by Olivia Myers
They dirtied. They showered. They dirtied again.
It was hours later—almost dawn—before they fell asleep, replete, in a tangle of limbs.
And yet somehow Natalie was not surprised when she woke up late the next morning to no sign of her friends, no sign of Kirk, and no explanation.
It had all happened. It was no dream. But she'd always known what it was.
A fling. A casual fling with a professional escort, an escort with a conscience.
She rolled over, put her face in the pillow, and cried.
***
"Aw, c'mon, Natalie. It's our very last day on New Saigon. You've done everything else practically, right?" Moona cajoled.
"She certainly has," Jackie said, with a sly look. "You've gone dancing twice. You even gambled a few times and didn't lose too much cash. You tried that weird dish—what's it called? All those sea worms in the shells."
"Rojinesh," Natalie said dully.
They were sitting at an elaborately dressed table in the hotel's own luxury restaurant. "Right," said Jackie. "And don't forget, you had a fling with that hot Katarian escort that one night. What was his name?"
"Kirk," Moona answered Jackie when Natalie stayed silent. "That was great. Did we ever tell you how proud we were of you for going through with the date even after you realized we'd done a switcheroo with that lackluster who-ya-macallit?"
"He was hot." Jackie fanned herself. "The Katarian, I mean."
"I've asked around. Turns out he's the most popular escort in the agency," Moona confided. "He's usually impossible to book, especially during the Pleasure-Love Festival. And to get him to carry you to your room? Whew, Nat!"
Jackie nodded. "You should have ordered him up again, maybe had a few more massages, tried a sauna, taken a pleasure cruise. But you haven't done bad at all here, kiddo."
"So what harm could just one extrapotent Hot Squat Purple Sunset do?" Moona pouted. "Tart...warm...relaxing..."
"Last day...." Jackie said again.
Natalie began to answer. But she just shook her head. She didn't have the heart to explain about her response to liquor again.
"Look, Natalie," Jackie said bluntly. "It's great you're no longer stressed, but it's obvious to both of us something is wrong. Our ship leaves in the morning. It's a three-day trip. Are you going to be morose the whole time?"
"At least tell us why you're depressed," Moona demanded. "We deserve to know."
Natalie twirled her finger around her water glass. Sure, ladies. That's easy. I'm the newest victim of the Pleasure-Love Festival curse. I fell in love with a Katarian hunk who makes a living wining, dining, and bedding a new woman every night. Who thinks I'm a load of trouble. And did I mention he beds a new woman every night?
Natalie shrugged. She blinked when a broad, steaming mug appeared before her. She peered inside. Purple and orange swirls.
"Just try it," Moona wheedled. "Our treat. One sip won't hurt you."
Natalie began to shake her head automatically.
"You know," mused Jackie, "If Natalie doesn't want to book that Katarian escort tonight, I just might. I really love how dominant he is." Jackie winked at Moona.
Natalie stared at her. Was Jackie serious? Would she really try to reserve Kirk, after Natalie had already...
Her face reddened. She sat up straight and barely noticed what she was doing when she picked up the mug and took a swig. The hot liquid didn't exactly scorch its way down her throat, but a few moments later, her belly was engulfed in flames. She burst into a fit of coughing.
"Good, isn't it?" Moona said brightly.
Cautiously, Natalie took another sip. And another. The more she sipped, the less reason she saw to stop.
Moona and Jackie exchanged glances. "Uh, Natalie? I'm glad you like it, but are you sure...."
Natalie put down the mug. She glared at Jackie. "You can't order up Kirk."
Her friend's elegant brows rose. "No? Why not? Isn't he available tonight?"
"I have no idea, but—”
"Let's just see, shall we?" Moona whipped up a schedule. Her cheerful smile faded. "Hmm, that's strange."
"What?" Jackie leaned forward.
"He's not on the roster at all. Not a single booking."
Maybe he was fired for refunding a client, Natalie thought hopefully. Then felt horribly guilty. If so, she was the one who'd lost him his job.
