Tramp (Hush Book 1)

by Mary Elizabeth

  I laugh out loud. “That’s bullshit.”

  Talent pops the top from our bottle and pours us each a finger, smiling and nodding. “I saw it when you bolted from my office and again when you ran from the coffee shop last week.”

  “I didn’t run.”

  He winks and holds his glass up. “Let’s make a toast.”

  Contemplating the drink and how my laugh slackened the onslaught unease unleashed upon me, I take my glass and hold it close to his and say, “I’ll have one drink.”

  “You won’t regret it.”

  “What should we toast to?” I ask.

  “To that motherfucker Phillip Vogel. Without him, I’d never have found you.” Talent lifts his glass. He smirks. “He’s still a dead man.”

  Twelve-hundred-dollar whisky goes down as smooth as Talent’s charm. One promised drink turns into three, and I’ve tied my hair up and taken my jacket off as the temperature in the bar rises. Our conversation is mostly one-sided with Talent doing all the talking. He doesn’t mind, even pulling his chair to my side of the table as the bar fills up just like he said it would.

  He speaks over the commotion and serves himself twice as many drinks as I’ve had.

  “My brother, Wilder, is the responsible son. He’ll take over the business once my dad steps down,” he rambles, going on and on about people I’ll never know and a business I don’t understand.

  I hang on to every word, not necessarily to understand what he’s talking about, but to memorize the way his lips move around each syllable and to hear how his tone changes when he’s curious, excited, and happy. He talks with his hands and shoulders, expressing just as much through body language and swagger as his voice.

  Talent Ridge is all whisky eyes and whisky smiles. He slides his hand across the back of my chair, and it’s easy to pretend I’m not a prostitute and he doesn’t merely want to pay me for sexual favors. I suppose this is what it’s like to be out with a friend, but it’s hard to place myself in this setting without motives attached. Even if this feels real, I know it’s not.

  “Is that why you’re here with me?” I ask once he’s done giving multiple examples as to why Wilder is a better son and brother than he is. “Because you don’t think you’re as good as your older brother? It doesn’t sound like he’d ever be caught dead with an escort in public, but maybe it’s almost expected from you.”

  He shakes his head, turning his gaze away bashfully. “It’s not like that, Lydia. He’s not entirely good, and I’m not the defiant son who’s suffocating under my father’s watchful eye. We’re not the normal family everyone seems to think we are. Wilder just happens to follow the rules better than I do.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy,” I say, sliding my empty glass toward the bottle for a refill.

  “Now that you mention it, you two are a lot alike in that no-sense-of-humor type of way.” He smirks, serving me another drink.

  Jabbing my finger at him, I say, “That’s where you’re wrong. A particularly good sense of humor is a must in my line of work. Some of the most influential men in Grand Haven are absolutely pathetic behind closed doors. Nothing shocks me.”

  Talent slouches in his seat with his knees parted, resting his hand on my thigh while I give him a very quick rundown on how I conduct business. My bra strap slips down my shoulder, and my long fringe falls loose in my eyes. At the other side of the bar, the band sets up their equipment, checking the drum kick and whispering, “Testing, testing,” into the microphone.

  “What did you think about me?” Talent asks. There’s not a tinge of skepticism in his tone, only genuine interest about the first time we met.

  Using booze as a buffer between us, I take a small swallow before answering. “To be honest, I went to your office with the same expectations I have for every client: none at all. You’ll be surprised to learn that everyone’s offices look exactly the same—neutral color on the walls, large desks, and furniture that gets uncomfortable pretty fast.”

  “Basically, the Ridge & Sons waiting room.”

  “After a while, every office and every client starts to blend together. They’re different squares in different buildings around the city, but the people inside want the exact same thing. I used to be able to get through my week because it’s so mundane.”

  “What happened?”

  I stare at his lips before capturing his eyes and admit, “You happened.”

  “Can you tell me how it works? Don’t escorts get paid to … escort? I had the impression escorts accompany older men to work functions and vacations to show off to their friends.”

