took bite after bite of the delicious dish, the spices and flavor scintillating in her mouth.

  “It tastes amazing.”

  He angled close enough that his breath brushed her hair, sending a gazillion thrills through her. “So do you.”

  To dispel the tension, she twirled a good amount of angel hair onto her fork and brought it to her mouth. She didn’t need to look at him to feel his gaze on her. She’d wrapped the sheet around her like a sarong, but now, as her chest rose and fell due to heavy breathing, the top suffocated her.

  She clumsily tried to veer the conversation toward current events and politics, a subject certain to cool things down. They happened to agree on a lot of stances, and now she wished they didn’t.

  Finally, she dabbed her mouth on the napkin after finishing the food. She turned her face to him, glad to see him done as well. “Thanks for doing all this,” she said, wondering if now would be a good time to put on her clothes and jet. She wanted to stay, but also had to be one step ahead of him to keep her feelings in check.

  Marco’s finger outlined the knot she’d made in the sheet. “You’re welcome. How about some dessert?” he asked, undoing the knot, and soon, the sheet swooshed away from her, leaving her completely naked on the stool. Bare.

  How in the world could she take a month of this without getting attached?

  Chapter Five

  Be ready at 5 p.m. I’ll pick you up.

  For the tenth time, Lily read the text message she had received earlier. She hadn’t seen Marco in three days, ever since she’d slept over his place. He’d told her he’d had an emergency business trip to the West Coast, and she completely understood. A man like him, super busy and wealthy, had to prioritize his career.

  Earlier that morning, she had just finished cutting an old client’s hair when her phone buzzed. A silly rush of excitement had traveled through her, and it made waves every time she remembered she’d see him again.

  She locked the shop’s door and slipped her phone into her bag. She had vacuumed and cleaned up her apartment just in case he stopped by. Sure, they weren’t in a legit relationship, but no reason not to tidy things up before a date. Or a meeting. Meeting was a safer word. A devil-dick appointment.

  She could have waited for him inside the shop, but it was too soon to meet him there again. They’d already engaged in sex in the supply room. Though she’d agreed to the conditions of their contract, and she’d done more with him than any other man, she didn’t want to make new memories with him in the place she’d keep forever. Letting go wasn’t in her DNA, and dealing with the images of him screwing her in the supply room was enough.

  Lily clutched her bag when she recognized him parking a Lamborghini in the lot. She drew in a breath and paced herself as she walked to him, to make sure he didn’t know how much she’d missed his body on hers. Missed him as if he had come into her life a lot earlier than the few days prior. Missed him like someone who hadn’t been fucked properly until she met Marco.

  He slid out of his car and opened the door for her. Dark denim jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt covered his sinfully sexy body. When she was within a few inches of him, she balked, unsure if she should shake his hand, kiss his mouth, or compromise with a hug. Her pulse fluttered at any of those options, and the idea of touching him sent a ball of heat rolling through her.

  “Ciao.” He closed the distance between them and deposited a kiss on her cheek. She parted her lips when he brushed his own on her flesh, needing so much more. The tips of her breasts throbbed, seeking a relief only he’d bring. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good. How was your trip?” she asked, and slid inside the car, the buttery leather seat caressing her skin. A heat moved through her chest, his nearness enough to tease the little hairs at the back of her neck.

  “Longer than expected,” he said, and started the engine.

  She worried her bottom lip to keep from babbling. He didn’t pay for an emotionally needy woman or for the girlfriend experience. He wanted good fucks without the baggage. In silence, she mused over those things again, despite the bargain she’d agreed to with him. She looked out the window, thankful for the hustle and bustle of everyday life distracting her from their non-conversation in the car.

  “You have your hair down,” he said. “Looks nice.”

  Driven by instinct, she touched the ends of her hair, which she had styled with the curling iron earlier. She didn’t mean to look like a freaking Disney princess, but ended up overdoing it. “I like to try new styles.”

  “I’m all for trying new things,” he said smoothly.

  God. Her nipples tingled, her breasts
feeling heavy and full. What the hell did that mean? They hadn’t tried anything she didn’t enjoy, but what if he took her to an orgy? What if he got his rocks off by watching her with another man?

  He drove by busy streets downtown, then a number of restaurants and clubs. When the car entered a parking garage, she decided it was time to know his plan. “Where are we going?”