Suddenly, Moona gasped and her eyes went big. She glanced at Jackie, her face stunned. "Look at this."
Jackie leaned toward her and they huddled together over the air schedule. Across the table, Natalie tried to see what they were looking at, but she couldn't. Her eyes weren't focusing properly. And her head was feeling distinctly sick.
"Hey, Natalie, are you okay?"
She realized she was swaying in her chair. She put down the Hot Squat Purple Sunset and held her head between her palms. "I think so. Maybe."
"There. It's done." Jackie sounded satisfied. "We did it. Booked him."
Natalie flinched. "Booked Kirk?"
"Your sexy Katarian, yes. Full six hours."
"I thought he was no longer working at the escort agency."
"No, he's still there. Turns out his slot was a conditional. He's only accepting..." Jackie's voice drifted off.
"Certain kinds of clients," Moona finished for her.
"Yessir," Jackie said, sounding annoyingly smug. "One escort booked for tonight. Eight o’clock sharp. Right in the hotel suite."
"But...but...it's almost that time now," Natalie breathed. Just a few minutes. A few minutes more, and Jackie and Kirk would be in their hotel suite together...
"Well, there's no point wasting time, is there? I mean, we're leaving tomorrow morning. The slot's still open. So...." She stood up.
Natalie's heart plunged. She stared bleakly at Jackie. Tears clouded her vision.
Her stomach heaved.
"Natalie?" Moona sounded alarmed.
"I don't feel so good," Natalie managed.
"Come on. Let's get you to a bathroom."
But the restaurant bathroom, though elegant and vast, was occupied, and Natalie knew she couldn't bear strangers to witness what was coming.
"Just get me up to the room," she choked out.
"Right."
By the time they got up there, she was having second thoughts. She should have vomited in the restaurant bathroom, not come up here. Kirk was going to be here any second to provide escort services with Jackie, and she couldn’t bear seeing them together. She'd have to get out of there fast, before...
Just the thought made her stomach cramp. She burst through the door as soon as Moona got it open and rushed to the bathroom.
She walked out again a few minutes later, face washed and teeth brushed. Despite her empty belly, she still felt queasy.
A few steps into the room, she froze.
Kirk was standing by the window. There was no sign of Jackie. Or Moona, for that matter.
He looked the same, but different. Same golden eyes. His features seemed more angular, if anything. He was wearing casual clothes, though—and not just pants, but a black shirt.
And he looked angry.
"What," he said coldly, "am I doing here?"
His question made no sense. She looked around wildly. "Where is Jackie?"
"How should I know?"
"She booked you. She was just here a minute ago. Did you see her?"
"I've seen no one. The door was open. I came in. Eight o'clock. On time. And what the hell do you think you were doing, hiring me? And at the fucking last minute? You were lucky I'm even on site."
"What, me? I didn't hire you. Jackie did. I told you, she booked you. She wanted you." Natalie bit her lip.
His golden eyes pierced her. "You look lousy. You're green."
"Yes, I..." She swallowed. "I had a drink. It was a stupid thing to do. Why did you think I booked you? You know I'd never do that."
"Oh, yeah? I thought I did. But it's your name here. See?"
<
br /> She tried to focus on the schedule he called up. The lines and numbers swirled around. She winced at the effort.
"Something hurt?"
She nodded. Standing so close to him like this made her miserable and elated at once. She peered up at him. He wasn't looking at her. Probably he'd forgotten their night. Everything that had happened between them. After all, she was just one in a long line of...her stomach churned.
"Natalie?"
"I don't know why my name is there. Jackie said she wanted to book you, but she couldn't find you in the roster. Then she said she did find you. She made the reservation just now. A few minutes ago. She said it was our last night here. She said," Natalie’s voice broke, "there's no point wasting time."
"She… ah. Right. Now I understand. You didn't book this. As before, your friends butted in." He looked grim.
"Well, I don't understand."
