Tramp (Hush Book 1)

by Mary Elizabeth

  With my hands on my hips, I say, “You’re going to make me carry you back, aren’t you?”

  Dog rolls onto his back and whines.

  “That’s it,” I grumble, scooping Dog from the ground to hold at my side like a football. I head back in the direction we came from, considering punting him like a football, too. “I’m making those posters as soon as we get back. You’ve officially overstayed your welcome. Never in my fucking life—”

  A woman pushing a stroller gives me a side-eye as we wait at a stop sign for our turn to cross the street. If this bitch isn’t careful, I’ll drop Dog into the stroller with her baby and run away. She won’t catch me, and that’ll teach her not to give strangers dirty looks.

  We’re about to step onto the crosswalk when a dark four-door sedan quickly approaches the intersection with no sign of slowing down. I see the car coming in time and pull the woman back before she steps directly in front of its path. The car blows the stop sign and turns onto the main street, scarcely missing another car as it speeds away. Dog barks and thrashes until I let him go, and the woman cries out, jerking her stroller away from the crosswalk.

  “Are you okay?” I ask with my heartbeat lodged in my throat.

  The woman doesn’t respond. Instead, she kneels beside the stroller and checks on her sleeping baby with an expression of utter panic on her face. Thankfully, the child didn’t stir during the commotion, and the woman rests her forehead on the side of the stroller to catch her breath. “Thank God you saw that car coming.”

  Dog runs after the car and I chase him down the street, catching his leash before he gets too far. His bark is so protective and vicious, I make the decision right away to scrap the Dog Found poster idea and keep him forever. He’s lazy as fuck, but he’s loyal.

  I watch the black sedan disappear down the street before I lift Dog back into my arms and scratch behind his ears, hoping to ease his nerves. He licks my face but stays alert, ready to pounce if anyone threatens me again.

  On the walk back to the apartment, I don’t pay attention to the birds in the sky or the color of the rosebushes. I can’t think of anything beyond the person behind the wheel of the black car.

  Naomi.

  Camilla’s filling the coffee maker with water when Dog and I return. Her hair is wet from a shower, soaking the back of her heather gray shirt as it drip-dries. She’s lit her candles and opened the windows to let in the sea breeze, and I’m impressed she’s bounced back so quickly.

  I set Dog down and say, “I need a favor.”

  She drops a pod into the coffee maker and closes the lid, looking at me skeptically. No doubt she’s questioning what in the world I could possibly need from her. “Of course.”

  Pulling my hair down from its ponytail, I start toward my bedroom and say, “The next time you talk to Inez, tell her we need to talk.”

  If Hush is in serious trouble, Inez has opted to keep me in the dark. She warned me not to seek her out, leaving me with no choice but to keep what happened with Naomi this morning to myself until Inez contacts me first. I have to believe she has my best interest in mind. Inez always has.

  Before my bath, I text Talent to let him know not to send a car for me.

  I’m coming to you, I text.

  If I can’t talk to Inez about Naomi’s attempted vehicular homicide, maybe I can confide in Talent.

  See you soon, baby, he types back.

  What does a girl wear to a lunch date with the most gorgeous man in the city when she plans to dump the other half of her story on his lap? Comfortable shoes in case Talent runs and I have to chase after him? A top that exposes a lot of cleavage to distract him from the tales of a modern-day call girl? Or maybe I’ll cover every inch of skin and hope he doesn’t judge me too harshly once he knows the entire truth.

  I decide on a casual black slip midi dress paired with a strappy heel, keeping it real while also dressed like a regular twenty-six-year-old girl. I wrap my hair around a large barrel curling iron for the perfect waves and choose a neutral eye shadow and bold red lip color.

  Camilla’s flipping through a magazine on the couch when I emerge from my bedroom. Her eyes shift from the tabloid, to me, to the tabloid, and back to me again. She wolf whistles as I walk through the living room, slipping hoop earrings through my ears.

