by S. J. Hooks
She clears her throat. “Wow.”
“Is there something wrong with me?” I whisper. “I mean, I’m not supposed to like it, right?”
She’s quiet for a little while. “Says who?”
I frown, confused.
“Who says you’re not supposed to like it?” she elaborates. “You’re a woman, Abbi. You have feelings too, including horniness.”
“Horniness?” I can’t help but laugh. “Is that even a word?”
Jo grins. “Whatever. It should be. Listen, if a good-looking man touches you like that, it’s normal to have a reaction. I never thought I’d say this, but the way you described it, it sounded pretty hot.”
“I guess,” I mumble. “I haven’t really felt like that before. Never when I was with someone else.” I blush, realizing what I’ve just told Jo.
“I think that’s pretty normal,” she says. “You’ve only been with the douche, and I’m guessing he didn’t know much.”
I nod my head, not willing to elaborate on Patrick’s poor lovemaking skills.
“But your Sir, on the other hand,” she says, rubbing her hands together, “he sounds like a real man.”
I stare at her. “What? You’re a fan of his now?”
“He doesn’t sound so terrible, Abbi,” she says seriously. “He wants you to get something out of it, too. And you did say that he’s nice to you.”
“Yeah, he is. I’m not sure why, though. He can still have me without being nice about it.”
“Maybe he’s just a nice guy?”
“Who likes spanking,” I supply.
“What if I told you that I used to tie Thomas up and make him call me Ma’am?”
“You didn’t.” I’m sure she would’ve told me already.
She chuckles. “No, that’s not really my thing. But would you stop being my friend if it were true?”
“Of course not.”
“My point is,” Jo says, “that you can’t really judge someone by what they like in the bedroom. I was worried your guy was into some really scary stuff, but it doesn’t sound like he is from what you’ve described. You should still be careful, of course …”
“But?”
“But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you enjoying it when you’re together.”
“So, ‘surrender,’ like he said?”
“Surrender?” Jo makes a face. “Why are you fighting this so hard, Abbi? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You have good sex with a nice, handsome guy and you’re able to support yourself and Luke by doing it?”
I sigh, tracing my spoon through the melted ice cream. “I don’t know. I never thought I’d be a sex worker, not in a million years, but I am. That’s one thing. But to actually enjoy it too? Doesn’t that make me a total slut? It’s supposed to be a job, but tonight it didn’t really feel like it at times. I don’t know what to think, or who I even am anymore.”
My best friend grabs my shoulders. “Listen to me,” she says. “Luke needs food, clothing, and shelter. You’re giving him that. Is it ideal? Fuck no. But what other choice did you have? You’re doing what you have to. End of story.” She draws a breath. “And as for slut-shaming yourself, you have to stop thinking like that. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex if it’s what you both want. I know your parents are super strict and you were raised a certain way, but you’re out from under them and no one in your life is judging you but you.”
I look up, seeing how sincere she is. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She waves her hand, dismissing me. Jo isn’t exactly what you’d call touchy-feely.
“Can I just add one more thing?”
I nod.
“There are a lot of people who enjoy their jobs. I’m just saying.”
“I hear you. I do.”
She smiles at me. “So, can I ask how much he paid you this time?”
“Oh my God!” I groan, reaching for my purse. “I didn’t even check. How messed up is that?”
Jo doesn’t answer but waits patiently as I pull out the unmarked envelope and peer inside.
“Looks like another thousand dollars,” I say, counting the crisp bills with the tips of my fingers.
“Jeez,” Jo breathes. “He must really like you.”
“He likes the way I make him feel: strong, powerful, in control …”
She looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“But, yeah,” I amend, “I think he does like me, in his own way.” I pause. “He gave me a gift,” I add, fishing out the marked envelope and handing it to her.
“Whoa, this is for five hundred dollars!”
I shake my head lightly. I can’t imagine having that much money at my disposal to be able to use on something as frivolous as a spa.
“So, are you going to sell it?”
“It’s tempting,” I admit. “But probably not. It was meant as a gift. Besides, what if he asks what I had done? I’ve never been to one of those places before.”
“Me neither.”
“Hey, will you come with me?” I ask. “I’m sure we can both get something done for that kind of money.”
Jo lights up. “Really? Oh my God, I’d love to! Next Saturday? My mom’s staying the weekend and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind watching Luke too.”
I feel a tiny stab inside my chest, and Jo reaches for my hand. She knows how I’m feeling. Her mom didn’t abandon her when she became pregnant. She wasn’t forced to choose between her baby and her parents. Jo’s mom, Cecile, wasn’t thrilled when her only daughter got knocked up at seventeen, but she’s been a part of her life all this time. She often drives here to spend time with her daughter and granddaughters, especially since Jo decided she’d had enough of Thomas’ unfulfilled promises and pipe dreams of making it big as a musician.
“We can ask her about your parents,” Jo says gently.
I breathe deeply through my nose, shaking my head. “No.”
“Okay.”
This is one of the things I love about Jo. She doesn’t push. I give her hand a squeeze before releasing it. It’s been a long day and I’m bone-tired.