He hesitated. "After our date, I took myself off the rotation. I needed a break." He shot her a dark look. "But I had to give myself an active status, because all agency employees have to be active if they're paid, even me. So I put myself on conditional."
"What's conditional?" Her head was clearing slowly. Maybe the liquor was moving through her system more rapidly than she'd expected. He'd taken himself off the rotation? Did that mean...?
"It means I only accept clients that meet certain conditions."
"What conditions?"
"It doesn't matter. I just threw in whatever was in my mind at the time."
"Can I see?"
He seemed reluctant, but moved aside to stare out the window. She focused hard. "Clients must be named Natalie?" she read, confused. "But that doesn't make sense."
"No," he agreed, turning to face her. "You were never going to hire me, because I'm never going to be your escort again, as I told you. So it was a nonsense condition."
"How can you just take yourself off the rotation like that?"
"It's not hard, except for the database problems, as I said. I do own the agency."
"You own the agency?"
"You didn't know that?" He frowned. "That explains some things you said. I keep forgetting. Your friends were the ones who orchestrated this whole scheme, weren't they? Even this time."
"This time? No, you have it all backward. Jackie wanted you for herself. She said—excuse me." Natalie dashed into the bathroom. Heaving didn't help this time; there was nothing left to eliminate.
"You don't hold your liquor well."
His voice came from right behind her. She shivered.
"I keep telling people that. But they don't seem to believe me."
"So...how are you, Natalie?"
She turned and found him inches away. She stepped back so she could look up and see his face, and almost fell over the toilet backward.
"You do that a lot, you know." His hands steadied her.
"You startle me a lot."
He cupped her face in his hands. "You're leaving tomorrow? I wondered when you were going."
"Did you? So you do remember me."
He scowled. "You're being an idiot again."
"You keep calling me that. Well, why am I an idiot? What don't I understand?" She could hear her voice rise, but couldn't stop it. "You tell me you're never going to be my escort again. Then you tell me I'm your lover, not a client. Then after the most wonderful night of my life, you leave and I never hear from you again. It's pretty clear. I'm a pain. I belong far away. Somewhere away from this pleasure planet. You like your sex to be separate from your friendships. I understand everything."
She was practically shouting now. He was staring at her as if she were some bellios that just broken loose.
"Right," he said. "Except for one thing."
"What?"
"You need me. You don't seem to get that. Everyone else gets it but you."
"What?"
"Everyone else gets it b—”
"No, no, I heard you. But what do you mean? You think I need you?"
"Need me, love me, whatever you call it." He waved his hand around. "You're not exactly subtle. Your sex drips for me as soon as you smell me. It's pretty obvious."
"You are the most arrogant man I've ever met! I can't believe you!"
He frowned. "Arrogant? What are you talking about? It's not something you can hide from a Katarian. We're attuned to it. No point in being extrasexual if we can't detect like kind, is there?"
"So you just go around detecting all the women that fall in love with you..."
"There are none. Just you. Just like I'm the only man who's fallen in love with you. It's pretty easy. Pretty basic. I'm surprised you're so unaware of it, though."
Her hand flew to cover her mouth, but she had no words.
"I see now you had no idea I owned the agency. Natalie, it takes weeks to sell a business, even a successful one. But anybody with half a brain would have..." He gripped her arms. "Did you honestly think I left you? As in, forever? After I told you how I felt?"
"You didn't tell me anything of the kind."
He shook his head. "You and I need to work on our communication. Strenuously. I claimed you, Natalie. Over and over."
Claimed? She snorted. "You've had sex with lots of women over and over—”
"Not with sex. Not half an hour after meeting you, I was telling you that you were mine. I don't think you were listening. I continued to tell you. I've never doubted it. You were the one that wasn't ready to understand. You've been very thick. A complete idiot. And I had to be careful. You were not ready for everything I'm capable of. I don't know if you are even now. I was prepared to wait a long time. At best, weeks. At most, years. But I'm not really that patient. I wish I were."
