by A. E. Murphy
“I can’t put a price on you. I’m so desperate to fuck you I’d give you everything I own.”
I believe him too.
For that, I pull my thong to the side to show him the delicate folds of the thing he desires. The chill that catches me as I uncover myself only proves that even though I hate the situation that I’m in, it’s getting me off and making me wetter than last time.
I’m sick in the head.
“How many men have touched you there?” He asks quietly, still staring. “How many men have tasted you?” Slowly, inch by inch, he leans forward and, when he’s a few inches away, he blows a slow yet strong breath onto me. It makes me pulse, tense and quiver. That feels surprisingly good. He leans back again as I bring my leg down. “I’ll pay you a thousand to answer the question honestly.”
Leaning back, I grab the pole and start to move against it. “Just one.”
“I want the truth,” he snaps, pulling out his wallet. He clearly came prepared because he places a handful of notes onto the bench by his side.
My leg extends and I twist around, wrapping them both around the pole. I pull myself up carefully and relax back. My hips and thighs pull as nothing but my thighs grip the pole. I stretch out towards the Duke. “That is the truth.”
His lips thin to a white line. “I’ll give you two thousand to be honest with me.”
“My answer isn’t changing, my Lord Duke.” Rolling my body upwards, I grab the pole again and slide down, turning as I go.
“Three thousand.”
“Does it matter how many men have touched me?”
“No, but you shouldn’t simply tell me what I want to hear.”
“I wasn’t, my Lord Duke.” I drop to my feet and pick the tie up from the ground. Silver eyes desperately claw over my body as I reach behind my back to unsnap my bra. Then I throw that at him as well. I move the tie over my breasts and stomach. “Do you believe me?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“Four thousand for you to tell me the truth.”
The tie circles around my nipple, making it pucker and solidify before his eyes. I then hang it around my neck and tie it correctly. “I told you the truth three thousand ago.”
“I won’t judge you.”
I move to straddle him, trapping his hands under my calves. The tip of the tie brushes over his face as I move down and hover only an inch over his lap, making sure not to touch. “You’re judging me already.”
“How?”
“You assume that because of my choice of profession and because of the way I look that it’s impossible for me not to have slept with more than one person.”
He clamps his mouth shut. I’ve nailed him.
I wish I could nail him.
“You’re married?” His fingers twitch beneath my legs.
I laugh a little and tap his nose with the tie. “So nosy.”
“You’re a mystery. I don’t like it. I want to know everything about you.”
“You’re used to getting what you want.” I roll my hips, gently brushing against his lap. His head rolls back and a gasp leaves him. “But you won’t have me or my secrets.”
“I’ll buy them from you.”
Sighing dramatically, I reach behind me and find the pole again. “But then I won’t interest you.”
The pole is only 2 feet away. My body turns carefully. I don’t want to kick my client as I manoeuvre my way into this new position.
“Fuck,” he hisses when I’m finally sitting backwards on his lap, my arse on his thighs only inches from the place he wants me the most. “You’ll always interest me.”
“Men say such pretty things to entice.” I lower my front, keeping myself balanced by holding the pole and slowly I raise my rear in the air.
“I want to touch you.” He shifts in his seat and I hear the tell-tale sound of a zipper being pulled down. “Higher, I want to look at your cunt as I fuck my own hand.”
I acquiesce, raising my hips and keeping my front low. He groans and I see that he has exposed himself. His cock is as big as it was last time and so thick. I want to wrap my lips around it. I don’t care which lips.
“Your thong is wet. You’re ready for me.” His voice is hoarse and deep. I can see his hand moving slowly up and down his length. It’s hot. So hot. “Play with yourself.”
My stomach twists and churns in the best and worst way. I want to play with myself. I want to release the tension twisting inside of me, burning me alive with pleasure and lust.
So I lie.
I can’t cross that line again.
This is nothing more than a game. A means to an end.
“If I let go of the pole, I’ll fall.” I state, though I can in fact hold myself like this one handed for quite some time.
“I just want to get on my knees and take you from behind. It would be so easy.” He moans and I see his hand pick up the pace. I love the way he loosens his grip as he strokes the head of his cock before tightening his grip on the journey back down to the thick base. “I want to see you. All of you.”
“How much would you pay me to remove my thong?” I lean up and twist so he can see my eyes.
“One thousand.”
“This is becoming an expensive date.” I smile. He can hear it in my voice; I know this because he returns it, still rubbing his swollen length. I want to tame it. I want to touch it. I’m going to need counselling after this. “How much would you pay for me to let you remove my thong?”
His hand stills on his cock and his eyes come to mine. “Do I get to keep it?”
“Of course.” He empties his wallet onto the bench and throws that down too. I hate this. I hate the money side of this. Which begs the question, why do I do this? For the money? Or for the thrill?
Do I even know anymore?
“I give you permission to remove my thong.” I lower my front and wait as he raises his hands. “But…” I add and see his hand stop only inches from me. I wriggle a little and my arse cheek taps his hovering fingers. “You’re only allowed to touch the satin and nothing else. If you touch me, I pull away.”
