The Christmas Bet

by Alice Ward

  “And your question?” I slipped back into seductress mode again, trying to ignore the images that his “thrill ride” brought to mine. Like me leading him to the bed, pushing him down on it, and taking control. Stripping him of his suit and climbing on top of him. Not giving him even a moment to gather himself before I positioned him at my opening and pressed my weight down on him, until he sank deep into me.

  “Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?” His voice was stiff, as was his handsome. Why was he suddenly stressed? Uncomfortable? What had I missed?

  My face and body felt stiff too. My blouse was sticking to my skin in the heat of the room. I wondered if all the girls felt this way, and that was why they thought nothing of taking a strange man into their bed.

  Then his question sank in, and my skin turned suddenly cold. There was no way he would really recognize me — no one had. I’d worn my mask all evening. My previously blonde and purple-tipped hair was back to its original shade of dark brown with a few highlights. And rumor had it I’d died of a drug overdose. Forget that I’d never actually taken drugs. To most in the world, Adara Wilde was history.

  “Maybe I knew you in another life,” I blurted out, then inwardly cringed.

  Stupid. So stupid, Adara. You need to give him meaningful answers.

  “Doubtful. I don’t believe in reincarnation.” He wasn’t too amused by my evasion.

  “Okay.” I laughed and leaned forward, taking a more flirtatious approach. “Your waitress at Denny’s perhaps.”

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t work at Denny’s.” His eyes became distant as he sifted through the far reaches of his memory for the answer.

  Luckily, he drew a blank.

  “Have you worked here long?”

  Thank god. A question I could answer honestly. “Just started a few months ago.”

  “Well, must be my imagination then. How many questions do we have left?” He set his plate down on the table next to him and picked up his vodka, which was nothing more than a swallow of liquid in the bottom of the glass.

  Though I could call him on his last question, make it count, I decided to give him one more. “Do you want something else to drink first?” I asked, following protocol.

  A happy client was a drunk one. We had to offer beverages when the client’s libations were low.

  “Do I have time for another?” He seemed to perk up a bit at the thought of more time together.

  He was sexy and cute when he had a playful reaction to something. I liked Mr. Wellington more than I thought I would. He seemed real.

  Not much at Jewel was real. And it was way too good to have a conversation with someone from outside of here, even if I had to play cat and mouse.

  “You may have as much time as you want. At Jewel, we only satisfy.” I batted my eyes and fake smiled, putting on an overblown show as I called in the hostess for another drink.

  “I bet.” He shot me a genuine smile, seeming to see through my acting skills. “Let’s continue then,” he said as he put the glass down and rested his palms on his knees.

  I glanced at the bed behind him. A hot need burned in my center, making me wonder what it would be like to take him to the soft mattress and handle that bulge of his.

  “My turn,” I said quietly as my lungs constricted. I wished I could stretch out this last question, make the evening with him last longer. He intrigued me, a real man from outside the confines of Jewel.

  But I would never be rejoining the real world.

  I took a deep breath. “If you could have one moment of your life back and relive it, what moment would you choose? Question five.” I leaned into the chair and did my very best to keep my breathing stable, keep my Jewel face on beneath my mask.

  He looked at me for a long time, seeming to go over every angle of my exposed face. It was like a caress and a probe at once. To end it, I was about to prod him further when he smiled, and his eyes sparked.

  “It would be the moment I purchased this conversation with you,” he said plainly, still smiling.

  My heart exploded in my chest as air left my lungs. He regretted our time together? He couldn’t demand his money back, but I guess I had been evasive. Dammit. I’d been trying to keep him from prying my life apart. I couldn’t give away too much and have him figure out my identity.

  If he was disappointed, why was he still smiling? Had he meant it in a romantic way? Was he trying to coerce me into fucking him? He was oh-so-fuckable, and I didn’t want to leave him unhappy.

  No. No, I wouldn’t do that no matter how sexy the man. No matter how much he made me squirm.

  I kept my voice steady. “Why, Mr. Wellington? Only five of the questions were mine, you could have asked anything you wanted within reason.”

  The slow, steady heat in his eyes flared, and suddenly, all I wanted was for this meeting to be over. But then again, I didn’t. Damn. I was getting entirely too worked up.

  “I’d go back and change my offer. I wouldn’t have offered to just talk with you. I would’ve paid to listen.” He sat thoughtfully for a moment. “And… I would’ve offered to make love to you. I wouldn’t have sex with you or order anything off of a menu. Nothing for myself. I’d hold you, caress you, bring you to delight.” He leaned forward again, his eyes nearly glowing in the soft light. “Until you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someone on this Earth cared for you. If I could’ve had that moment back and changed my mind, that’s what I would’ve done.”

  Tears and carnal longing clogged my throat. There was so much kindness and truth behind his words, and so much sensuality. Did he really mean that?

  Or was it a game he played, the picture he’d painted his trump card?

  He had me scrambling to stay afloat, when just a few moments ago I’d been leading this interaction. I forced myself back into the elusive butterfly role. “I’m glad you didn’t, Mr. Wellington. Or you and I never would’ve had this time together. I’m not a whore.”