“Do you mind if we crash here?” I ask. “I don’t really want to haul Luke into a cab at this hour.”
Jo smiles and nods, as I had anticipated, and helps me make up the couch. As I look at her, making room for me in her home, I realize I’ve been selfish lately. Every conversation has been about me and my problems.
“Hey, are things going all right with Thomas?” I ask.
Jo pauses for a moment and hands me a clean sheet. “They’re okay. He still comes by to take the girls out and he’s been better at paying child support on time.”
“That’s good, right? That he’s getting his act together?”
She nods but doesn’t say anything. I have a feeling she’s still in love with Thomas, but she won’t admit it. Jo is tough as nails. I don’t want to push her, so I merely offer her a smile of support. I’ll be here if she wants to talk.
Jo ends up taking Piper’s bed, deciding to leave our kids in her bedroom, while I make myself comfortable in the living room. I can’t fall asleep; my thoughts keep going back to Mr. Thorne, no matter how hard I try not to think of him. I wonder if he went to bed already, if he thinks of me when I’m not there, and what he does when I’m not around. Mostly, though, I think about what to do when I see him again in a week’s time. I don’t know if I’ll be able to truly release all my inhibitions and give him everything he wants from me. Is Jo right? Is there really no downside to this arrangement if I’m able to let go of my reservations? I toss and turn for a long time, not coming up with an answer. Finally, around 2:00 a.m., I manage to drift off to sleep.
I wake early, feeling the presence of a small, warm body next to mine.
“Morning, hon,” I mumble, holding Luke closer to me. “You sleep okay?”
“Pippa kicks,” he grumbles.
“Aw, sorry,” I tell him, stroking his hair. “She doesn�
��t do it on purpose. But did you have fun last night?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’d rather stay here than with Mrs. Watt?” I already know the answer but smile when I feel him nodding against my shoulder.
“Mommy?”
“Mmm?”
“Where did you go?”
My eyes snap open and I draw a breath. “Well, Mommy got a job.”
“Like Aunt Jo?”
Not exactly. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“So I can get money and buy stuff for you, sweetie.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” I ask, kissing the top of his head. “In fact, how’d you like to go by the mall on our way home today? I want to get you a present.”
He jumps up. “Really?”
“Really.”
His brilliant smile makes everything worth it and reminds me why I decided to take this job in the first place. I don’t ever want to be that close to being broke again. I have a job now that pays well, and I just have to keep treating it like a job, even though last night it was easy to forget. But just like Jo said, plenty of people enjoy their jobs.
I will be whatever Mr. Thorne wants me to be. I will do whatever he wants. I will obey. I will give in. And, I will do my very best to enjoy my time with him and not feel guilty about it.
Chapter Twelve
The following Saturday, I’m in a cab headed across the bridge to Medina, nervously clutching my purse between my hands. I can feel a hard, square object inside the soft, worn leather—the Indiana Jones box set I bought while Luke and I were at the mall. It caught my eye and I immediately thought of Mr. Thorne. I haven’t decided if I’ll give it to him. He might think it’s stupid of me, but I want to thank him for the spa somehow.
Running my fingers through my newly styled hair, I try to get my nerves under control. It’s layered and only a little shorter than before—I hope Mr. Thorne will approve. Tonight, I’m wearing a black skirt and a white shirt, which he may not like, but it’s necessary since I had to convince Jo’s mom that I’m working as a server when I dropped Luke off this afternoon. Technically, it isn’t a lie. I will be serving Mr. Thorne tonight, but not in the way she thinks.
My heart beats faster as we drive down the lane to his house. The moment the cab stops, the door opens, and Mr. Thorne comes outside, looking handsome in dark gray pants and a white button-down. I sit still while he pays the driver, and I watch as he walks around to open the door for me.
“Good evening, Abigail,” he greets me, offering his hand to help me out of the taxi.
“Good evening, Sir,” I whisper, taking it.
He escorts me inside, and I’m so nervous I can hardly breathe; my heart feels like it’s going a mile a minute. Tonight, I’m going to allow myself to enjoy it.
Tonight, I’m crossing another line.
The moment the door closes behind me, I feel the air change around us, becoming somehow charged, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my skin prickle. I turn to face him, unsure what to expect.
“You look beautiful,” he says, reaching out to touch a lock of my hair.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “The spa was very nice.”
He nods, giving me a small smile.
“Did, uh, did you have a good trip?” I ask.
“It was productive.”
I run out of things to say and we simply stand there for a few moments, looking at each other. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for. Usually, this is when he would order me to do something, but tonight he doesn’t. The way he looks at me is unmistakable, so I know he hasn’t changed his mind about having me here. He wants me and he knows he can have me. So why doesn’t he command something of me?
I remember what he told me: that he doesn’t just want me to obey, but for me to want to serve him. Drawing a deep breath, I drop my purse and slide my open jacket off to join it on the floor. Slowly, I undo the buttons of my shirt, revealing my naked skin to him. Usually, I don’t bother with a bra, but I wore one tonight since my shirt is sheer. Both items join the others on the floor, and I drag the skirt down my hips, taking my underwear with it. I step out of the pile of clothes, toe off my Converse knockoffs, and stand completely naked in front of him.