  “Wow, Lydia. You are gorgeous,” she says.

  “I’m not working today,” I explain, which isn’t my style. But the incident with Naomi this morning left an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and Camilla should know I won’t be back for a while. “Talent’s taking me to lunch. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  “Did he stay here last night?” she asks over the back of the couch. “I thought I heard his voice this morning.”

  The last thing I want to do is speak on my personal life when I don’t have the answers myself. I slip my clutch under my arm and head to the door, hesitating before I leave.

  “Camilla, I don’t need to explain to you why we don’t talk to anyone about Hush, right? If you’re approached and asked about work, even by a potential client, you don’t know anything.”

  Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she replies, “I’d never say a word.”

  “Small talk with neighbors is one thing.” It’s clear as I struggle with basic human interaction, isolation is poisonous. I don’t want that for Camilla, but she’s chosen this life and she needs to proceed with caution. “Don’t let your guard down. If anyone asks too many questions or makes you feel uncomfortable, go to Inez or come to me right away.”

  “I know that,” she responds.

  “You can’t trust anyone, Camilla.” I open the door to see Yael waiting curbside. Maybe I need to take my own advice, but none of my self-imposed rules seem to apply anymore.

  “What about you?” Camilla calls after me. “Can I trust you, Lydia?”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Smith.” Yael offers his hand as I step into the back of his SUV, and he closes the door once I’m safely inside the vehicle.

  Yael is an older, dark-skinned man with thick freckles across his face and snow-white hair under his driving cap. Maybe it’s his age or his quiet demeanor, but I need a dependable driver to chauffeur me back and forth from my place to Talent’s, and Yael was the only logical choice.

  “I’m going downtown,” I say, buckling my seat belt. “The Ridge & Sons building, please.”

  Yael’s dark eyes meet mine through the reflection in the rearview mirror. “Is this just a drop-off, or would you like me to wait for you?”

  I shake my head, forcing myself not to break eye contact despite how wrong it feels to go against my own instructions. “Your discretion is of the utmost importance, Yael. I may be calling on you a lot more from now on. Your silence will be compensated handsomely.”

  He tips his hat and keeps his eyes on the road as he eases into traffic. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I text Talent, On my way.

  He replies shortly after, Come up to my office.

  Settling into the leather seat, I regard the neighborhood with new insight since my outing with Dog this morning, having walked the sidewalks with my own two feet and admired the well-maintained yards leading to the Victorian-style homes. Grand Haven’s rich with architectural heritage and shouldn’t only be experienced in the back of a vehicle.

  I pay close attention as we move toward the intersection where Naomi nearly ran me over. We’re three or four blocks from my apartment complex, which is far enough to consider this morning’s excitement a coincidence. She’s the type of person to disregard traffic laws, and maybe I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But in a city as large as Grand Haven, three or four blocks from my place of residence is too close for comfort. Especially if she’s involved with whatever trouble Hush is in.

  The Ridge & Sons building is stunning under the summer sky, reflecting the bright blue atmosphere off its mirrored surface. Unlike the last time I was here, heavy foot traffic comes in and out of the front doors. David Ridge ow
ns the entire property, but only half of the structure is dedicated to Ridge & Sons. The remainder of the office space is rented out to different businesses, and it’s two o’clock in the afternoon on a weekday. I won’t make it in unseen, and dressed like this, I won’t blend in.

  “You’ll hear from me soon,” I say to Yael as I step out of the Suburban.

  My heels tap on the tile floor as I walk through the lobby toward the elevators across the room. I find it ironic to be stared at like an anomaly despite my honest intentions. I am a prostitute, but I’m not here to trade sex for money. Yet, I’m openly judged because I left my hair down and dared to dress in something that accentuates the shape of my body.

  Slut, their eyes say.

  Whore, their cold shoulders scream.

  If I were here on behalf of Hush, I’d dress modestly to blend in, and they’d still stare and judge because beauty is intimidating. But envy feels quite different than blatant disdain.