  He didn’t even blink. “You’re right, but I didn’t say anything about buying your services. I said I would’ve paid to listen to you. I’d make you feel good for free.” He looked surprised by his next words. “Love the pain away.”

  My whole body was trembling, and I had to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. It was palpable, the raw sexual tension, the unearthed and unclaimed truth between us.

  I took in a deep breath, willing my voice to remain steady. “It’s time for your last question, Mr. Wellington.”

  He got up out of his chair, and the hairs raised on the back of my neck, and not from fear. I was tensed and ready to bolt because of the pull that made me want to let him continue to sit across from me all night. It would be wonderful to allow myself to relax, have a drink, listen to this man’s voice for as long as I wanted.

  But I couldn’t do that.

  I shifted, and pain shot through my leg.

  Sympathy was clear on his face as he recognized my discomfort. The external discomfort at least. The internal problem was that I knew how this could go down, had heard too many horror stories from Jewels. I was ready to retaliate if he pressed the whole “make love” thing in a sinister way.

  There was a panic button hidden under the table next to me. My mind was so on fire that I was surprised I remembered it. But I didn’t think, somehow knew, that he wasn’t even remotely that kind of guy — that he might take what he wanted from people in business, but that he would never waiver from his word.

  My breath left my lungs in a puff. For god’s sake, he wanted to love the pain away. The pain he’d seen in under five questions.

  As he approached me, my eyes must’ve gone wild.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was calm and steady as he reached his hand out to me.

  “Of course you won’t. There are cameras all over the room and you wouldn’t want to be banned from returning to Jewel.” The air was sucked out of the room as he came closer.

  When he gently laid
his strong hand over mine and pulled me to my feet, I feared that I might topple over, but in one strong motion, he drew me to his chest. I was one hundred percent positive he could now feel my heart beating out of control. Was that his heart I felt, pounding out a beat close to mine?

  “Can I see you again?” he whispered breathlessly, our faces too close for any kind of sanity. His eyes were translucent under the light, the tiny valleys of brown in his iris going light to dark and so clear I thought I could see deep inside of him, see the surprise he also felt at what was happening between us.

  But I couldn’t let myself look, couldn’t let my heart love anyone ever again.

  I sidestepped Roman gracefully, happy I was able to maneuver away from him without my cane and not falter. Oh no you don’t, Mr. Make-love-to-you. I won’t melt into your arms.

  “I’ve enjoyed our evening, Mr. Wellington, but your time is up. This one time was an exception on my part, so I’m afraid that can’t happen.” I bowed my head, playing the Jewel card.

  My taking on the subservient-hostess-to-guest role snapped us back to our proper places, making an awkwardness fill the room.

  He took my hand in his and placed a tender kiss on my palm. “I wish I’d met you before whoever broke your heart did, my beautiful butterfly.”

  I willed my hostess-face not to crack, pressed down the ache that was so fresh and had nothing to do with Nate. A lone tear silently ran down my cheek as I turned away from him and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Roman

  Stepping out of the room, I was reeling from my encounter. And while I didn’t know her real name or anything about her as I’d hoped I would, I felt a connection between us. A connection that for some reason had sent her off in tears. Had my suggestion of loving her caused her so much anguish that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me any longer? If so, I was to blame and wanted to set things right.

  I have to find a way to see her again.

  I didn’t mind paying, but sensed there was something deep inside she would never reveal as long as we were at Jewel. My mind immediately began devising ways I could sequester the Butterfly, when I was met by our hostess.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wellington. I hope you enjoyed your experience.” Her eyes were wide and hopeful.

  “It was quite enjoyable. Please offer my gratitude to my clever conversationalist,” I said as the haze of my lust and fascination dissipated.

  As much as my cock was unsatisfied with my “purchase,” the warm tingling sensation ignited within me was so foreign, it was worth twice what I paid for it. I knew the raw and heady sensations of lust, but this was deeper, this was something more grounded in admiration and empathy. Maybe it boiled down to those two things simultaneously.

  “I’ll be sure to let her know how pleased you are. I’m afraid your colleague has not yet completed his evening, so may I suggest that you use one of our private rooms to enjoy a massage or a nightcap?” Her eyes sought my response, which for the moment was nonexistent. “It’s two a.m. and you’re welcome to have a rest if you prefer. We have temporary accommodations as well as professionals available to relax you. If you’d like something more stimulating we can negotiate a price, otherwise we’ll wake you when your driver is ready to take you home. These services are complimentary and provided with our deepest appreciation for your patronage.”

  My mind was in a faraway place. The Butterfly had left with one lone tear streaking down her face, and I wanted to find her, needed to. I knew I probably wouldn’t be permitted to roam the halls freely, but that’s all I wanted to do.

  The hostess took my silence to mean I was considering her proposal. “If you’d like to consider another package, Mr. Wellington,” the hostess added, “we still have many tempting offers for you. I can escort you to our consulting rooms, if you’d like.” Her face never broke its soft, tempting, subservient countenance.

  With such refinement and pleasantry, a fastidious commitment to discretion and the most beautiful women in Montana, it was no mystery how Jewel had become such a maverick in men’s entertainment worldwide.