“A game… I like it.” He chuckles a little. “Will you buzz if I touch the sides?”
I lift and twist again. “Do you want to play or not, my Lord Duke?”
“Feisty. I like your fire.”
I roll my eyes back to the pole and lower myself once more.
I feel his fingertips brush over the top band of satin. They pluck at the fabric gently, teasing to see how tight it is. I lower my head and see his cock completely abandoned, pointing straight at my face. It’s still rock solid but when full is too thick and heavy to stay pointing at the ceiling.
My body jolts when I feel the tips of two fingers touch the satin that covers the bare mound below my navel. At first I think he’s going to pull my thong down, but then I feel his fingers scrape from mound to clit and a zap of pleasure pings through my body like fireworks in a dark sky.
I sexually awaken and tremble all over.
Just one touch.
That’s all it took for me to groan like a sex-deprived woman. “That’s not allowed.”
“I didn’t touch beyond the satin,” he states devilishly and I want to slap that smug look off his face before I make him eat me. “That was the deal.”
“The deal was for you take off my underwear without touching.”
“Oh, I must have misheard.” He pushes two strong fingers against my clit again.
“You’re crossing a line,” I say and a spasm so strong I almost can’t breathe rips through me when he starts to circle my swelling nub with his fingers. The soft satin only amplifies the feel of it. “Stop…”
He stops, though the hand on his cock moves up and down almost violently. “You don’t want me to stop.”
“No,” I tell him truthfully. “But I need you to.”
Pinching the fabric that shields my entrance, he begins to pull my thong away and down, revealing my drenched sex to his viewing plea
sure. And pleasure he takes.
“You have the most perfect little…” He grunts and shifts up in his seat to get a closer look. “I want you to touch me again. I need you to touch me again.”
“No.”
“Please,” he begs, furiously pumping himself to the sight of me.
“No,” I repeat through gritted teeth.
“FUCK!”
Hearing him come undone at the mere sight and thought of me makes me want to cry with frustration. I hate labelling anyone such vulgar names but at this point in time, I’m nothing but a wanton whore and my brother in law is my victim.
Hopefully he’ll tire of me.
Something tells me my hopes are pointless and I’ll be seeing him again soon enough.
“I need you. Let me have you.” He states and I see him sit on his free hand. “I’ll give you anything. Fucking anything.”
I stay silent, scared to speak because I might say yes.
“God,” he murmurs and grips the base of his cock with a tight hand. His following grunts are quiet but powerful. I feel them as well as hear them. I watch his legs tense and quiver and his hips threaten to buck as his seed spurts onto the leather bench and floor.
I’ve never been so sexually frustrated in all of my life.
We remain as we are, suspended in time, listening to nothing but the sound of his heaving chest.
“I still want to touch you. My desire isn’t sated,” he admits and his hand drifts slowly up my thigh, without touching, only floating across the surface of my skin.
I move to stand but his finger hooks around my thong that is still around my thighs. “You owe me this thong.”
“You’ll get it,” I respond, wanting nothing more than to rush home and fuck the one man I’m allowed, though my guilt suddenly outweighs my lust when I realise my sinful intentions. I was about to return home and fuck my husband while pretending he was another man. It doesn’t get more twisted than that.
Stepping out of my fallen underwear, I rest back against the pole and watch as the Duke straightens himself and fixes his tie. Again, like the last time, he doesn’t look at me.
He scoops up his empty wallet, stuffs it into his trousers and, without a word, he strides out of the room and lets the door shut behind him.
“FUCK!” I yell and look for something to throw, but find nothing as there’s nothing in here that could be deemed unsafe to the client and the slut. The slut being me.
‘No hard feelings. As promised, keep the ninety percent.
Rick X’
Is written on a piece of paper and stuck to the mirror in my dressing room.
I take it from the mirror and toss it into the bin.
Max has finally gotten a new job at the train station; he’ll be a security guard on the platform at night. This is amazing news for me because now we’ll have more time together in the days and he’ll be less likely to find out what I actually do for a living. I also feel like this may be the work of a certain new family member that Max seems to have adopted.
A certain family member that I have been going to great lengths to avoid for the past week as he and Max have met twice now and seem to be hitting it off great. Max is constantly in a good mood.
Unfortunately for me, we’ve been formally invited.
Formally.
By invitation and everything....
We’re supposed to attend a dinner hosted by Elijah Graham George Henderson and his wife, Penelope Sarah Henderson.
Yes… Penelope. I didn’t realise that name actually existed beyond TV and books.
I should just kill myself now to save God the trouble of smiting me for being a backstabbing, two faced, home wrecking slut.
I wince at the thought. For one, I’m not a big believer in God and two, after what Max did to himself, I shouldn’t joke about committing suicide. For now I’ll keep living and stop being so dramatic.
Speaking of living, I’m heading to an estate agent to take a look at the houses for sale. It’s pretty useless as I don’t have the money to buy one yet and I won’t for a while, but a girl can window shop.
The houses in and around York are beautiful. I love the fact that the city and surrounding areas have kept so much of their history.
