Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  “When did she start working here?” I ask.

  “About two months ago. She’s like no other stripper. Believe me, I’ve seen hundreds.” Aside from his fancy degrees, Michael should hang a plaque in his office stating he has a Master’s in womanizing. His monthly alimony payments to two wives are proof enough.

  “What makes her so special?” A woman in nearly nothing attempts to fill my empty champagne glass, but I cover it with my hand. “Martini, Grey Goose, and very cold.” She nods her head with a passionate tussle, her fake boobs hardly moving.

  I need something stronger than champagne, but I have work to do after this hedonism. So Vodka is my poison, since it goes straight to my nerves—not my brain.

  “Just wait until she comes out on stage,” Jonathan answers for Michael. “When you see her for the first time, you’ll be lucky if you can breathe.”

  “I highly doubt it,” I scoff, knowing only Seraphina has the power to leave me breathless. “I’ll stay for the performance, but I’m leaving the second it’s over.”

  Accepting what I hope will be a short punishment, I sit back in the polished leather chair and sip on my martini. The dancer on stage gives me a hungry look and shimmies her shoulders as she bends forward. I break her stare and run my fingers through my hair, wishing I was back at my office. Preparing for Seraphina’s appointment supersedes getting drunk on champagne and boobs.

  Chapter 4

  Seraphina

  “Angel, a private’s waiting.” Sal, the man in charge of protecting the dancers, stands behind me. I meet his eyes through the vanity’s mirror, his face weathered from years of smoking and sin.

  He bends forward, closer to me, his lips touching the hair by my ear. “He’s paid five thousand. You okay with that?” he asks, his usual rough voice masked in a whisper.

  I lower my head and close my eyes as the reality of my choice sets in. This man wants everything I will give him, but am I willing?

  “Who is he?” I ask, not that it really matters in the end.

  “Some hotshot attorney. Told me he wanted the works.” Sal shakes his head and lightly touches my bare shoulder. “No worries, though. I told him what the works are for you.”

  I place my hand over his and give it a small squeeze before bringing mine back to the vanity. “Thanks.”

  “No one fucks my girl.” He means it literally, since penetrative sex is not on the menu with me. It’s a line I won’t cross for anyone at any price. My virginity is a gift for someone I love, and someone who loves me in return. This imaginary line in the sand secures my last piece of dignity, and keeps me from succumbing to the depravity surrounding me.

  “Give me a minute.” Reaching for my phone, I scan over the last few notifications and see Mr. Edmonds called. “I need to check this voicemail.”

  “Okay, but two minutes. Otherwise, I’ll get another girl to take your place.” Sal gives me a wink in the mirror, and I return it with a smile. We both know no one will replace me. These men have waited weeks for my time. What are a few more ticks on the clock?

  I listen to Mr. Edmonds’ voicemail, and push the phone harder to my ear. He has news for me. My heart skips a beat as I dare to hope today might be my last at The Exchange. Feeling the hope bubbling up, I tamp the excitement stirring deep within me. Better to be realistic than disappointed. Once the message is over, I stash my phone away in my purse.

  Visiting Mr. Edmonds has become the highlight in my fucked up life. His office is a place where I pretend to be the old Seraphina. He knows me as I once was, not as I am now—a whore peddling my body for survival.

  I rub a silicone lubricant over the inside of my thighs. It helps ease the biting friction I feel from each man’s tailored pants.

  Once they’re coated with a soothing layer, I push the narrow crotch of my panties to the side, and coat the waxed skin with more of the solution, preparing myself for the high dollar performance.

  I grab the hand wipes on the vanity in an attempt to cleanse my hands, even though the deeds awaiting me will make them dirtier.

  My blond hair hangs around my shoulders, and I smear red lipstick over my lips, staring in the mirror at a woman who’s foreign to me. My eyes are sullen and dull from my hope and promise for a future dying six months ago with my father. Wiping a stray tear off my cheek, I remove the desperation in my heart, and place a gold mask around my head, threading the elastic under my long hair. The mask keeps me hidden, and I’m grateful to have its protection from my past.