  I smiled. “I’m afraid other women would pale in comparison to the Butterfly. A private chamber with some cold sparkling mineral water sounds perfect right about now. Thank you.” I needed a place to recompose. A moment to myself was an absolute necessity at this point. My cock could no longer be ignored.

  Within moments, she showed me to a room with a lounger in the corner. Hidden speakers lilted out a sensual, foreign melody and the lighting was so dim, it merely casted an amber glow. My mineral water was waiting on a side table and there was a seventy-inch TV mounted on the wall.

  “The television is programmed to receive channels from every country in the world. We also have ten of our own channels which are guaranteed to delight you. Can I get you anything?” she offered, curtseying.

  “Yes, just one thing. What was the name of the woman I just met, her real name?” I wondered what it would take to wear a hostess down, or if it was even possible in this place.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” She smiled devilishly, cocked her head, pushing her neck and breasts forward invitingly. A clever distraction.

  “And your name?”

  “Alma Rain,” she cooed in an even-toned cadence.

  “That your real name? Alma Rain?” I singsonged back at her, knowing very well she was just as well-crafted as the Butterfly.

  “It is if you want it to be.” Her voice dropped some, and her lips formed into a pout as she understood I saw through her.

  “I bring clients here, Alma, but I’m not really into this show. I’m always more interested in the real person, even here in this brothel. I may have a hell of a lot of money, but I do have some heart to go with it.” I was nearly pleading with her to bring some truth to the table. This place could cause a man to feel like the world was slicked over with lasciviousness, like I’d eaten the Turkish delights in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Only they made everyone sexed up and bowing to please.

  A hint of a smile cracked across her face as she whispered “Anne” nervously under her breath, her eyes darting up to the hallway ceiling and quickly down again.

  My gaze followed hers, and on the ceiling was the glistening rainbow reflection of a camera lens.

  I then moved closer to Anne and touched her shoulder. “Thank you for being an exceptional hostess this evening.” I reached into my pocket and produced a wad of bills. I slipped them into her jacket, blocking the movement from the camera with her body. “This is only for you. No need to share with the establishment.”

  She nodded and touched my hand as I removed it from her pocket.

  Thank you, she mouthed and bowed before turning to walk away.

  I walked into the room and plopped down on the lounger, which was large and comfortable, astounded my conversation with the Butterfly had lasted less than an hour. What a strange night. I cupped myself, also marveling that I still had such an almost painful hard-on. It’d been a while since it’d seen any real action.

  The last woman I dated was a foreign diplomat from the Ukraine. I knew the affair would only last as long as her business trip, so I enjoyed a little no-strings-attached fun. That was about six weeks ago.

  I thought about some TV, but I was still hyper-charged with sexual tension. This I wanted to flatline — it was making me feel jumpy and irritated. I looked around the room for visual stimulus since I knew I’d find it in abundance.

  There was a specially designed Jewel-encrusted list of channels for the television. First on the list was The Spanking and Flogger Festival. No, thanks.

  There was also a glossy menu with pictures of services to consider that could be rendered at the touch of an in-house iPhone — which I still had in my possession. And of course, a drawer full of goodies, all shrink-wrapped and ready for play.

  Maybe just a cold shower. I glanced over the adjacent marble-lined bathroom. Despite the opulence and elegance, it was
all feeling more than a little tawdry. But I had more than an hour to wait and this hard on wasn’t going away anytime soon.

  Deciding to handle things like a man, I made myself comfortable on the soft cushions, then unbuttoned my dress shirt. Releasing my still partially engorged dick from its confines, I stroked myself from tip to root, then again as I imagined my hand being replaced by another.

  Closing my eyes, I could almost see her walk into the room, still wearing the black mask that so frustratingly covered the most distinguishing features of her face. Instead of wearing wide slacks and a sheer black blouse as she did for our conversation, she was enveloped in a long, gauzy robe with draping arm sleeves that nearly touched the floor. And fully revealed her gorgeous curves.

  The front floated open when she moved. The slopes of her breasts peaked out from the robe’s opening, and beneath the filmy covering, deep rose-colored nipples peeked out, a sharp contrast against her pale white skin. Her nipples were pert and attentive, her tits gorgeously natural and round.

  I wanted to gather them up, press my face into them, and breathe in her hypnotizing scent. It brought to mind orange trees in bloom and jasmine vines growing wherever they pleased.

  Below her incredible breasts was a well-toned waist that gradually slanted into ample hips. I loved a woman with curves. Thin, muscular women were fun, but I wanted something more robust to hold on to. Her toned body told me she could handle my style of lovemaking. Since when had I called it lovemaking?

  I worked out and I liked it when the woman I was with was athletic enough to keep up with me. The gym — working out — was my happy place. Where I conquered my demons. Like when I fucked. I needed a woman who could handle me.

  As I returned to the image I’d constructed of her in my head, I wondered if she could handle my length and girth, and started to stroke my rigid cock in earnest. As lust painted my vision into a vivid fantasy, I noticed the Butterfly’s sexy thigh gap, just enough to make a man go insane wanting to push himself into that space. She was, from top to toe, the entire package. Absolutely everything.