  “You know how you stripped for me in my office and teased me about giving me a worthy performance? You said you’d even dance for me.”

  She cleared her throat. Sweet lord. Why had she said those things? “Yes.”

  “Now we’re going all the way.” Marco parked the car, then slid out and opened her door. “It’s a strip club,” he said, grinning.

  She withdrew. “Say what?” She’d never been to one but had seen them in the movies, and she’d heard stories. If he expected her to undress in front of a bunch of strangers, he’d better think again. No amount of money or family legacy would be enough for her to shred the last sliver of decency she had.

  He took her hand in his and gave her a light squeeze. “It’s not what you’re thinking. They also rent individual rooms. You’ll have your own pole, and I’ll be the only one watching.”

  Oh. “Why didn’t we do this back at your home?”

  “Because I fantasized about you taking your clothes off for me, rubbing yourself on a pole… Teasing me while I watch and stroke my cock.”

  Her clit throbbed, her walls drenching. “That’s a nice image.” She only hoped she could deliver. Her father always condemned tight or skimpy attire. She’d once been asked to try out for her high school’s cheerleader squad, but declined without even checking with Dad. Why waste her time?

  A large security man opened the door for them. The interior reminded her of a nightclub, with a few recessed lights shining down on the otherwise dark space. A blond woman dressed in a cherry-red minidress walked up to her with a key in her hand.

  “Hi.” She gave a small smile, looking at Lily. “I’m Dusty. You’ll come with me,” she said, then gave Marco the key. “Make a left and enter the first room.”

  Dusty made a gesture for Lily to follow her, and she did, after sharing a sideways glance with Marco. He didn’t seem fazed by the rules. Had he been here before? Her stomach tightened.

  Dusty strode with intent, making Lily straighten her shoulders and try to keep up the pace as they turned into a long hallway. A burgundy-colored carpet led the way, and on both sides there were doors, all of them closed.

  Lily expected to hear music, or people talking, yet she heard nothing. Tension built in her core, fast-tracking her cells, making her hot and bothered. Finally, Dusty came to a halt in front of the last room and opened the door. Sucking in a breath, Lily entered to find an area about the size of her salon, filled with packed shelves, a collection of hats, and numerous glitzy costumes hanging on the rack.

  A round, oversize mirror hung on the light purple wall, in front of a white vanity table. A wide range of curling irons, makeup items and—wait, was that body glitter?—crowded the surface.

  Dusty folded her arms, tapping the toe of her high heels on the floor. “Are we ready?”

  Was she? Apprehension clogged her throat, and she had to swallow to speak. “This is my first visit. What’s the deal?”

  “You can pick whatever costume or pieces of clothing you want to wear. Your boyfriend bought the platinum package, so you get to keep them, too. Then, feel free to use what you need to play the part. When you’re ready, open that door,” Dusty said, pointing at a door on the opposite side of the room. “He’ll be waiting for you on the other side. It’s a soundproof room.”

  Soundproof. The word rang in her head. A pang of relief loosened her limbs. At least no one would overhear them if, well, things escalated. She assumed if she stripped for him, he wouldn’t let her leave with just a smile and a handshake.

  “Do you have any questions?” Dusty asked.

  “No.” Of course, she had tons of questions, but obviously not enough time to ask them.

  Dusty nodded. “You have a good body and a nice pair of tits. When you’re done with him, consider coming back. We have a few regular strippers. They make a lot of money.”

  “Thanks,” she said, making an effort to smile. The thought of any man’s eyes or hands on her other than Marco’s didn’t appeal to her one bit.

  Dusty left, closing the door behind her.

  Lily approached the rack and skimmed the clothes, sliding her fingers on the material—some felt scratchy to the touch, like cheap Halloween getups. Others were silkier and softer. Each costume looked new or recently dry-cleaned. She picked the cheerleader one, chuckling. She searched for a Cat Woman or Harley Quinn outfit but didn’t find either.

  Gosh, she’d be here forever. She went through the other ones: the dominatrix, the vampire, the schoolgirl, the devil, the angel, the Playboy Bunny. She snorted. Not in this world would she squeeze herself into that glorified Spanx.