  It’s hard being a woman.

  Beauty opens doors.

  Be happy. Smile more. Influence.

  But don’t overdo it.

  The female body is desirable, but don’t show too much skin because that’s dishonorable.

  Be sexy, but don’t be sexual.

  But don’t dress like a nun either because that’s weird.

  Fuck it all.

  “Hello,” I say to the same receptionist who welcomed me during my last visit. “I’m here to see Talent Ridge.”

  She greets me with the same generic smile I’m sure she’s trained to meet all visitors with, but her gaze sweeps down the length of my hair and over the neckline of my dress. Suddenly uncomfortable in her own clothes, the receptionist tugs on the end of her sleeves and clears her throat, never making eye contact.

  Looking at the schedule, she says, “Of course, Miss Montgomery. He’s expecting you.”

  Lingering for a moment outside his office, I reflect back on the first time I walked through these doors and consequently changed everything. I hadn’t known the collision of our worlds would result in the total undoing of my strict lifestyle, or that weeks later, I’d return to unmask my soul and hope he’d still accept me.

  Clearly, exposing my body is more tolerable than being emotionally vulnerable.

  Inhaling a full breath through my nose, I turn the door handle and step into the next part of my life.

  Talent’s office is as inviting and open as I remember. The scent of vanilla and oak instantly soothes worry stirring inside of me, cloaking my shoulders like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. He’s a silhouette in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, intently reviewing a thick document on his desk with the phone resting between his ear and shoulder.

  Eyes like granite look up and lose their hard edge, softening as he runs over me from head to toe. Talent sits back in his oversized chair and mouths you’re beautiful as I take a seat in one of the smaller chairs facing his desk. I cross my legs and swing my ankle back and forth, hoping the violent thrashing of my heart doesn’t shatter the glass windows.

  “Listen, I have to go. Can we finish this up later?” Talent says into the phone receiver. He watches my red-bottomed heel sway back and forth, hypnotized.

  Brushing the tips of my fingers along my collarbone, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and smile.

  Talent adjusts his posture and spreads his legs, scraping his hand through his gorgeous dark curls. “The file looks fine. I said I have to fucking go.”

  I gently slip the black silk over my knee, and up, up, up my thigh. Using my body to tease him nearly feels like I have the upper hand on the emotional storm building pressure within. I can communicate this way for hours, saying everything I need to tell him without uttering a single word.

  “Sounds great,” Talent says, scooting his chair up to his desk. Before he hangs up the phone, he says, “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “You must be really good at your job if you can talk to your clients like that,” I say, slowly moving my ankle in a circle motion.

  A few men in this city pay good money to be verbally abused by me, but Talent and I have quite a different clientele. I don’t imagine Talent’s clients appreciate being cursed at.

  Talent’s cheeks burn, and he clears his throat. “It was my brother.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, I ask, “What would your brother think if he knew I was here?”

  Talent’s lust-black eyes meet mine, and a mischievous smirk bends the corner of his mouth upward. I love to fuck this man, but the way he stares at me with deep-rooted intensity makes me want to use my words instead of my body. If he swears never to stop regarding me with such desire, I’ll recite the whole damn alphabet.

  I’ll prepare a fucking speech.

  “Want to find out?” Talent asks. “He’s down the hall.”

  I lick the corner of my mouth seductively and say, “That’s right. He has the better office.”

  Talent’s laugh fills the entire office space, and the sound has a direct link to my heart. My job is to make men grovel and moan. Sometimes I bring them to tears, but I always make them come. Laughter has never been on the list of things I bring out in a client, but Talent laughs effortlessly and often when we’re together.

  Talent isn’t a client.

  Talent is everything else.

  “Do you want to go to lunch?” he asks. Good humor lingers in his easygoing posture and sly smile.

  “Nope.”

  “We can order in.”

  “No.” I uncross my legs and part my knees to show him I’m not wearing underwear.