Max: I just got off the phone with Wilson. They’re bringing the dinner forward by an hour. I said it’s fine.
Olivia: It is, I took the night off work as you know.
Max: I’m looking forward to it.
Olivia: Good. :-)
Max: Where are you? What time are you going to be home? I hate waking up to an empty house.
Olivia: I’m just at the estate agents around the corner, looking at houses we can’t afford.
Max: Want me to meet you?
Olivia: No, I’m coming back now.
Max: Okay. We need milk and sugar.
I look at the bag by my side and smile.
Olivia: I beat you to the punch.
I head home, bag in hand, and inhale deeply. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Not that anyone can blame me for that. Actually, I suppose they could. I just don’t know how I’m going to handle seeing a client’s wife up close and personal. What if she expects us to be friends?
I’m a good actress, I always have been. I can handle this. I can fake it.
I want to cry.
Now I have an hour less to prepare myself mentally.
Taking a calming breath, I trudge home and find Max on the couch in his boxers and dressing gown, watching some TV series. He smiles and blows a kiss at me as I pass him and place the milk into the fridge and tip the sugar into the sugar container.
“Your nose is pink,” he says just as I rub the cold tip on my sleeve to try and bring feeling back to it. “It’s so fucking adorable.” His arms wrap around me from behind and his lips place gentle kisses on my neck. “We should get you a warmer coat.”
“I don’t think a coat is going to keep my nose warm.”
His lips smile against my skin as his hands wander up and down my body and our hips sway together where they’re joined. “I hate waking up and you not being here.”
“You’ll get over it.”
He tenses at the bite to my tone, as do I. I shouldn’t have spoken to him like that; he didn’t deserve it. I’m letting my stress turn on him. “Wow, bitch alert.” Pulling away, he moves back to his space on the couch. “Are you due on?”
“Fuck you,” I joke and throw the empty cotton bag at him. Using reusable fabric tote bags is my way of being good to the environment. “I’m just tired. All of these late nights are finally catching up with me.” I sniff unattractively. It’s fake but I’m hoping I can weasel my way out of this. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Don’t,” he snaps, turning on the couch to glare at me. “Don’t you dare cancel.”
“Babe…”
“No. I’m serious, Liv. Don’t you dare fucking cancel.”
“I won’t.” I turn away from him so he can’t see my scowl. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“I’ve known you since we were thirteen, Liv. That’s exactly what you were doing.” He winks, signifying that there are no hard feelings between us.
He probably simply thinks that I’m anxious.
“Come here.” He pats his lap, his body facing the TV again.
“In a minute.” I pull my phone from my pocket as I move towards the chest of drawers on the far side of the room. “I need to figure out what to wear. I can’t relax until I know what I’m wearing.”
“Wear a dress.” He wags his brows at me.
That’s not a bad idea. Normally I’d be opposed to wearing dresses but I have this knee length, black and white tunic dress that I haven’t worn for a while. It does nothing for my figure. It buries me, makes me look frumpy.
“Sure.” I rummage through the bottom drawer, grab the dress and clear the surface of the glossy drawers.
“Need the iron?” He must be excited; he’s actually making an effort to help me
without me having to prompt him.
“Of course.”
Penelope is exactly how I imagined her to be. Perfect, prim, proper, blonde, blue eyes, manicured nails. She’s a piece of fucking art in her designer dress and shoes I’d kill for, although, in my opinion, she seems to be too skinny on an unhealthy level. Women of all shapes and sizes are beautiful. She is beautiful, but an inch of fat on her legs wouldn’t hurt at all.
She is also surprisingly friendly when she greets us with kisses to each cheek and warm hugs. I’m not going to lie, I had a preconceived notion that she’d be a stuck up prissy bitch. I hate myself for being judgemental.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you! Elijah has told me so many things. I just apologise that I couldn’t be here for your initial meeting,” she says. Her accent has a slight American finish to it though it’s posh, through and through.
Definitely ‘high-born’ as the Duke once said to me during our first meeting in the whore house.
“You too, he said you were in New York?” Max asks, his accent not hiding the fact that he was born and raised in York.
“I was in Florida. New York was last October,” she clucks good-naturedly and leads us into the same room that we were led into by Elijah’s assistant. “Please, make yourselves at home. Shall I call for tea?”
She directs her question at me and I realise that until now, I haven’t actually spoken. “Please.” I need a stronger drink than tea to rid my body of the shaking.
“Or maybe you’d prefer wine?” She asks after tapping something on her wrist.
“Yes,” I say, my tone relieved. “Please.” Add a splash of vodka to that too, I think but don’t say.
Mildred, the same lady from the last time I visited, soon comes in with a tray. It holds two glasses of white wine and a small tumbler of whiskey. I don’t remember hearing Max order so this must be his drink of choice when he visits with his brother.
“I hope you’ll be pleased to hear,” Elijah steps into the room, holding a sheet of paper in his hand, “that the results came in.” His smile is handsome and alluring. My eyes instantly go to his mouth and then to his hand, the same hand that has touched me in such delicate places is holding a mysterious sheet of paper.