Thirty Nights with a Dirty Boy: Part 1: A Heroes and Heartbreakers Serial

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Thirty Nights with a Dirty Boy: Part 1: A Heroes and Heartbreakers Serial Page 3

by Shiloh Walker

I was in over my head. Sasha was right.

  But in the time it took for me to try to work up the strength to say that—to say words I could really mean—he said, “It’s funny, though. You don’t seem to mind me touching you.”

  He slid his hand lower, to my neck, and when he started to massage the tight muscles there, a hoarse noise left my throat.

  “Do you mind?”

  I let myself sigh, a rough, shaky sound. “No. I … I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe you’ll consider us starting this conversation again, then.”

  I knew I shouldn’t.

  But I did.

  * * *

  “There’s no dollar amount specified.”

  Sean had insisted we eat first, and I had actually been hungry. So I’d said yes—why not? If this went south again, at least I’d have something almost like a date with a man, right?

  I had pasta and he had a steak and we both shared what I supposed could be counted as small talk. I almost felt normal for all of forty-five minutes, and when the server came by with the tab, Sean grabbed it. He insisted, again.

  Now, though, with a half-empty glass of wine in front of me, I could feel the nerves building inside me, and I fought not to squirm when he lifted those frost-edged eyes to study me.

  “I didn’t know what your rates were.”

  “My rates?” He jerked up a shoulder. “I sort of work on a sliding-scale basis, lass. If a woman can’t pay a hundred for me to get her off, I won’t charge her that. But she isn’t going to talk me into taking her to a hotel for my best work, either.”

  “I want your best work.”

  His gaze skipped down to the contract. “So I assume. You also want me for thirty days.”

  “Yes.” Thirty days. It ought to be enough to build up some memories.

  “Does that mean I’m to be at your beck and call for thirty days?”

  “What?” I frowned, shaking my head. “No. You’ve a job. So do I.”

  “You work?” He arched a brow.

  “Yes.” Crossing my arms across my chest, I fought the urge to fidget under that intense stare. Perhaps it wasn’t the kind of work he did, but it was a job. I might not need a paycheck, but I had responsibilities, nonetheless. The meetings I had coming up weren’t the kind that could be easily rescheduled, either. “We can work out an arrangement that suits us both. I just want…” I hesitated and then forged on. “I expect it will take me some time before I can relax. I want that time. You can see I left room in to allow for days and times to be…”

  He was watching me, his gaze so intense.

  Swallowing, I forced myself to continue. “Well, should we come to an arrangement, we’ll figure out something that works for both of us.”

  I waited for some brash comment or arrogant reply.

  Instead Sean just nodded. “Three nights a week. I can give you three nights a week. I work at the bar on Sundays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The other nights are yours. And Sunday afternoons, if you like. That is … if you can make it worth my while.”

  I pulled out a pen and placed it on the table. “Name your price.”

  Sean’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “Write in your price.” I lifted a shoulder. “As long as you don’t put an exorbitant number of zeros, then you have a deal.”

  He started to laugh.

  I reached for my wine.

  His laughter died away.

  He was still staring at me after I’d taken the last sip. “You … Fuck me, are you serious?”

  Gesturing with the now-empty glass, I said, “As I told you, don’t get crazy with the zeros, and we’ll be fine.”

  “I doubt you and I have the same understanding of getting crazy with the zeros, lass,” he said coolly. “The last time a woman wanted more than a few hours of time, it was to have me fly to Barbados with her for two weeks. I told her she couldn’t afford me. She laughed and said she was certain she could—she was used to paying a hundred bucks a pop for me to go down on her. The price for two weeks was fifty thousand. That’s a fair number of zeros.”

  I smiled at him and then reached across the table. “Really?”

  Using the pen I’d offered him, I wrote a number down on the contract, then pushed it back to him.

  He closed his eyes. I watched as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and then opened his eyes, squinting at me in a way that had me thinking he wasn’t sure if he was actually seeing me or not.