  Last week, a man, whose daughter went to my boarding school, paid for my private services. The second I finished with him, I ran to the bathroom to be sick. I’d never felt cheaper in my life.

  Rising from my seat, I make my way to the door that leads to hell, but rains money down on me like manna from heaven.

  I pause and read the words painted above the door. Believe in Yourself. An impossible command, especially when I’m nothing more than a rich man’s toy.

  Sal waits for me outside the private room. Loosening the towel wrapped around me, I stand in the hallway wearing heels and a lace thong.

  Long gone are feelings of modesty or shame. Sal never looks past my eyes. It allows me to trust him with my nakedness, because he views me as more than flesh for fondling. It brings an odd comfort to my battered soul knowing someone sees the real me in this darkness.

  “I’ve given him your rules.” Sal takes the towel from me. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  Sal’s promise reminds me of my father’s, but his brought me here with his last breath. There’s one real savior in my life: Mr. Edmonds. He’s the only man who gives selflessly to me, though he must have a hidden motive. Doesn’t every man? Or maybe he’s the exception? My own star shining in the dark.

  When I kissed his handsome face earlier this week, I wanted him to kiss me back and make me forget. His gentleness makes me dream of crazy things that will never happen. I need to face my reality.

  “What’s the man’s name?”

  “Greg,” Sal replies.

  I say their names as I wrap my body around them, or desperately run my fingers through their hair, making the fantasy seem real—a souvenir they can remember for another time.

  Sal moves from the door and leans against the polished wood walls. A dimly lit sconce casts a shadow over his face. I turn my head before he can see what I try to hide in my eyes: fear. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I draw in a deep breath—one that I might not fully release until I exit.

  Once inside the room of leather couches and dark purple lights lining the ceiling’s perimeter, I glide in my heels to a pole in the middle of the floor, and grasp it, my eyes focused on the man sitting in the corner of the room. The only part of him showing in the dark are his long legs likely clad in Armani’s finest. One of his polished black shoes taps to the beat of piped-in music.

  “Hello, Greg,” I say as I twirl around the pole. During the spin, I turn my mind off and slip into the required role of a whore. He gasps as my body comes to a stop and my hair falls over my shoulders, touching the tips of my breasts.

  In my red heels, I stroll toward him to the beat of the music playing overhead, leading each step with my hips and shoulders, not my feet. He places his hands to his knees and grips his pants to keep from touching me. Soon, his fingers will get their wish.

  His face comes into view as I enter the shadows around him. “Remove your jacket,” I command in a whisper. He does as I bid with eager hands, then tosses it to the side. He may have paid five thousand dollars for my services, but I’m not his. This is my playground—my rules.

  I run my hands through his hair, and he closes his eyes. Like candy to a baby, he eats out of the palm of my hand, showing he’s already mine.

  Releasing the condom tucked in the back strap of my G-string, I fling it on top of his jacket. “Remove my panties.” His fingers are on me in a split second as I offer myself to him.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes while unhookin
g the thong from between my feet. “I want to taste you.” He licks his lips.

  “Soon.” Still standing, I reach for his tie. Resting my fingers at the knot, I graze his Adam’s apple. “May I?”

  “I’m yours.” His hands find my hips and curl around them, pulling my bare sex closer to him. If he leaned forward, his tongue would be able to taste me, but his moves are forbidden. To escape him, I bend my knees on either side of his legs and straddle him with all of me exposed.

  He gazes down at me, his fingers tightening on my hips, possibly to the point of bruising. It will fade in time, but the mark they all sear into my soul will never disappear.

  I loosen his predictable red power tie, but leave it under his collar with the ends falling down his chest. After unbuttoning his smooth-as-silk white dress shirt, I pull out the shirttails hidden beneath his suit pants.

  His partially exposed chest is toned, and lightly covered with hair. My fingers skim over his skin, starting at his throat and ending over his bulging belt buckle. I trace back up to his shoulders and down again, swiping over his hardened nipples. He releases a deep moan and throws his head back, swaying it from side-to-side.

