Client 5: A Bad Boy Next Door Dark Romance

by Alexis Angel

  “Gerard,” I ask, eyeing him. “There’s something different about you.”

  He looks at me from his desk, and then gestures to his tie.

  That’s it!

  It’s a maroon tie with white hearts.

  “A lady friend of mine suggested that I lighten up the wardrobe a bit, sir,” he tells me a bit stiffly.

  For everything that’s going on with Luca Gianoni and the divestiture, I can’t help but laugh out loud like a fucking kid.

  “I didn’t know you were dating someone, Gerard!” I say out loud.

  “I’d prefer not to talk about that now,” he says to me, a bit flustered. “Already too many changes in my life, if you know what I mean.”

  He looks at me and I nod. I know exactly what he’s talking about.

  But still, I can’t get the thought out of my head. How different my lawyer is now than say six months ago. Back then, if you said you saw him in a tie with hearts on it, he’d tell you to go fuck yourself.

  I mean, I totally get it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not fucking complaining.

  Ashley does the same thing to me.

  I’m thinking about this as I sit in my limo as I leave Gerard’s office and head uptown.

  In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’m doing things that the old me would have had a fucking heart attack if he ever saw.

  Forget the one and done policy of one night sex, or at most the ‘use ‘em and lose ‘em’ philosophy of two weeks of raw lust and then a diamond necklace and a Dear John, I’m starting to go to the ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ side with this woman.

  It doesn’t help probably that we’re always so close by. Ashley loves cavorting around my apartment; it’s so much bigger at One57 than the tiny rat-hole that she lives in near Penn Station. And sure, I want to do different things for her. To protect her and keep her happy. So it’s no surprise I’ll join her in making dinner—even though I have a perfectly decent personal chef.

  It's just that I've never felt the way I do with Ashley with anyone. Not a single fucking person I've ever met. And the things that she does, when other girls tried it on me, I'd fucking snort and it would slide right off me. When Ashley does it, it looks so cute it seriously melts my fucking heart.

  Don’t believe me?

  Well first off, I don’t fucking care if you believe me or not, but just to show you, let’s take what happened yesterday.

  I was in my office in Midtown, wrapping up some meetings.

  Now, I see the gears in your brain trying to figure this out so let me just explain real quick. I may be trying to get rid of Dad’s fucking smut empire, but I’m also having to manage the vast amount of money. That’s a fucking job in and of itself.

  But all of a sudden, who do we have but Ashley walking into my office around 3 pm.

  “Arsen, can we go to dinner tonight?” she asked me, batting her beautiful fucking eyes. Normally girls bat their eyes at me and I immediately get all fucking defensive. I was exhausted as fuck—having to wake up at 6:30 in the fucking morning after having hours of sex the night before will fucking do that to you. But I looked at her, and all I could say was, "Sure, Ashley. I'll have one of the girls outside make some reservations to Per Se."

  Now, my personal secretaries are more than capable of making me dinner reservations and letting me know, but in this instance, I followed up with them three times to make sure it was fucking perfect. And then I made sure my car was ready and I even got to Ashley’s apartment ten minutes ahead of time. As if I had nothing better to do than take this woman out to dinner.

  But let me tell you, when she finally did come down, it was completely worth the fucking wait. I would have waited a whole fucking month just to see her in that amazing blue dress that was tight in all the right places, hugging her curves and emphasizing her slender but still curvy body. All of a sudden, being exhausted completely left my mind and all I wanted to do was fuck. I tried not to stare at her wolfishly as she turned away from me and began walking to the car, swaying her ass. She knew that I was staring too, because she stopped before getting in, turned her head back to me, and asked me with a leer, "Feeling all right, Arsen?"

  "I just want to fuck you so badly right now, Ash," I told her, not holding back any punches. And I did. I wanted to pound her doggie style with my 12-inch cock till we both collapsed from cumming too hard.