  “That reads five hundred thousand dollars, darling,” he said, his voice soft, but clear, as though he wanted to make sure I knew what I’d written.

  “I’m aware.” I put the pen down and leaned back into the cushions of the chair. “If you provide me with the information, I can have the money deposited into your bank account. If you wish, we can do five percent up front, with the rest split into quarterly payments over the four-odd weeks. I left an area for the payment terms blank so that I could write those in.”

  “You’re going to pay me five hundred thousand to fuck you!”

  It was loud in the restaurant. But not that loud. The couple in the booth across from us gave us an odd look and I watched as the woman’s brows raised, something that might have been speculation forming on her face.

  “If you want everybody to know what we’re discussing, feel free to keep it up,” I said.

  Sean snapped his jaw shut and grabbed the contract. Slipping out of the booth, he held out a hand. “Come.”

  I eyed his hand warily.

  He just waited.

  I donned the gloves I’d removed to eat and put my hand in his. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace where I can think.”

  * * *

  It was well into April, but this was Chicago and sometimes the chill of winter lingers into late spring.

  I wrapped my arms around myself as we walked.

  Sean wore nothing but his uniform of jeans and a tight T-shirt, one that displayed his tattoos in all their lovely perfection.

  When I shivered for the third time, he caught my hand and tugged me into the alcove formed by the doors of a closed shop.

  He braced one hand on the wall over my head and the other on my hip.

  I tensed.

  “You realize this involves me touching you, don’t you?”

  I jerked my head in a nod.

  “Okay then.” Pale gray eyes studied my face.

  He saw too much. I suspected he could see the things I didn’t want him to see, but it wasn’t like some of those secrets were hard to figure out. I flinched when touched, I flinched when people got too close. And I was paying a man to have sex with me.

  “Why?”

  I blanched at his question. Was he a mind reader, too?

  “What?”

  He slid his hand up, the heel barely grazing the outer curve of my breast, but it was a touch I’d never experienced before, so I felt it—felt it in ways I couldn’t describe. He noticed—I saw the way his pupils flared—but he gave no other outward sign that he’d noticed. He just kept on his mission to curve his hand over the back of my neck. He leaned in, and this time, when he whispered into my ear, it wasn’t such a surprise. He’d been this close before and I’d handled it.

  “Why do want to pay for sex, Ella? You’re a pretty woman. If I had seen you someplace other than where I work, I might have asked you out. You could find a man who’d be happy to take you to his bed, and you wouldn’t have to pay him for it.”

  His voice was a soft, seductive caress. It would have been easy to just fall into it and not think about his words.

  But I suspected he’d have an answer before he consented.

  “Does it matter?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Why do you care?”

  “Women come to me for a number of reasons, sweet lady. I could just take their money and give them what they ask for … but I want them to know what they are getting in return. I promise sex—nothing more, nothing less. Plenty of them think they’ll get something more—and for
some of them, that is fine. I’ve had more than a few women think they might reform me, love. It won’t happen. Some just want the thrill…” He turned his head, and I gasped when he bit my earlobe.

  A hot, delicious bolt of pleasure ripped through me. I hadn’t felt the likes of it … ever.

  “And if you were just out for a thrill, Ella, I’d turn you around and be inside you before you could blink. I’d make you come, hard and fast. But I wouldn’t. Then I’d take you someplace more private and we’d go again. Once you climaxed again, that’s when I’d let myself come.”

  I had to squeeze my knees together now, because I was aching inside. Aching deep down, my clitoris pulsing. All because of the words he spoke.

  “But you don’t want a thrill.” He smoothed his hand down the front of my torso, left it there. Whether it was to tease or to warn me, I don’t know. “You’re terrified. You want me, but at the same time, part of you wants to withdraw and run. So it isn’t thrills you chase, Ella.”

  He moved back, and I had to sag against the wall to stay upright.

  With hooded eyes, he watched me.