  Chuckling, I say, “I’m more hands-on.”

  “Women solicit themselves to me all the time,” he says conversationally without ego.

  “In Grand Haven, they’re definitely one of Inez’s girls. She has a monopoly from here to San Francisco. I’m the only one who works the way I do, but I don’t leave the city. Everyone else is free to roam.”

  An image of Camilla flashes through my mind. If she’s determined to live this lifestyle, showing her how I managed to make it this far is the kind thing to do. I know from experience that if she’s left to her own devices, it’ll only be a matter of time before she finds herself in the company of someone who won’t take her safety into consideration. Inez sees possibility in the girl, and I have to respect her instinct. She let me use her as a stepping-stone, after all.

  Motioning between Talent and me, I say, “I don’t do this with clients. The only reason you have access to me is because I dropped my phone in your office. But nothing concerning you has been routine, and it drives me fucking insane.”

  Conversation around us rises in volume, getting louder, like the humming of bees as the bar fills to capacity. Talent and I gravitate toward one another, with my leg pressed against his and his arm draped entirely across the back of my chair. I hover somewhere between resting into his side and maintaining an illusion that I’m not drunk and in total control, thank you very much.

  Our faces wait inches apart. Up close, I can see the whispering of freckles across his cheeks and the different shades of gray in his irises. The woodsy aroma of whisky hangs on his lips, and it takes every bit of restraint I have not to lick it off.

  Talent closes the space between us and whispers into my ear, “At least you finally admit it.”

  Chills run down my arms, and I shiver as his warm breath caresses the side of my face. Talent studies my reaction to him, and a low moan rumbles in his chest. Then his mouth is on my burning skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses from the top of my shoulder to the spot where my pulse sails in his honor. I tilt my head to the side, giving Talent permission to continue. My eyes slowly fall shut as his tongue touches my skin, leaving behind the whisky’s sting as he moves closer and closer to my mouth.

  “You’re the fucking devil,” he says over my lips.

  I finally lick his mouth like I’ve wanted to all night to show I don’t disagree with him. What we’re doing is straight evil.

  Whisky tastes better on his lips than it does coming out of a glass. I decide it’s the only way I’m going to taste it for the rest of the night. Anything else is a sad comparison. I don’t know if it’s Talent or the liquor, but this is the best I’ve felt since … since he kissed me last week.

  The bar lights turn down and the stage lights shine bright, showcasing the three-person band on stage. Everyone stands to their feet to clap and whistle as the singer strums his guitar right before the drummer fills every inch of this place with deep claps and percussion.

  Everyone except Talent and me.

  We can’t be bothered to break free from the spell we’re under. I’m hypnotized by the way my top lip fits between both of his and how large his hand feels against the side of my face. He’s mesmerized by my gift of persuasion—my ability to make men adore me, attainable only by paying up. Talent might think his interest is genuine, but it’s not. I’m a sex symbol. A fantasy to distract men from their boring lives. An escape.
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  I am the devil.

  We’re playing a dangerous game out in the open. Until he figures it out, I don’t mind participating.

  Even if there’s a small part of me that wishes this were real.

  “Dance with me,” Talent says. He leans his forehead against mine with his palm resting against the back of my neck.

  I’d rather stay right here and get drunk on his lips, but I nod in agreement and allow him to lead me away from our table. He pushes himself through the crowd toward the front of the small stage, where the music becomes impossibly louder. A bead of sweat drips down the hollowness of my lower back, and my skin glows under the warm lights. I let my hair down, shaking it loose through my fingers.

  Other couples dance beside us, while the rest of the audience moves from side to side with the bluesy rock beat.

  Talent smiles down at me, placing his hands on my sides. A sheet of rock breaks away from my protected heart, nearly dropping me to my knees. Instead, I lift my arms over my head and move my hips to the melody. Talent’s palms slide up to my arms to circle them around his neck, pulling me closer. He doesn’t dance as much as he watches me dance for him. I turn in his embrace, pressing my back against his chest and swaying.