  "Always the romantic," she teased before she got into the limo.

  I could see the outline of her thong against that skirt, it was so tight. I know you’re not supposed to see visible panty lines, but I’d seen her ass so many times, I could tell where it was.

  All through dinner, she gave me flirty smiles and kept my cock hard till I couldn't wait to get her back to my condo. I kept imagining bending her over and having her hold onto the windows in my living room as she stared out into the urban canyons of New York City as I fucked the living daylights out of her.

  But she just leaned back into me into the car and nestled her head on my chest. I could smell her shampoo.

  “Arsen, I’m really sore from last night and this morning,” she mewled in a little voice. She was talking into my chest and I had my arm wrapped around her protectively. “I don’t know if I can have sex again tonight.”

  What the fuck? After keeping my cock hard all through dinner with that fucking dress and that fucking back and forth, I was like a coiled spring. I would have been pissed off with any other girl. But Ashley? I just brought my lips to the top of her head and gave it a light kiss.

  "That's okay, babe," I said softly. "You're not going anywhere. We can chill tonight."

  She looked up at me with those adorable eyes. "Really?" she asked. I nodded.

  "Can we just watch a movie and snuggle?" she asked.

  Now at this time, had the old Arsen Hawke been present—hell had my late fucking father been present—he would have kicked my fucking ass for being a pussy. Because all I said was, "Absolutely, babe. Anything you want."

  And Ashley gave a few squeals of delight and pressed herself into me in happiness. All I could feel was her tits pressing against me. All I could imagine was spreading those legs and taking her.

  And so there we were an hour later, Ashley picking out a fucking romance movie. Not even a fucking romantic comedy that I could laugh to, but a goddamn romance movie.

  "Yay! I love this movie. It's so long too!" she said bouncing up and down happily as I watched that ass jiggle. Then she looked at me. "You sure you're okay with this, right?"

  I nodded, "Yeah, I'm good. Don't worry."

  "Great," she said. "Let me go change into some pajamas."

  And with that she sprung off the couch and into the bathroom.

  When she finally did come out I swear to God my eyes were about to explode as I looked at her.

  She was wearing a pair of black lace boy shorts that upped her ass so fucking deliciously and a black lace camisole. My cock nearly exploded in my pants I was so fucking horny.

  "I got this the other day," she said with a sly smile. "Do you like it?"

  If these were pajamas, then I wanted to see her fucking naked.

  At first I couldn't say anything. All I could do was stare. But eventually I looked at her. "I fucking love it. I could fuck you so hard right now, Ash," I growled.

  "Yeah, but you said you wouldn't, right?" she asked.

  I nodded. She smiled and came closer. "Great!" she exclaimed and then sat down basically on top of me, wiggling her body until she found every nook and crevice and somehow wedged herself into me. I wrapped my arms around her and she nestled in. I could fucking feel her ass rub up and down on my hard cock until it settled between her ass cheeks. Ashley didn't say anything, except look at me and give me a sly grin as she asked, "You going to be okay, Mister?"

  "I'll be fine," I lied. I didn't know what the fuck I was going to do.

  The movie started and pretty soon I felt Ashley clench and unclench her ass cheeks, squeezing my cock. Classic stripper move.
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  That was the fucking last straw! I was cool going to dinner and seeing her in that get up. I was okay not having sex. I was even okay watching a fucking chick flick that was three fucking hours long with her hot fucking body pressed up against me. But this was just too much.

  I began to thrust up against her, but after the first one, I stopped myself. I had promised Ashley. And fuck me, I honestly would trade not having sex with her as opposed to not being around her. It wasn't easy, but I actually fucking liked being on the couch with that fucking romance movie as long as she was there.

  And then she wriggled her ass against me again and my thoughts went crazy. Again and again. I'm thinking I'm going fucking crazy, not being able to move or do anything. I might as well just have passed out right then and there it felt so good. But even had I passed out, I’d be waking up right there just because her ass felt so fucking good.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, she stopped.