  I bowed my head, and my breath hitched. My gaze tripped over his groin, and I tried to look away, but my eyes just went back.

  And back again.

  He laughed softly, and I watched as he reached down, passed his hand over his cock. “Are you just now noticing that, love? I’ve had a hard-on for the past couple of hours. I had one the first time I saw you—the way you tried not to look at me but couldn’t seem to stop. It got to where I was starting to hate seeing you in Tilt Stop, Ella.”

  I jerked my head up to stare at him. “Why?”

  “Because.” He leaned in, bracing both hands on the wall by my head. “You weren’t the type to pay a man for sex, and I kept imagining what it would be like to have this pretty mouth under mine.”

  He kissed me, then.

  It was such a shock that I didn’t know what to do but stand there, my mouth half-open.

  He kissed me and I was able to find out just what it was like to taste him, to have him taste me.

  It ended fast, too fast.

  But when he lifted his head, there was no fear inside me.

  There was simply a need to have him do it again.

  “Are you going to sign the contract?” I asked him.

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  I sucked in a breath. “Over dinner. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’ll meet for dinner … and … and…”

  He dipped his head and whispered, “The word is fucking. Or perhaps shagging would be easier for you to say. We’ll meet for dinner and fucking.”

  I jerked my head in a nod.

  Sean chuckled. “We’ll meet for dinner. You’ll tell me. Then we’ll see…” He cupped my face and ran a thumb over my lip. “If I do sign that contract, Ella, one thing you’re going to do … you’re going to tell me you want me to fuck you before this month is up. I give you my word on that.”

  Chapter 4

  “I want you to fuck me, Sean.”

  I said the words to my reflection. Even that made me blush.

  Spinning away, I pressed my hand to my belly and started to pace.

  I didn’t have to leave for two more hours.

  We were meeting at the Waldorf Astoria. My stomach clutched at the thought of it, but there was no way I could bring somebody I barely knew into my home. This was my haven. My sanctuary.

  A hotel was neutral.

  Cold. Informal.

  “Perfect for a business transaction,” I muttered.

  I flinched at the harshness of my own words, then turned and stared at my reflection again. Yes, it was a business transaction. I was paying a beautiful man to have sex with me. Although I seriously doubted it would happen tonight. I wanted to see his hands on me, feel his mouth on me, but the thought of it going too far—

  Okay, now … hold my hand …

  My mind went spinning away and didn’t come back for over an hour.

  When I came to, I lay gasping on my side, staring up at the soft blue of my ceiling. The light fixture, a delicate dome with twinkling bits of glass, caught the rays of sun and reflected them back. I focused on those bits of glass and breathed.

  My limbs were shaking under me as I rolled to my hands and knees.

  I stayed there as I took stock. That was a vital thing when I lost time. Sometimes I vomited on myself and sometimes I hurt myself while fighting with the past. But this time, there was nothing.

  I took one more minute to level out, and then I stood.

  Checking the time, I moved into the bathroom.

  I had time to shower and then I’d have to leave. I’d told my driver to be ready at five.

  * * *

  If I’d thought it through better, I would have worn something other than the silver silk. As I let myself into the room, I realized the problem right away. Before the … lapse, I’d been wearing blue. I’m not particularly vain, but I know I wear certain colors well, and blue is flattering on me. But those flashbacks leave me in a cold, sweaty state, and the dress I’d had on wouldn’t be fitting until it had been cleaned. So I’d chosen the silver silk instead, and while it was lovely, it also made me blend into the décor.

  The Waldorf Astoria is very … icy. White walls, very heavy on the gray accents.

  And there I stood, blending into the room’s décor in my silver. With my pale skin, I probably looked like a human-sized sculpture.

  Not a particularly well-done one, either.

  Clutching my handbag in both hands, I moved deeper into the room. He hadn’t arrived yet. I’d told him to meet me at seven, leaving his name at the desk. It was only a little after six. That meant I had time—

  The door opened behind me.

  Startled, I spun around.

  Sean stood there, filling the doorway.

