Daring Summer

by Suzanne Steele

  Another pause, then she gave a dramatically pained sigh as she rolled her eyes again. “You know you have my heart, but this pussy’s not free. You know better than that. Now, I’ll see you Tuesday. Until then, don’t touch it, baby. You don’t come until you’re inside me, you understand? If you do, I’ll know.” She needed to keep him coming back, after all. “What’ll I do? Oh, it’s what I won’t do, darling. You come before I say so and I won’t be sticking my finger up your ass again any time soon… I know that’s your favorite thing in the whole, wide world. So…hands…off.”

  Blue ended the call and updated her schedule with their next appointment. She tossed the phone onto her desk, her lips curling in distaste at the thought of trying to breathe while pinned under that man’s bloated belly again next week. He went by ‘Mister X’, for God’s sake. What an idiot.

  She looked out the window of her apartment. This was the time she liked the best: dusk, when the darkness and the waning light of day came together, and mysteries seemed to mingle in the shadows. Every night was different, a new adventure for a woman who knew she was in the right line of work – the world’s oldest profession, of course -- and fucking owned that shit.

  The downtown streets housed the offices of lawyers, chief executives, and software developers. The posh corporate spaces rubbed uncomfortable elbows with smaller, less impressive storefronts for bail bondsmen, janitorial and maid services, and small independent accountants who had been in the neighborhood for decades. Whether it was an income of four or seven figures a year, there was no discrimination on the streets of downtown Louisville. The rich and the poor were thrown together and had somehow figured out how to co-exist peacefully.

  Blue hadn’t picked the neighborhood as much as she had picked the building because it provided a doorman and security. She knew she was the best at what she did, so she surrounded herself with only the best life had to offer; that included neighbors who were financially set. The setup worked for her. There was no one knocking on her door asking to borrow a cup of sugar. Like her, the tenants in her building were workaholics climbing their own ladder of success. Blue had dreams of opening a boutique and designing the clothes she sold there. Though she loved the thrill of being cartel and working for herself, she dreamed of going semi-legit.

  Her mother had taught her every trick of the trade, pun entirely intended. Her mother hadn’t always been a prostitute; at one time, she had been married to a prominent businessman and lived a traditional suburban life. But when Blue’s father walked out, her mother had been forced to sell the only thing she had left: her body.

  Blue’s mother was Colombian and her father was white. Blue’s pale skin, long, glossy black hair, and sapphire blue eyes never failed to enthrall her clients. She was beautiful, bi-lingual, bi-cultural, educated yet streetwise, and knew how to make a cock do whatever she wanted.

  Her rates started at two grand and any man who made the mistake of falling into her web quickly became a regular. They were lambs willingly led to slaughter and she was more than willing to relieve them of their stress while she relieved them of their money. It didn’t matter that she didn’t enjoy it; each client left thinking she only came for them, only yearned for them, and that their cock was the only one that satisfied her.

  That was her job, after all: fantasy. If fantasy had nothing to do with reality – so what? The money was just as real, no matter how much of an actress she had to be to get her hands on it. For the right price, Blue was willing to get as wild and freaky as any man could ever want. She had two hard limits: she never kissed, and she never spent the night. Other than that, she was up for anything.

  “You’re not listening to me, Blue.”

  Blue turned away from the window and studied the blonde-haired girl she’d dubbed Amber. She’d picked that name for her because even though her eyes were hazel there was a burst of amber that ran through them. She’d thought about calling her Peaches because of her peaches-and-cream complexion, but Amber just seemed to fit.

  Blue deliberately stuck to stereotypical stripper names whenever she helped a girl with an alias. The last thing you wanted was to form connections with the customers you fucked. Personal information of any kind, from your life story to your real name – those things led to personal attachments. And Blue wouldn’t stand for that.

  “You know how these pimps are about renegades.” A renegade was any working girl without a pimp, or any pimp that tried to poach another pimp’s stable of whores. Being a renegade was dangerous but rescuing a girl from an abusive pimp was a death wish.

  Blue stood and strolled toward Amber with a mixture of grace and body confidence that rolled off her with feline ease. She placed one finger beneath Amber’s chin and lifted it, forcing the girl to look her in the eye. “What I know is this…Huggy-Bear-Get-Rich-Or-Die-Trying-I’m-Mister-Big-Bad-Pimp is no threat to me. I am not, nor will I ever be, scared of that asshole or of any man who beats the shit out of women to use them for financial gain. And neither should you.”

  “It’s just Huggy Bear.”

  “Point taken. Not only is the man a bully, but he lacks imagination. Any man who has to steal his pimp name from a 1980s TV show can’t possibly have anything going for him in the area of intellect. I don’t think you have to worry about our ability to outsmart him.”

  “But what if he sees us on the street or something?”

  “That’s the whole point: we don’t work the streets. We work the internet. Don’t contact him and you’ll be fine. If you get weak and start feeling like you owe him anything, I’ll push your ass right out that door.” She pointed a long, graceful finger toward the door to emphasize her point. “It’s one thing to rescue you off the street and away from him, but I’m not putting my life in danger for a woman who isn’t strong enough to walk away from that asshole. You’re going to have to tap into that strength I see inside you. Your days of being needy…at least, toward anyone but me…are over.”