  “Firm and hard,” I say, outlining him over his pants.

  His belt comes off next. I lace it behind his head and pull him toward me, my nipples perfectly level with his mouth.

  “Taste me,” I order in a sexy slur while looking into his mesmerized eyes. He wastes no time, his tongue licking and mouth sucking me like a starved man.

  I settle on his thighs, and breathe his name on a moan. Pressing my bare flesh against his hard erection, I feel how needy he is for me.

  “Fuck,” he utters each time I thrust my pussy into him.

  Unzipping his pants, I spread them open, and a side of my mouth tips up when I see he’s commando. The naughty man came prepared. Now, I need to prepare him to come.

  He continues to make love to my breasts, and gently bites one of my nipples. Sadly, the sensation elicits a true moan from me, spurring him to continue, knowing he’s found my weakness.

  Grabbing the foil pack next to me, I rip it open, then reach into the opening of his slacks to draw his cock out. Once it’s in my hand, I place the condom over his length. I stroke him slow at first, then my speed increases, as does his heavy breathing.

  His hands stay anchored to my hips, and his lips glued to one breast. It’s time for the grand finale.

  I scoot closer, pressing myself over his cock. He tries to push up into me, and I still at his taboo move. Penetration is strictly forbidden.

  “My pelvis moves. Yours absorbs what I give you,” I whisper in his ear.

  “Sorry,” he mutters, my nipple between his teeth.

  I resume my up and down movements over his hard dick. Raising my head to the ceiling, I try to float away from this sinful damnation.

  Behind my eyes, Mr. Edmonds appears, and I welcome the vision of him. His handsome face warms me. The concern in his eyes touches me, even in the numbest of moments.

  I begin to feel everything as I imagine him saying he will help me. I can even feel him placing the money in my hands when I leave his office. The man beneath me becomes Seth Edmonds.

  His teeth are now Seth’s. His cock, too. Each moan and bite from him makes me wet. My legs begin to shake as an orgasm builds through me. I shake my head to keep it at bay, but it only grows.

  When my release crashes over my body, I fall under its pull. A breath of air escapes my lips, and Seth’s name travels with it in a silent cry.

  Chapter 5

  Seth

  I finish the last bit of my steak, and wash it down with my second martini. The first one didn’t take away the smell and feel of The Exchange.

  “Seth, you bringing Carrie to Greg’s wedding tomorrow?” Jonathan asks, as the table grows silent.

  “We broke up in January, remember? I found her at our apartment in bed with another man.”

  “Fuck. That’s right. Good riddance. You know she came on to most of the partners at the Christmas party.”

  “Thanks for that information,” I respond in a curt retort. Nothing like having your friend twist the knife deeper.

  “Sorry. I’ll blame the booze and boobs.” The guys all laugh at his comment. Me? I just want him to shut the fuck up. “So, who are you bringing?”

  “No date for me.” I stare back at Jonathan with narrowed eyes, my jaw set tight, leaving no doubt it’s time to drop this subject.

  “Smart.” Sam, one of our associate attorneys, jumps in. He’s here as Greg’s guest, and has been quiet so far, likely seduced by the woman dancing close to him. “You can have your run of the single women. Wedding’s make them wet.”

  All three of them nod in agreement, probably from firsthand experience. From this conversation, I swear they never evolved past their college days. Even though they’re all married or divorced.

  “I’m sick of this shit,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What did you say?” Jonathan asks in his trademark accusatory tone.

  “Nothing,” I reply. There’s no use calling them out on something they believe to be normal.

  Running my hands through my hair, I reach for my martini—what feels like my only friend at the table. I remove the speared olive and drink the glass dry.

  “Check out Greg,” Michael says.

  I follow Michael’s eyes and find Greg heading toward the table, his hair sticking out in all directions. His eyes look dazed, but his lopsided grin makes me raise a brow. Greg isn’t one to smile—ever.