  “You’re early,” I said.

  He cocked his head. “I can leave and come back if you want.”

  That would be stupid. But I very much wanted to tell him yes.

  Looking down at my hands, at the purse I held, at the pale carpet, I searched for an answer.

  The door shut.

  I jerked my head up to tell him he needn’t leave.

  And there he stood. Shadowed in the alcove, he studied me. “Should I go?”

  “No.” I licked my lips. So much for having time to prepare myself.

  He came toward me, his footfalls muffled by the thick carpet. He skimmed his eyes over me and a faint smile curled his lips. “You look like an ice queen, Ella. Perhaps we should rename you Elsa … Are you going to stab me through the heart with ice if I frighten you?”

  Confused, I shook my head. “I … I’m not following you.”

  “Frozen?” Both brows winged up. “The Disney movie? The cute little blonde in the cartoon? ‘Let It Go’?”

  “Ah, no.”

  He hummed a couple of notes from a song, and when I continued to gaze at him, he sang a bit of a tune.

  “Oh!” I smiled. “Yes, I know the song.”

  “It’s from a cartoon. A movie.” He moved even closer, and now he was close enough that the tips of his toes nudged mine. The silver heels I wore sank into the carpet and the three inches they gave me weren’t enough to make up for the difference in our height. Sean reached up and caught a lock of my hair.

  I froze, watching as he curled it around his finger.

  “It’s a cute movie,” he added. “You haven’t seen it?”

  “I’m finding it hard to believe you have.” I also found it hard to believe that I could speak normally, but I did it. While he was touching me. He was twining my hair around his finger and there was something terribly intimate about that. “Do you … frequently enjoy children’s movies?”

  “Off and on.” He tugged on my hair.

  The gesture pulled me closer. I found I didn’t mind at all.

  “I frequently enjoy a lot of things, Your Highness,” he said, his lips just a breath away from mine. �
�But something makes me think you don’t enjoy enough.”

  He kissed me then. It was a quick thing, but it set me to burning. His tongue flicked across my lips, and then he let go of my hair, moving away.

  As he turned his back, I licked my lips.

  I barely caught the taste of him, and the hunger inside me screamed.

  He was enough to drive a woman to madness.

  When he glanced back over his shoulder at me, I forced myself to smile. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, love.” The look in his eyes was enough to make my knees quiver.

  * * *

  He’d wanted to know why.

  But he didn’t push for an answer right away.

  It seemed he was determined to make sure I relaxed as much as possible.

  Sean had talked me into kicking off my shoes and sitting down to watch TV. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d relaxed around somebody enough to actually do something like that.

  Well, actually, I could. It had been almost ten years ago—a few days before Nora had died. The cancer that had ravaged her body had made it difficult for her to be comfortable for too long, but like a precious gift, she’d had one comfortable evening. We’d sat in her room, on her bed, like we had done before she’d gotten so ill. We’d watched bad movies from the eighties and giggled like children over the haircuts and the clothing.

  I’d fallen asleep with my head in her lap, her hands stroking my hair.

  It had taken me longer to relax tonight, but by the time an episode of Home Improvement ended, Sean had talked me out of my shoes and I was biting back moans of bliss as he massaged my feet. I could understand why women paid him to put his hands on them.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but when the discreet knock came to let us know dinner had arrived, it caught me off guard.

  His hands stilled at the interruption, but when I went to get up, he stopped me. “Stay. Sit.”

  “I’m not a dog,” I said.

  “No. You’re a beautiful woman and it makes me happy to take care of you. So let me do it.” He gave me a wicked smile and left me there to watch Tim Taylor do something that would likely, no—I winced—that would definitely end with him in the emergency room again.

  The laxity that had pervaded my muscles disappeared once the servers entered the room. I drew my legs from the couch and sat with my hands folded in my lap, watching as they hustled around, putting a tablecloth down, lighting candles. They were efficient and quick, and in a matter of moments, Sean and I were alone again.

 

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