I smile. I never know what to say when someone says I'm pretty. Thank you? I'm not blind. I was blessed with the best parts of my parents—small mouth with pouty lips, big doe eyes that are a deep brown to almost black, and a creamy complexion. I know I'm pretty but wouldn't go as far as to say I'm gorgeous. That's just being extra.
"Thanks, girl," I say. "Now give me a shot."
My nerves are already worked up and we aren't leaving for at least an hour. Natalie hands me a shot in her favorite red Solo shot glass.
"This is like a double, you ass. I can't be drunk when I walk in there!"
She brushes it off. "You won't be drunk, trust me. You need to relax and this will do the trick. All the girls do it. No one walks in there straight and sober. It's impossible."
Natalie makes a good point, but that still doesn't loosen the knots in my stomach.
"Here's to getting my groove on." I toast, then take the shot.
Natalie gets to work, putting all this shit on my face I don't typically wear. She moves fast with a steady hand, winging my eyes, applying heavy mascara, and giving me rosy cheeks. She finishes me off with red, glossy lipstick.
"Really? Red lipstick," I say. It's the color of a fire hydrant. "All trick girls wear red."
"Yeah, because men fucking love it," she retorts, and I shrug. Fine. She would know more than me anyway.
I look alluring, yet still a little innocent, and it works for me. My skin appears flawless and I need to know what she used so I can buy it too. Natalie doesn’t do much to my hair, just straightens it and adds some soft curls at the ends. She applies some shiny stuff to it, making it look really healthy. I want to run my fingers through it but I know she'll only slap my hand away.
The vodka works its magic as I feel my body relaxing. My shoulders aren't as tense and I'm a tad more confident than before. I'm sure that will change when I step inside Sanctuary Cove.
"Jesus, Nat. If you ever decide to stop being a hooker, you should definitely look into the hair and makeup field, because you killed this. I look like a goddess."
I stare at my reflection in disbelief. I look like a sultry and dark version of myself. I have to say, if I wasn't so lazy with makeup, or cheap, then I'd rock this look all the time.
"You're welcome," she says proudly, and I just smile. I'm shocked by how I look. "Now, let's dress you up!"
Natalie pulls out a couple of dresses and places them on her bed. She studies each one, taking turns looking at me then the dresses. She finally decides on a black spaghetti strap, scrunched dress. She says something about it being a bodycon, but I just nod. It's a minidress made to stick to a body, and that's exactly what it does when I put it on.
"Your boobs look fantastic," she says.
I look at them in the mirror and silently agree. The top isn't anything special—it just sits straight across—but since I have full breasts, the dress makes me look insanely tempting. I love it so much. I actually feel sexy. She hands me a pair of peep toe nude heels, then brings my hair to my front so it drapes over my chest, twisting the ends to keep the curl.
"I'm impressed. I didn't think I was going to look like this, but I have to say, I would totally do myself."
Natalie giggles and slips into a V-neck dress and soft pink heels.
"Not for nothing. I just didn't expect escorts to dress so tastefully. It helps wash the grime away."
"Let me guess. You imagined patent leather or some vinyl shit." She gives me a droll stare.
I bite my bottom lip, guilty. "Kinda. You can't blame me. People don't usually think classy and sophisticated when they think escort. They think prostitute, and they think trash with no morals."
"That's because this is New York and we're a different breed. Prostitutes are strictly for sexual satisfaction. Escorts are for entertainment purposes with a glamorous look that just happens to come with the sex benefits. Now, listen. When we get there, I want you to walk in with your shoulders back and your chin up, but no resting bitch face. You want to look tantalizing and juicy and feel comfortable in your skin. Shy is fine, we don't want insecure, which you're not, so do not cower when she starts to grill you. Got it? Good."
I feel my nerves climbing again, but I push them down. I can do this.
"What's she going to say to me?"
Natalie hands me a coat and then puts one on herself.