  Blue narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, allowing her gaze to trail over Amber’s lush curves. Fuck, but Amber was hot. It seemed a shame to make her available for fucking by a bunch of dicks, no matter how much Blue was going to charge them for the pleasure. It bothered her more than she cared to admit. “I’m not kidding, Amber. I’ve never had a pimp and I’m not going to have someone else’s jeopardizing my business. I can show you the ropes -- what I can’t do is put on your big girl panties and wear them for you. You’re going to have to ‘woman up’.”

  “So if I work for you…” At Blue’s skeptical glance, she started over. “Okay, when I work for you, will I have to act?”

  “What do you mean, act?”

  “Make the men think I like it. On the streets, I usually just sucked them off or let them fuck me, but I didn’t, you know, participate. Make noise. Talk. Moan and groan, that sort of thing. Will I have to do that?”

  Blue studied her new protégé and considered her response carefully. “Well, actually, yes. I’ll expect you to make each customer feel like he’s the best you’ve ever had. Like his cock is the one your greedy pussy’s been waiting for your whole life. That’s how you get repeat business. What, don’t you like sex, baby?”

  The question seemed to catch her off guard. Amber shook her head meekly. “No. I just…sort of put up with it, I guess.”

  Blue took her time responding. “No worries. I want you confident; comfortable in your own skin. We can role-play if you like, to help you know what words and touches make a man feel like a king. There are any number of men I know who would love to be your test kitchen while you learn.”

  Amber’s eyes widened in alarm. “You’d bring someone in for me to practice on?”

  “Sure.” She took several slow, deliberate steps toward Amber and trailed a fingertip down her arm. “I’d be there too, of course. Watching. Making sure you got it just right. Demonstrating where necessary.”

  Amber gulped and her cheeks heated. When she shifted restlessly from one foot to the other and disc
reetly squeezed her thighs together, Blue felt a surge of triumph that she couldn’t quite explain. Interesting. There might be hope for this one yet. But only time would tell if Amber would have the courage to do what had to be done.

  Chapter Six

  “You’re gripping that steering wheel like you’re trying to choke the life out of it,” Harley chuckled.

  Stacy looked over at her friend. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on between you and this King guy. What I am sure of is that we’ve been friends since you started working at the hospital and I know you pretty well, but I don’t know Hospital Hotty. That guy might look like the typical all-American surfer dude, but my gut’s telling me there’s more to him – and that you need to be careful, my friend.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. This is not good. Harley had no intention of telling her friend that Hospital Hotty was actually Hospital Hitman. She was going to have to be careful if she was going to keep Stacy from becoming involved in something she wanted no part of. This was a curveball of epic proportions. She hadn’t expected Stacy to pick up on anything. So she did the only thing that would work at the moment: she played dumb.

  “What are you talking about, Stacy?”

  Stacy shook her head again. “I don’t know. I just feel like there’s more to the guy.”

  “Like what? He works on an exotic animal refuge, for God’s sake. There can’t be some hidden agenda to that.”

  “Who for?”

  “Excuse me?” Harley answered, keeping her face carefully blank. It was nothing more than an effort to gain a couple of precious seconds to think up an answer that would appease her overly curious friend. We all know what curiosity did to the cat...

  “Who. Does. He. Work. For?”

  “He works for himself,” she said smoothly. I am so going to Hell…

  “So he owns the wildlife refuge?”

  “Yes.” Lie number two. Now I’m a liar and an accomplice to a murder. “What are you thinking? Just come out with it.”

  “He’s not married? He doesn’t have another woman? No…that can’t be right. I just think it’s stalkerish for him to get into your house, and with no key, mind you.” She took her eyes off the road for a second to glance at Harley. “And then to get your clothes and personal items to take to his house, like he’s going to make you stay with him? I think it’s just weird. He could be a fucking murderer or a kidnapper. What if he’s a mental case?”

  “Mental case,” Harley said as she made air quotes with her fingers, “is a relative term. We’re all mental cases in our own way.” It was a brazen attempt to deflect and she hoped like hell it was working. “And by the way…now you sound like the one who’s been reading too many crime novels.”

  “It’s weird!”

  Harley held her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. It is a bit stalkerish but I think it’s kind of sexy, a little endearing, even.”

  “You’re not scared of him?”

  “No!” Another lie. Liar, liar pants on fire. Hers should be sending up smoke signals right about now.

  “Okay, but I’m telling you, I’m going to check this guy out. I can be a fucking detective when I want to be.”

  Maybe acting offended would get Stacy off Hospital Hotty’s scent. Stacy was like a dog with a bone when she got something in her head, but this time it could get her killed. Harley had to stop her. “Look,” Harley said impatiently, “I understand you care about me but you’re beginning to piss me off. You’re the one who was so adamant about me dating—finding myself a man. And now this? I find somebody and he’s not good enough for you!?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, but I still think it’s weird that he broke into your house.”