  He drops his head back and groans flirtatiously, swallowing hard before returning his eyes to me. “What do you want to do?”

  Recrossing my legs, I say, “A redo.”

  Talent rolls his chair back until it bumps into the window with the Pacific Ocean background. He holds his arms out to his sides like a dare, and his expression says I’m all yours.

  “Are you expecting more visitors this afternoon?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No one comes in here unless they knock first.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  My dress strap slides down my shoulder, but I don’t correct it as I slowly saunter over to his side of the desk. I rest against the edge in front of Talent, not unlike the first time we were together in this exact same spot. The time of day, the movement of the sea, and our impending relationship is not where the differences end. As much as I would enjoy lying back on the desk to allow him to have his way with me, I don’t straddle his lap to speak dirty words into his ear like the last time either.

  I drop to my knees and slide my hands up his thighs to his belt buckle.

  Talent scrubs his palms over his face and whispers, “Baby.”

  Glancing at him from under my eyelashes, I feel powerful in this position. Talent may sit above me, but I’m in control despite my place on the floor. He’s hard against the inside of his pants, melting into his chair and opening his knees wider for me when I lean in closer to unbuckle his belt. With the flick of my wrist, his pants are unbuttoned, and I’m slow to unzip him.

  “It would be really embarrassing if anyone walked in while we’re doing this.” I hook my fingers under the waistband and pull his slacks down.

  Talent’s cock jumps free, and I lick the tip.

  He picks up his desk phone and presses a few buttons before stating in an impressively calm voice, “If anyone calls, I’m out of the office.”

  Holding his manhood in my hand, I work him up and down, up and down. “Should I get up and lock the door?”

  Talent watches me through hooded eyes and with reddened cheeks. “Don’t you fucking dare walk away from me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. I push my hair over my left shoulder, cross my ankles, and blow on the tip of his dick before taking him all the way into my mouth.

  I’m instantly obsessed with the way Talent’s head drops back and his chest rises and falls as he struggles
not to moan too loudly. He tenses but relaxes all at once, holding on to the back of the chair and then the armrests like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

  Sucking cock has never been something I like to do, so I learned tricks to make it end quickly. But with Talent, I find myself wanting to draw it out for as long as possible. I want to memorize the way his lips part, the movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, and how he slowly blinks.

  I lick the underside of his shaft while pushing the head of his dick against the roof of my mouth, gripping the base of his length in my hand. His hips thrust up, driving him deeper into me, and I take it again and again. I feel him contract between my lips, and the taste of cum touches my tongue.

  As much as I hate for this to end, if he’s ready, I can give him the best fucking experience he’s ever had. Holding the head of his cock between my lips, I push the tip of my tongue into the soft spot where the head meets the shaft and wait for him to moan before taking as much of him in as I can.

  Talent’s hand slides behind my neck into my hair, and I prepare to have my mouth fucked. Experience tells me this is never gentle, so anticipation makes my eyes water and my mouth fills with saliva.

  “Slow down,” he says in a husky tone. “Go slower, Lydia.”

  Breathing in slowly through my nose, I close my eyes and swallow around his length. My heart hammers loud enough to echo through my ears, and my knees start to ache on the hardwood floor.

  Talent’s thumb rubs softly at my temples. He says, “Look at me.”

  I open my eyes to find him staring down at me with the kind of sincerity that erases any discomfort I suffer, leaving only tenderness. The dark and lovely look in his eyes carries me away, and I slow down like he asks. He doesn’t break eye contact from me again, carefully guiding my mouth up and down his length. His fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck, and his thumbs rub small circles behind my ears.

  Intimacy feels like I’d die without him here.

  Standing to my feet, I hitch my dress over my waist and straddle his legs. Talent grips my bottom and scoots me over his lap, where his cock slides into me with ease. Holding on to the back of the chair, my hair acts like a curtain between us and everything else. I gasp against his mouth and circle my hips in a slow figure eight, certain this won’t be long for either one of us.