"She's different with everyone. No two people are the same, so I can't really say." She checks the time on her phone, then looks at me and says, "Let's roll. Our car is waiting."
Here goes nothing.
Fourteen
Posh. Opulent. Rich.
Sanctuary Cove is nothing like what I anticipated. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but this was definitely not it. I guess I expected to feel sleazy when I walked in, the air to smell like sex and sweat. Despite Natalie's constant reassurance, I still wasn't sold…until now.
Our coats are taken at the door by an older man who resembles a bouncer, and when the door closes behind us, I can’t hear any of the noise from the busy New York City streets. Soundproof, we’re immediately plunged into a world of decadence.
The air smells of jasmine and caresses my senses, with just a hint of cigar smoke. I recall Natalie telling me there's a cigar lounge somewhere in here but it’s one of the areas where women aren’t allowed. Probably a good thing. I think I'd feel like a piece of meat with lion's preying all around me waiting to attack if I walked in there.
Taking in my surroundings, I revel in how beautiful this place is, and it helps ease the nerves in my stomach. The floor is white marble, and in the center of the entrance is a circular table with a beige tablecloth of thin chiffon ruffles draped to the floor. It's gorgeous and catches my eye immediately. There are mini tea lights on the gold table top and a massive flower arrangement. It looks like a tree but moss curves around the branches and there are tons of white orchids drooping over, giving it a romantic feel. White hydrangeas finish off the arrangement at the base. It's elegant, and if we were anywhere else, I would've taken my phone out to snap a picture of it.
"Remember what I told you," Natalie says quietly under her breath, and I nod. "Act like you're worth the two grand an hour," she says. "Madam Christine loves a confident woman."
I mimic Natalie, walking like she does—my legs crisscrossing one in front of the other, the way runway models do—into what looks like a private room.
I swallow the giant knot in my throat as we step inside where Natalie’s boss is waiting for us. Our eyes lock and anxiousness washes over me. My heart is seconds away from jumping out of my chest and I'm afraid I'm going to slip in my heels, something I never do. Exhaling a heavy breath, I blow out all my fear and let the liquor soothe my nerves.
Christine immediately rakes a hard stare down my body, taking in every inch of me, including my chest and the way my breasts bounce subtly. She watches the way I walk, and how I look her straight in the eye. Her gaze gives nothing away and I have to say, she plays her part well. We stop in front of the high top table she's standing at.
"Madam Christine," Natalie says, her voice raspy, "I'd like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Aubrey Abrams."
While she's not as tall as me, I can tell by looking at her she's someone you don’t want to fuck with. Her hair is jet black and parted severely down the center, but it's her eyes that make me want to cower like Natalie said not to. And I don't. It's like they've seen too much and she already knows everything she needs to know.
"Aubrey, it's a pleasure to meet you." Her voice is soothing, kind of erotic.
I give her a demure smile. "You as well."
"Tell me something about you that no one would know."
"I love jazzy blues music."
"Something else."
"I like reading stock trading books."
She raises a brow. "What else?"
"I'm not a huge fan of tattoos."
"Why not?"
"They're a waste of money and half the time they look like shit."
S
he waits for me and I get the impression she either wants me to offer more, or I've offended her with my tattoo comment, so I quickly fix it.
"I take that back. It depends on the artist and how much money someone is willing to spend. But most people are cheap. They want everything for nothing, and because of that, in twenty years it's going to look like an abstract blob of color."
"If you had the money, and the right artist, would you get one?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I don't waste my money on things that aren't necessities."
Something flashes in her eyes.
"Have you always had to work for what you want?"
"Yes. My grandmother struggled to raise me, and now I do everything in my power to make sure she no longer has to struggle, even though she hates that I do."
"Where are you parents?"
"Dead."
"Both?"
"Yes. They died in a car accident when I was very young."
"So you go above and beyond for your grandmother because she's the only family you have left."
"Always."
"Where were you working before you came here?"
I correct her. "I'm currently working at a laundromat, and I was a nanny for a family of twin boys on Long Island, but I recently quit."