  Hair sticks to my face, and the heat rises hopelessly higher as more and more people join us on the dance floor. The band sings a sultry rendition of a song about a lonely queen without her king. And like the lyrics were written just for us, Talent takes my hand and spins me on the part about wondering where the other has been all their life.

  He secures me with an arm across my back, holding my hand with his free one near our faces like a first dance at a wedding. We step in circles, not caring who we bump into or step on, or if we’re on beat. We’re tender smiles and small touches. Talent and I may as well be the only people in the bar, accompanied by tempo and tune.

  This goes on until the band announces they’re taking a break and the room starts to clear, making way for cooler air.

  “Want to go outside?” Talent asks. He pushes my sweaty bangs out of my face.

  “God, yes,” I say.

  We exit a side door to an alleyway just off the main street where the entrance to the bar faces. The scent of cigarette smoke mingled with salt from the ocean only miles away fills my lungs, and I inhale deeply, falling against the side of the brick building to cool down. We’re alone, but I can hear voices nearby just around the corner.

  I tie my hair back up, but Talent pulls the clip from my hair and tosses it over his shoulder.

  “You have no fucking idea how sexy you look with your hair like that,” he says. He rests his hand on the wall beside my head and leans into me to kiss my swollen-from-kissing-all-night lips.

  Heat radiates from under his button-up. Fuck cooling down when he offers this kind of warmth. His sweat tastes like a dream.

  Pushing himself against me, I gasp when I feel how badly he wants me. I rake my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull his bottom lip between my teeth until he groans. Even in my heels, Talent stands taller than me. Climbing the length of his body crosses my mind before he lifts me from under my bottom like I weigh nothing at all. My skirt rides up as I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles around his hips.

  “Can you be quiet?” he asks, brushing his lips along my jaw.

  “Yes,” I say breathlessly.

  The truth is, I don’t know if I can keep quiet. It’s not an issue when I’m with clients in a professional setting because there’s no emotion on my side. The act I put on while my regulars take advantage of their time with me is for their satisfaction. They like the idea that it’s hard for me to keep my cries of pleasure contained because their staff is right outside the door. Secrecy and sneaking around add to their desire, because who doesn’t get off on the potential of ruining everything they’ve worked for?

  This isn’t like that. This is irrepressible lure. We can’t be the first couple to fuck in this alleyway, not when the drinks are so good, and the atmosphere is so sexy. The music is too smooth, and the dance floor is too small. When hot bodies are this drunk and this close together, couples are bound to sneak away to handle pent-up sexual tension.

  “What are you doing to me?” Talent whispers before crushing his mouth against mine.

  I go back on my word right away, crying out against his kiss when his tongue parts my lips and his length strokes against my center. He chuckles against my mouth, and his enjoyment is my favorite sound. I hold his face between my hands to get more and press my lips against his wicked smile, touching genuine happiness for what feels like the first time in my life.

  “We can go back to my place,” he says, dragging his lips down my throat. Talent thrusts against me, twisting me tighter and tighter like a rope about to break.

  “You can wait that long?” I ask, coming undone one string at a time.

  Sex in an alleyway with a face as recognizable as Talent’s is something I should take into consideration, but I finally understand the appeal of playing with fire. I’m hanging by a thread when I reach between us to unfasten Talent’s slacks. There’ll be nothing slow or quick about this. Going by the smoldering look in his eyes, he’s about to break alongside me.

  There’s no going back once he’s in my hand. Talent’s entire body shudders against mine, and I can’t get my underwear moved over fast enough to welcome him inside of me. He stretches me to the hilt, and we collapse into each other as we’re overcome with relief. Resting my forehead on his shoulder, I inhale the scent of his skin and absorb his soothing energy before the rest of my body reminds me of what we’re doing.

  Rolling my hips, I don’t make the same mistake twice and watch Talent’s cock move in and out of me. I slide my hand between us and feel it, circling my grip around the base of his manhood.