  She turned over and pressed her body to mine, bringing her face inches from mine.

  "This is hard for you, isn't it?" she asked with a cute looking pout and blinking eyes.

  "Very hard, babe," I grunted, not knowing what else to say. I was beaten down.

  All of a sudden that cute pout turned into a wicked grin. She gyrated her crotch on my cock a little bit as she said one word. "Good."

  I looked at her in surprise as she continued, "Consider it payback. For keeping me awake till 6:30 am this morning when 5 hours earlier you said just the tip. And then leaving me in a sex haze all day."

  And that's when her smile turned sultry and I realized Ashley Lane had been playing me the whole day, getting me all hot and bothered and leaving me no recourse but to take it. I brought my hands and grabbed her ass. Hard. She squealed and we fucked hard again that night. I may have ripped off that camisole of hers trying to get at those tits and get my mouth on them. We used that sofa in ways that the Scandinavians who designed it would never have imagined in their wettest of fucking dreams. And I know for a fact that that romance movie was done a fucking long time before we finally fell on each other, exhausted and happy.

  At least that’s what I’m thinking and I realize that I have a fucking smile on my face. But fuck it, I don’t care at this point.

  I go up the elevator to my condo and find Ashley waiting for me standing in front of the door in a trench coat.

  “Surprise!” she yells at me and I literally jump. “I had the concierge downstairs give me a ring when you started on your way up.”

  “Your surprising me by waiting for me in front of the door?” I ask.

  “No, silly!” she says with a pout. “This is how I’m surprising you!”

  And she whips open her trench coat to reveal her oh-so-sexy body clad in nothing but black stockings, a black lace thong and matching black bra. The material was supple and left just enough to the imagination that I could feel my cock harden instantly. If I didn’t get it out of my pants soon it was going to tent and then fucking claw its way out.

  “I got them for you today,” she says with a shy smile. “Do you like it?”

  But I don’t answer. And she doesn’t press me further. Because I’ve already bounded over and taken her in my arms and thrown us onto the same sofa that saw so much action yesterday. Half my clothes are off and I pause to look into her eyes.

  “You are so fucking gorgeous,” I whisper to her, as if confessing.

  She doesn’t say anything. Just pulls me closer to her for a kiss.

  You know, I take it back. If the old Arsen tries to come over and call me a pussy for what Ashley’s done to me, I’ll kick his ass for being an idiot.

  Because this is fucking Heaven with this girl.

  21

  Ashley

  Seventy-five.

  That’s how many days it’s been since Arsen first met me when I was still a stripper outside of Scorcher's. I don’t know if you remember, but that was the night that he got into my cab and got off at the Plaza. If he hadn’t taken the cab in that direction, I would have never gone through Times Square and gotten out to find Peter cheating on me. Peter would have never attacked me outside of the Simulated Pleasures offices, and I would have never had sex with Arsen, and King Henry would be all I would be thinking about.

  Sixty-nine.

  That’s the first time Henry called me. He was, and still is, referred to in the Simulated Pleasures databases as Client 5, but to me he’s King Henry. This job was never supposed to be a permanent operation. It was supposed to be like stripping. Something I do to tide me over for money until I start putting my Art History degree from Yale to use. Lately, I’ve come up with a newer plan that you may not like. That plan is to have as much phone sex with Henry and as much real sex with Arsen as possible, because I won’t be able to hang on to both forever. That much is clear. I have to come clean to one of them.

  Sixty-two thousand three hundred and ninety one.

  Otherwise known as $62,391. That’s how many dollars Client 5 has been billed in the last month. Charges start at $9.99 a minute and out of that $62,391, I’m getting big bonuses, that’s for sure. Just from Client 5. Who I’m starting to fall in love with. When I’m not feeling guilty because I'm also falling in love with Arsen. The only positive about all of this is that I’m making more money for less effort now than what I was doing at the strip club. It gives me more time to go to the gym, start paying off student loans, and start laying the foundation for my future. But every time I get a call that shows Client 5, my future comes crashing down. Every time I see Arsen, along with the excitement comes the crushing guilt at how this is all going to end.