  His shirt is untucked, and his tie undone. He’s carrying his jacket over his arm as he strolls toward us in a zigzag line. The guy looks like he was fucked within an inch of his life. A twisted twinge of jealousy rises up inside me. There’s only one woman who could make me feel like Greg looks, and it’s a bitter pill to swallow since my dreams of being with Seraphina can never come true.

  “Dude,” Jonathan’s voice rumbles next to me. “What happened—or, more like, didn’t happen to you?”

  Without saying a word, or wiping the silly smile off his lips, Greg collapses in the seat next to me. He throws his head back and an easy laugh rolls off his tongue. Michael glances at me with wide eyes and shrugs his shoulders.

  “It’s like a siren fucked his brains out and left him senseless.” Sam reaches for a bottle of scotch and pours three fingers’ worth into an empty highball glass. He waves the liquor under Greg’s nose, coaxing him to drink.

  After a couple sips, Greg sits up in the chair and shakes his head. “Holy fuck,” he utters, that same crazy-assed smile on his face. “She’s ruined me. Hell, I’d carry her to City Hall, if she’d marry.”

  “I need to set up a private with this goddess,” Jonathan declares, and from his tone, I know he’s serious.

  Greg runs his hands over his face a couple times and laughs again. “Funny thing. I didn’t actually fuck her, yet it was the best fuck of my life.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Jonathan laughs. “Poor guy’s going to have a sex hangover at his own wedding tomorrow.”

  I decide it’s time for me to leave this shit show. I motion to one of the women roaming nearby, and she approaches me with a seductive smile.

  “Can I help you, sir?” she asks, leaning over me, her cleavage front and center. She licks her lips as our eyes connect.

  “I need to settle my bill.” I place my gold member card in her palm, and she closes her fingers around it.

  “Anything else I can help you with today?” Her question hides nothing. We both know what she means by “help.”

  The green-eyed beauty sidles closer and rubs her empty hand over my bicep. I feel nothing, and resist the urge to brush her hand away like a speck of dust.

  “Just the check to sign. Speed will get you a higher tip.”

  “Fast as you can blink.” Spinning around, she walks toward the bar, realizing a private with me is a lost cause. A quick return is her bonus.

  A minute l
ater, after signing for my drinks and lunch, I push myself back from the table, preparing to stand.

  “Leaving?” Jonathan asks, stopping me before I rise. I might be kidding myself, but his long face looks like he’s disappointed to see me go.

  “Yeah. I’ve got to get back to the office.”

  “Man, she’s getting ready to hit the stage.” Greg comes alive as he turns to look me in the eye. “You’ve got to see the tits I had in my mouth.”

  As I get ready to tell him to think about Lana, his doting fiancée, the overhead music dies away, replaced by a man’s voice as the lights dim further.

  “The woman every man wants to make his wife. Our virgin, Angel.”

  The entire club goes silent—not even a clink from a glass or fork hitting a plate. My heart beats in my ears as a heavy anticipation spreads throughout the darkened space. I hold my breath, affected by the contagious suspense.

  An eerie, sensual version of “Here Comes the Bride” drifts through the dark room, and the expectation builds. I scan the crowd, and all eyes are set on the stage. The entire place is caught up in the magic.

  White lights begin to flash, and I grip my chair when a woman dressed in a creamy wedding gown appears. The satin fabric stops just above her knees. I trace down her toned calves to the high-heeled shoes matching the color of her dress, then gaze upward to her breasts.

  Soft, ivory flesh spills over the dress’ top, and strands of thick blond curl down to touch the lace. Greg had those breasts in his mouth. No wonder he’s so fucked up. She reminds me of Seraphina. Pretending it’s her before me, I lick my lips like a hungry animal.

  The stage lights showcase the dancer from her throat down to her feet. Wanting to see her face, I pray she moves forward. The tease grows, and my heart beats frantically.

  As if hearing my secret prayer, the virginal dream takes a step farther into the light. A white-feathered mask covers her face with a bridal veil attached. Her chin tips up as she sashays to the pole, and something familiar about her hits me, though I know I’ve never seen her here before.