  He’s slick with my yearning, growing harder within each thrust.

  “Shhh,” he shushes into my ear, attempting to quiet sounds I have no control over.

  My shoulders burn, scratching against the rough brick wall as he drives into me. My entire back will bruise, but nothing can stop me from tightening my legs around Talent’s and dropping my head back to watch the stars erupt in the night sky—or behind my closed eyes.

  Talent cups his hand over my mouth to muffle my cries as the rope finally snaps in an explosion of threads and fibers. The contrast between the cold air entering my lungs as I gasp against his hand and the warmth erupting through my body creates a storm that nearly wipes me out as I unravel in a brutal spin.

  “Fuck,” Talent groans, dropping my face into the curve between my neck and shoulder. He shortens his thrusts as he comes inside of me, and I bite the inside of his palm to make damn sure I’m not alone in this painful bliss.

  Cool ocean air turns frigid against my hot skin, but I don’t know if I’ll ever not be this hot again as embers from the combusting sky trickle down on me. My skin prickles like my lungs, and I want to dissolve. Is it possible to stand on my own two feet after coming apart like that? How can Talent? Or are we just holding each other up?

  He doesn’t soften inside of me, but Talent corrects himself despite my whimper of protest.

  “Do you want to stand?” he asks.

  “Not yet,” I reply honestly.

  I cling to Talent, and he kisses me softly as the heat in my cheeks turns down. I’m weak in his arms, sated and drunk all at once. Following his lead, I concentrate on the leveling of his breath and the calming of his heart’s beat until I too am level and calm. With my cheek on his shoulder, I rub circles on the back of Talent’s neck with my thumb and blink as my vision clears.

  A silhouette with a flashlight shines a light on us from the end of the alley. Talent doesn’t take his eyes off me as I stand on my own, and he keeps me steady with a hand on my elbow.

  “Clear out, folks,” the silhouette calls. He and his light disappear around the corner, leaving Talent and me under the stars that didn’t explode after all. It was only me.
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br />   “Do you want to go home?” Talent asks.

  I don’t shy away from meeting his intense stare. It’s for me. It’s all mine. At least for the night.

  Shaking my head, I say, “Not yet.”

  Talent tucks me into his side with his arm protectively over my shoulders, and we saunter back into the bar like we own the place. The band’s on stage, but we listen from our table, where I sit on Talent’s lap and we share liquor straight from the bottle. The concept of time escapes me, and any thoughts other than the immediate moment are fleeting.

  “How long is this going to go on for?” I ask over the music.

  Talent looks at his watch, heavy-lidded and flushed. “They should wrap up pretty soon. Want to order another bottle before last call?”

  He holds our bottle of liquor by the neck and swishes the last few ounces around. I’ll die if we order another bottle, but that’s not what I meant, and he knows it.

  Talent Ridge is a bad motherfucker.

  He’s casual in his expensive button-up and slacks, worn haphazardly like they don’t cost more than what this bar makes in a night. Sitting with the prettiest girl in the room on his lap, knees spread, drunk, and fucked, he’s nothing like the stiff pictures online decipher. Stoic business magazine covers, and a bulletproof reputation don’t leave room for kindness and cool. To the outside world, he’s strictly professional and unconcerned with his bachelor status.

  Inside the six inches between our faces, Talent’s the kind of guy who makes a slut feel like a queen.

  “I like spending time with you, Lydia. But I’m not fucking paying for it,” he says. Talent licks his lips.

  Dropping my forehead to his, I admit …

  Since when does the sound of my alarm sound like a lumberjack cutting through my head with a chainsaw?

  Covering my eyes in the nook of my elbow, I turn from my side to my back and press my lips together as fire lights up my esophagus. Dog jumps onto the bed beside me and licks my hand and nuzzles me with his nose. I wave him away and sit up, flinching against the throbbing in my temples. I knock over a glass of water from my nightstand, curse, and slam the snooze button down on the clock.