  One hundred.

  That's how many times I've cum in the last seventy-five times Arsen and I have had sex. And it keeps getting crazier and crazier. It’s like a drug. I can’t get enough. Every time I have him, I cum. And every time I start to normalize, the first thing I want is more. I would be fine if you took away food, water, and sleep from me, as long as you left Arsen and his cock. We’ve done it in every room and surface of his apartment and mine. He’s taken me in public—not just near Southwest New York, but other areas as well. One afternoon we went for a walk in Central Park. I was teasing him about his shirt. He ended up slapping my ass playfully. I was wearing yoga pants and I could feel the slap of his hand on my ass cheek. It reminded me of when Henry had me slap my own ass. Arsen saw the look on my face and I brought my hand to his crotch and felt his cock thicken in my hand. We ended up having sex on a bench, hoping that no one would discover us. A week later, I gave Arsen a blowjob in a taxicab coming back from dinner. The next morning he returned the favor and used his fingers to hit my G-spot enough times in a come hither motion that he brought me to a giant orgasm underneath the table of Le Cirque. I’m not lying when I say I’m addicted to sex with Arsen. I would shuck myself on his cock all day if I could. The only thing that would draw me away would be having to take a phone call from King Henry.

  Forty-two.

  That’s how many times Henry's made me cum. If I have to be honest, I never thought that working as a phone sex operator would mean I would be having regular orgasms. In fact, I think most people would agree with me when I say that I was pretty convinced I would have to up my faking game. I mean, it was already pretty good—remember, my last job was at a strip club, but still, over the phone people can tell when you’re not into something based on your voice. But every time he calls, my heart starts to beat faster. I pick up and hear his confident, commanding voice asking me what I’m wearing. Then he tells me what he wants me to do to that will please him. In that moment, I exist for his pleasure. To service him. He owns me. After he’s done with me, my mind stays in a fog of lust and confusion for several hours afterward. I can still go about my day, but it’s as if I’m sleepwalking. Because the day feels empty without the large presence of Henry in my heart.

  Five.

  That’s how many times I’ve tried to tell Arsen that I love another person in addition to hi
m. But I can't do it. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I haven't even told Arsen that I love him, so we’re a long ways away from me telling him I love two people. And I can’t honestly say I love him when my soul aches for someone else as well. I know I’m going to have to choose one day. Never mind how crazy it sounds that I’m giving myself to someone I haven’t ever seen. Whose only interaction with me has been through his voice over a phone sex line. I can tell that King Henry—Client 5, feels the same way about me, from the snippets that he tells me of his family or of him growing up. The sighs I hear when we talk. Even the silences are things that I pay attention to. With Arsen, his very presence is stimulation enough. And I have so much more with him. I can see him. I can touch him. Taste him. The impact he has on me is spread out over so many senses. Henry's impact is just based on what I can hear.

  One.

  That’s how many other people know about my dilemma. Remember Yasmine? From Scorcher's? Figures that she should be the one I go to with all my troubles. But believe it or not, ever since I left, she and I have been getting close. We meet up for coffee or go to yoga together now on a regular basis. I’m happy to spend time with her because she understands the problems I’m facing.

  “I think you need to tell Arsen what’s going on,” Yasmine advises me one afternoon after yoga. I had come to yoga after an appointment with Client 5 where I literally shook and convulsed as my fingers on my clit brought me to a mind-numbing orgasm. “You can’t keep going on like this. You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

  “I know,” I agree with her. “But it’s already been so long I don't know how I get out of the hole I’m already in.”

  “The longer you stay silent, the deeper that hole gets to climb out from though, babe,” Yasmine says and I know she’s right.