  “There was an issue at a bar I had told him about. Some guy had tried to follow me home a while back and I told him about it. I guess it freaked him out.” Liar, liar, pants on fire; that’s lie number four. Harley wished her conscience would shut the fuck up.

  “Oh, my gosh! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to worry you.” That’s number five. She was going to have to have a talk with her conscience when she got home. This whole ‘for the greater good’ approach was a bitch.

  “Okay. Well, now I feel better.”

  Harley was relieved to see her friend’s fingers lose the death grip on the steering wheel. It would survive the day’s drama. The question was, would Harley? Or worse yet, would the curious cat…?

  Chapter Seven

  Harley pushed away any anxiety about her friend’s inquisitiveness as she inserted her key into the lock. The first thing on the evening’s agenda was a glass of wine or two…or three. She wasn’t looking forward to an evening of introspection because of what it might reveal, but she knew she had some serious soul searching to do.

  How was she going to get rid of her new gangster lover? There was no way it could work out. A man like King had no place in her life. His connections made him downright dangerous, to her and everyone who mattered to her, and she wasn’t in the habit of getting people killed.

  More than once, she had wondered why she had to be working when Luis Jimenez died. Fate could be a real bitch when it wanted to. Harley had always believed that if she made good decisions and followed the rules, she’d have a good life and escape the craziness of her childhood. Not so fast, apparently…

  “You’re supposed to be healing people, dumbass,” she chided herself. “Not getting them killed.”

  She tossed her purse down on the kitchen counter and headed straight for the vino. She filled her glass from the box and guzzled it down, then filled it up again. She welcomed the warmth that spread through her system and softened the jagged edges of her frayed nerves.

  She checked the door again to make sure it was locked – it was -- before running a deliciously hot bath where she would be able to think in peace. She poured in some aromatherapy bubble bath. On any other night, she would have had music playing, too, but tonight she needed to be able to hear what was going on around her. The last thing she needed was to have King surprise her while she was stark naked in her bathtub. Boundaries meant nothing to that man.

  She picked up her wineglass and sank down into the steamy water and breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t resist scooping up a handful of bubbles and sending them airborne with a soft puff of breath. The moment of silliness felt good after all the seriousness she’d endured that day.

  What on earth was she going to do about King?! She had to get rid of him somehow and she suspected it would be easier said than done. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would tolerate being shooed away like a bothersome fly. He wasn’t the type to take a hint either. She’d have to be brutally blunt in her delivery. ‘Uh, yeah, the sex was off the charts but the whole cartel thing just isn’t working for me.’

  It would be easy to tell herself she was being paranoid if he hadn’t already broken into her home. What had he been trying to accomplish by doing that? Had he just been considerate by gathering some things he thought she’d need at his place, or was he demonstrating that no place was off limits to him? Just how far would he go to keep her quiet, anyway?

  As the heat soothed her tired muscles and the fragrant bubbles eased her worried mind, her emotions were all over the place: anger because she allowed herself to get in a position she’d worked so hard to never be in again after her dysfunctional childhood; guilt because of who she was turning into because of the lies she had to tell; and fear because she didn’t know what the hell to expect from King. Factor in that he was a close associate of two psycho Colombian cartel brothers and she was fit to be tied, as her grandmother used to say. Perfect—'fit to be tied’. I bet he’s into that, too.

  As Harley took a deep breath and sank down into the steamy water, she knew that, yes, this was exactly where she needed to be: in her own bathtub, in her own home, and inside her own damn head.

  King parked his van a block over and climbed a tree in the yard of a vacant house that was for
sale. The house was next door to Harley’s house and his high perch gave him a perfect view of her enjoying her bubble bath. Harley had done exactly what would give him the edge he needed: she had underestimated him. The first rule of the cartel was never underestimate your opponent.

  A quiet evening at home. How cute. Harley must think she has a choice.

  He took a few photos with his camera-equipped binoculars. Normally he liked using his Nikon D-3100 but climbing a tree nixed that option. No way would he risk dropping it from way up here.

  You always saw the real person when they were alone. It was what he liked most about hunting a target. Harley was the first woman who had ever garnered his attention this way. In the past, he had put his tracking skills to use to gather Intel on cartel enemies. There was an art to it, and no room for error. One fuck up and the target knew they were being followed. He was a man who thrived on perfecting everything he put his mind to. His longtime friend Tony was the best at gathering Intel and he’d taught King everything he knew.

  King had learned the most, though, from watching the animals in his care at the wildlife refuge. The prey he was hunting now was nude and had him licking his lips with anticipation. He pulled the binoculars away and pushed down on his hard cock. He groaned under his breath, only to hurriedly raise the binoculars once more. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

  His bedroom had been dark the one night she’d spent there, so this was his first real look at all her charms. Harley pinned her strawberry blonde hair up into a loose topknot. Raising her arms over her head succeeded in putting her tits front and center. His mouth watered as he remembered how he had devoured those breasts while pinning her to the mattress with his body; how he’d pounded away at her with his cock in the moments before he came inside her.