She angles her head just slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Why did you quit?"
"Because the husband kept underpaying me or only paid me when he felt like it. I don’t like when people mess with my hard-earned money."
She makes a little sound in the back of her throat and I feel triumphant. By her reaction, what I said is something she wanted to hear. I didn't say it just for her benefit, though. I truly feel that way.
Madam Christine pushes off the table and waves her fingers for us to follow her. I take in her backside and I'm a little surprised by how amazing she looks. I have no idea how old she is, but she doesn’t look a day over forty. I’d wager she's much older, though.
We walk into a room that reminds me of a place where boudoir photos would be taken. She shuts the door and I take in the room in awe. Lush and soft, inviting. My favorite part is the blush pink, lilac gray, and ivory string of pearls that holds back the long slate gray curtains.
I turn around to see what we're doing in here when Christine walks up to me. She's a few feet from me and her eyes roam my face.
"Strip."
My eyes shift to Natalie and Christine snaps her fingers in front of my face.
"Don't look at her. She won't be in the room when you're with a client. Strip."
I blink, taken aback. Natalie and I dress in front of each other all the time, but I wasn't expecting this.
I’ve also never just stripped for anyone before, so there's that.
Looking Christine in the eye, I hand Natalie the little clutch she let me borrow, then pull down the thin straps of my dress. My breasts spill out and my nipples instantly pucker from the chilly air. She doesn’t hide her wandering eyes and focuses on my raspberry areolas. Her lingering gaze makes me glow with arousal. She makes me feel sexy. I wasn’t expecting this reaction. I arch my back a little and push the dress over my hips and step out of it, debating whether I want to leave it on the floor or hold it up for her. I don't want her thinking I'm cocky. Pushing it to the side, I stand tall, my breasts full but perky.
She lifts her eyes to mine and raises a brow, waiting. I know what that means.
Hooking my thumbs into the black lace of my thong underwear, I push them down and step out of them, so all I'm left in are Natalie’s four-inch black heels. I don't even have jewelry on, because Natalie insisted I didn't need it.
Madam Christine steps back and I swear I can feel her eyes on every square inch of my skin. It's like she's taking inventory and pinning my physique to memory.
"Spread your legs so they’re shoulder-length apart. Put your arms behind your head."
I breathe in slow and do as she says, my pulse thrashing in my neck. All I want to do is look at Natalie to make sure this is normal, but the rustling in my veins tells me not to.
“She needs waxing,” she says to Natalie. “Wax everything." Christine eyes her, and Nat mumbles in agreement.
I shave pretty well so I'm not sure what she means, but okay. I've never had waxing done before.
Christine steps closer to me and places two fingers under my breast and taps it. She taps it again, and it bounces softly. Cupping it gently, she gives it a squeeze. My stomach tightens.
"What size are you?"
"Thirty-four C, or D, depending on the bra."
"Beautiful," she says, and cups my other breast, giving it the same treatment.
She places both hands under my arms and then drags them down to my waist and around my jutting hips, slowly lowering herself to the floor until she's on her knees.
"Waist and hip sizes."
"My waist is a twenty-six. My hips are thirty-three."
"Do you work out?" she asks, eye level with my pussy, and I want to die of embarrassment.
She's looking up for my answer but all I can think about is how I'm turned on seeing Christine on her knees.
I lick my lips. "No," I respond, my voice a bit raspy.
"Why not?"
"I can't afford it."
She doesn't say anything and continues running her palms to my backside, cupping my ass cheeks. Looking over her shoulder, she says to Natalie, "Go to a Pilates or yoga studio, not a gym. I don't like my women looking like men. Clients want soft and supple. Some like to think they can break a woman if she's small, and we give them the illusion they can."
I wish Madam Christine would tell me these things directly instead of pretending I'm not here.
"Thank you, Natalie. You can see yourself out. I need to speak with Aubrey alone now."