Mr. Thorne is still, watching me impassively. I can tell he’s pleased, though. His eyes sweep across my face and body, and he’s breathing faster than before. Slowly, I walk to him, stopping right before I touch him.
“Are you all for me?” he asks.
I swallow my nerves. “Yes, Sir. I’m yours. Your good girl.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek. “Are you?” he whispers. “Mine?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Prove it.”
I start to kneel, but he pulls me back up, pressing my naked body against his.
“Prove it,” he says again. “Prove that you’re mine.”
I don’t know what else to do and look up at him, hoping he’ll clue me in. The second his eyes dart to my lips, I understand. He wants me to kiss him. Of course. Kissing is intimate and, if Hollywood depictions are accurate, not something that belongs in prostitution. He wants to pretend this is real.
Drawing a deep breath, I stand up on my toes and softly press my lips against his. Our first kiss. The moment we touch, he exhales, and then his hands are on me everywhere. His mouth is demanding where mine is yielding. My body is supple where his is hard. He kisses me as if he’s been waiting for it a long time and now wants to experience it all at once, overwhelming me with his forcefulness. We move and I feel the wall against my back.
“Touch me,” he groans.
I scramble to comply, opening his pants with shaky fingers. His cock is in my hand and he’s hard, so hard. I stroke him but stop when I feel his fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist. He lifts my hand up.
“Lick.”
I wet my hand and he brings it back, helping me touch him. His other hand squeezes my breast before moving down to my ass.
“Fuck. Fuck,” he chants, holding me to him, claiming my lips again.
I feel the heat between us and this time, I acknowledge it. This is lust. I want him. I want him inside me.
“Ohhh!” He groans against my lips and I feel him coming on our joined hands and my stomach. His head drops to my shoulder and he rests there, leaning on me and the wall.
“Oh, sweet girl,” he breathes. “A week is too long. Much too long.”
“Haven’t you …”
He lifts his head and looks at me, still winded, but with a serious expression on his slightly flushed face. “There’s only you, Abigail.”
Oh. I didn’t even wonder if there was someone else. But, of course, there could have been. The fact that there isn’t, though, pleases me more than it probably should. He lets go of my hand, fixes his clothes, and leaves me in the hall. A minute later, he returns with a soft rag and cleans off my stomach and fingers without a word. Then he hands me my clothes. I should be relieved, but I’m not. I’m disappointed.
“Was that all, Sir?” I whisper.
“Would you like for there to be more?”
Does he want there to be more? His expression is completely neutral, which is really frustrating. It’s so hard to know what he’s thinking or feeling.
“Yes,” I admit, truthfully.
He takes the clothes from my hands and drops them on the floor before pulling me into his arms. I gasp softly as he reaches down to hitch my leg up. Never looking away from my face, he slides his free hand up my thigh until his fingers are gently probing between my legs.
“You’re wet,” he states.
My face heats up. “Yes, Sir,” I moan, gripping his upper arms as his fingers rub tight little circles on my swollen, wet skin.
“Would you like to stay longer?” he asks.
“Oh, yes, Sir,” I breathe.
His fingers trail downward and dip inside me, quickly moving in and out. “Do you want me to fuck you?
Make you come?”
I nod my head. “Yes, Sir. Yes, please.” Oh, God. I really mean it.
“Good girls don’t mind waiting, do they?” His fingers leave my skin and I want to grit my teeth in frustration. He’s watching me, looking amused.
“No, Sir,” I manage. “I don’t mind.”
“There’s my sweet girl.” My jaw drops when he brings his fingers to his mouth and cleans them off. “Mmm.” He grins. “Definitely sweet.”
He just sucked … and they were inside …
“Run upstairs and change,” he chuckles, releasing me and leaning down to pick up my stuff again. As he lifts my bag off the floor, something falls out, landing with a dull thud.
“What’s this?” Mr. Thorne asks, picking up the gift-wrapped item. He looks serious all of a sudden.
“It’s f-for you,” I stammer, suddenly worried I’ve crossed a line.
“How did you know I just had a birthday?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “Did you check up on me?”
“No, of course not.”
He watches me, still frowning.
“I swear, the thought has never crossed my mind.” Until now. “I just wanted to thank you for the spa. I didn’t know you had a birthday. Well, of course you have a birthday, but … you know what I mean. When was it?”
“Yesterday.”
“Happy birthday,” I say weakly. “Did you have fun?”
“I spent most of it on a plane, so no, not particularly.”
“Oh. Wait—was it your 40th birthday?”
He nods.
“And you spent it on a plane, alone?”
He shrugs, and it makes me sad. He spent his 40th birthday all alone, traveling, and he’s chosen to spend his celebration—or whatever—with me, the hired help. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve thrown my arms around him, holding him against me. He hesitates for a moment before sliding his large, warm hands around my naked back, returning the embrace.
“I’m baking you a cake,” I murmur. “You should have a birthday cake.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he nods, holding me closer.
Chapter Thirteen