  A baby-blue outfit got her attention. Labeled on the tag as “Sexy Nymph,” it consisted of a cropped top with a golden trim, and a miniskirt in the same colors, with a sparkly sheer fabric in addition to the skirt. That’s how Marco made her feel—like a Sexy Nymph.

  She could choose something outrageous like Lady Gaga, but she preferred to be someone closer to herself, someone he, devil that he was, had created, or at least triggered.

  Squealing with excitement, she removed her clothes and folded them into a pile. She kept her G-string and bra, slid the top over her, then pulled on the skirt.

  One look at the round mirror confirmed she’d made the right choice. While she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this ensemble in public—unless she wanted to be arrested—it certainly worked for what she had in mind.

  She clasped the doorknob and twisted it. Her heart raced wildly when she stepped into the mysterious place. A sexy song caught her attention. “Slow Hands” by Niall Horan. A few different rays of colored light moved inside, all focused on the center stage. This room seemed a bit bigger than the one she’d just left, but still quite intimate. Even though a few chairs occupied the area under the podium, only one of them was occupied.

  Her pulse skittered.

  Marco sat in the chair like he owned the place. He shot her a look filled with desire and awe. She sashayed toward the small stage, keeping her gaze locked with his. A hot stirring shook her, and if she had no willpower, she’d run to him now and fuck him right away. But this little game turned out to be a great lesson for self-control.

  She slid her hand on the metal pole, the surface clean and shiny. She fisted it, like she wanted to do to his cock, moving up and down. It became hard to command her body to dance and make strategic movements when her insides roared for the man grinning at her. The man who had bought her.

  …

  I’m a bastard.

  Marco shouldn’t have brought Lily to this place, but hell, that made him a lucky bastard. He rocked back in his chair, fidgeting to keep from slapping out his dick and punishing it in front of her while he watched her dance.

  He had no idea what her costume was—didn’t matter. It could be an angel without wings, or a slutty Renaissance homage. The blue brought out her sparkling eyes, and the way the clothes fit her body drove him over the edge. Then she began to move, curling her leg around the pole, her delectable ass wiggling in tune with the song, and his cock strained in his pants.

  Dio. This woman was the sexiest, most fuckable one he’d ever met. Maybe she read his thoughts, or simply peered at his painful erection, for she added some pep to her dance, caressing her top. His gut clenched, and a bolt of lust pounded his veins.

  “Take it off,” he said curtly, disappointed by his lack of discipline. This should also be about giving her some control, showing her how hot she was, and how she should be proud of every inch of her body.

  She licked her lips seductively and writhed her hips against the pole, undulating them from side to side as she slowly slid
down the length to the floor. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you, big boy? But you’ll have to wait for everything you want to see, to touch, to fuck.”

  He cleared his throat. He almost parted his lips to apologize, but his desire for her upped his internal temperature so badly, he was afraid he’d just growl. Lily Jenkins brought out the caveman in him.

  “I’ll give you a little something,” she said, then took off the top.

  He wished she’d gotten rid of her bra, too, but the piece of lingerie barely contained her perfect breasts. She cupped them, pinching her nipples until they pebbled against the silky fabric, moaning. Oh, yes. He liked seeing her pleasure herself, touch herself as if he were doing it to her.

  She twirled around the pole, gaining more familiarity. He loved how her tits shifted every time she moved. Red stained her cheeks, making him wonder if she was feeling shy or if the sensual dance turned her on. By the way she moved and moaned, he’d bet she was as hot and bothered for him as he was for her. He preferred assuming she was hot for him, too.

  Oxygen nearly vanished from his brain. He needed some relief, otherwise he’d come in his damn pants. He unbuckled his belt and undid his zipper. He had gone commando to make things easier.

  He took his hard cock in his hand and stroked it. “Keep taking them off.”

  She peeled off her skirt, then her bra. All she had on was a sinful, sheer G-string.

  She teased him, sliding her fingers into her underwear then removing them. Like a little devil, she lowered the thin side of the G-string, winked at him seductively, then lifted it again, continuing her sassy routine.

  A dizzying sensation made him bob his head, as if he’d just been clocked. He blinked, determined to stay in the moment with the woman who socked air from his lungs. He’d visited enough strip clubs in his wild days to know Lily didn’t have the moves of a professional, which only made her more endearing. She could have said no, or straight-up screwed him on the spot, but she played along, moving that sensual body just for him.