I look frantically between both of them wondering what she needs to talk to me about alone while I’m buck naked. Natalie gives me no clue. She just nods and excuses herself from the room.
Christine remains on her knees and once the door closes, she does the same exact thing to my pussy that she did to my boobs. A little gasp escapes me as she taps on it, and she looks up, watching me. My stomach dips and a strange sensation cultivates inside my body that I don't know how to process.
"Have you ever been touched by a woman?"
"No." My answer is a whisper on my lips.
Something gleams in her eyes and I have no clue how to read it. All I know is that steadying my heartbeat is a lot harder than it's proving to be. She uses both her hands to spread my lips apart. Jesus Christ… I swallow hard as she eyes my pink clit.
"If a woman wants to be with you, are you willing?"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’ve never really thought about it. I'm not sure I’m opposed to being with the same sex, but I don’t know if I want to. I've always loved men and their masculinity. The alphas are the best. Their strength, how dominating and strong they are—they light my blood on fire. Yes, there are women I find downright stunning, but I never stopped to ask if I found them sexually appealing. Does that mean I’m willing to try?
"Yes."
Her face softens and she looks pleased. "That's good to know."
Christine stands up and walks behind me, her hand dragging over my flesh. "Have you ever kissed a woman?"
"Yes."
"How many men have you been with?" she asks, her hands covering my breasts, massaging them. Her chest is to my back and my eyes widen as she presses harder into me. My breathing deepens. I've never had a woman touch me like this before and I'm not sure what to think, because I actually like the way it feels.
My back arches of its own accord and I lean into her touch. "I don't keep count," I say, a little breathless.
"Give me a roundabout number, Aubrey. Three, nine, twelve?"
Blunt and to-the-point.
"Over twenty. I prefer one-night stands. I'm not a relationship kind of girl, and I'm not just saying that in the hopes you hire me. I just don't do boyfr
iends."
There's a purr in the back of her throat and I seriously can't tell if she's happy about my response or not, but I feel like she might be.
Madam Christine tweaks my nipples, pinching and tugging, so it sends a zing straight to my throbbing pussy. My arousal coats my inner thighs. I don't know what to think about the way I'm feeling right now because it's so foreign to me, yet I really like it.
Her fingers spread and she slowly skims her hands down my stomach, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. My eyes rolls shut and I focus on her touch, my body simmering with a craving for more.
When I leave Sanctuary Cove tonight, I’m going to crucify Natalie for not fucking warning me first that not only would I be getting touched by Madam Christine, but that I would like it too.
Fifteen
"What about anal, Aubrey?" Christine says, her tone a sensual caress down my neck. For a second, I wonder if she’d like to strap one on and test me out.
I blink rapidly while her hands move lower to my hips and down to my inner thighs, just grazing my pussy. She gives one thigh a good squeeze and my body lights up like it’s the fucking Fourth of July. I let out a little sigh. Her grip loosens and my thigh tingles as her fingers splay across my trembling flesh. I'm aching for her to move higher. Her hand on my opposite thigh creates warmth as she moves her palm in circles over my skin. Just when I think she's going to graze up my hips again, she shocks me by delving her fingers into my pussy.
My body jolts and presses into hers, and I let out an obvious sigh of pleasure. Christine plays with my folds, stroking them both equally, building my desire.
"Anal, Aubrey? Answer it."
Fuck. I'd forgotten she asked that. My hips tilt back and a rush escapes my lips.
"No," I say, and she glides two fingers up and down my embarrassingly wet slit, rubbing over my clit.
I try to focus on something, anything, other than how good she's making me feel, but it's impossible. There's something erotic about the way she, a woman, is touching my sex. Like it's forbidden, and that makes it much more desirable.
"I appreciate your honesty," she says, stroking me slow enough and with just enough pressure to make my body tremble on the edge of desire. "I can't tell you how many girls lie, and when they're paired up with the wrong guy…" She clucks her tongue. "Aubrey?"
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