He was right, she thought dimly. About everything. She was beginning to get it—finally. And comprehension was too much for her. Her knees gave way. He caught her easily. "You really are kind of green. Why don't you try to vomit again?"
"So romantic," she choked out, but complied. Nothing came out this time, either. But after the heaving convulsions, he gathered her back to lean against him. His hands came around her and cupped her breasts.
"So is everything clear now, Natalie? No more wild assumptions?"
She nodded. "I think so. You may be right. I'm not the most self-confident person. I didn't understand why you even wanted me. I missed you awfully when I woke up and you were gone."
His hands squeezed. "If it makes you feel any better, while your heart was breaking, my cock was in constant torment, with no relief anywhere, except from my own hands—and they're not a tenth as delightful as you are."
She stifled a laugh.
"I'd have come to you every day if I thought you could handle it. But you have a very narrow comfort zone, Natalie. And I strain the limits of it constantly. Which in turn drives me absolutely mad. I'm not going to be satisfied until I have you where I want you."
"Where is that?" she asked.
"See? You're uneasy even now. Where I want you is wherever you want to be. I'll follow you, sweetling. Why do you think I'm selling the agency? If your friends hadn't been matchmaking, I'd have tracked you down as soon as I broke free here. But I like this better." He thrust his hips against her buttocks and shuddered.
But Natalie was distracted. "Matchmaking? Matchmaking? You mean—is that why—were they really—why, those—”
"Remind me not to serve liquor at our wedding," he whispered in her ear.
The End
Licked by a Vampire
If Imogen had her way, the girls of St. Nocturne’s would be more like her. Shy, modest, polite, gifted. After all, it was a college for the arts, where lovers of poetry and music and art could go to pursue their interests far away from the rude interruption of the world. This was at least the intention of its founders, who three hundred years ago had built the college, a small series of fairy-tale turrets and buildings, on a hilltop nestled in the wilderness. For a while it had been that kind of place. An isolated place, devoted to the pursuit of the good
and the beautiful.
A crumpled wad of wet paper came whirling through the air, slapping the back of Imogen’s neck like a bee sting. Any other girl would have turned around to see who the attacker was, but not Imogen. She already knew. This was the bad part about St. Nocturne’s, and chief among the bad part was the group of girls sitting behind Imogen.
They called themselves the Golden Girls, and for Imogen they represented everything that was wrong with the college. There were four of them—prissy, self-entitled girls with too much money but not enough to buy even an ounce of manners or kindness. The Golden Girls didn’t think they needed manners. They were the hot shit. They were the foxy mamas of St. Nocturne’s: the girls strutting the hallways between lectures, linked arm-in-arm like a battering ram subduing lesser girls who wouldn’t get out of their way. The clacking of their heels on the parquet could be heard all the way from town. Their perfume—Chanel, Yves Sainte-Laurent, Gucci—could be smelled from the top of the mountain.
Supposedly, the Golden Girls were at St. Nocturne’s because they studied music. A few of them sang and played the guitar. One girl was rumored to play pretty decent piano.
But anyone who spent a long enough time at the university knew that their real art was in torturing the smarter, more intelligent girls. Imogen did not know why they even needed to study. They were already masters of their craft.
“Did I hear something?” Miss McReddy, the classics literature professor, adjusted her thick glasses and turned her questioning glance to her class. Her gaze rested on Imogen. The girl was a favorite of the professor and it was no wonder—Imogen lived for literature, for romance and for poetry. In this field, she was Miss McReddy’s chief ally. Now she knew that a response was expected from her.
“No, Professor,” Imogen said, still wincing from the pain of the spitball.
“Well, good.” The professor’s pumpkin face broke into a wide smile. “And now that I’ve found you, Imogen, perhaps you’d like to contribute something to the topic?”
Imogen cleared her throat, embarrassed. She’d been distracted by her tormentors and hadn’t heard what the discussion was covering. “Err, professor?”
Helpless giggles broke out behind her. Imogen felt her cheeks turning red.
