Jaden

by Shayne Ford

  He rips a plastic foil, and with his fingers, he spreads the wetness dripping between my legs. He spanks my butt with his erection a few times and with his hand a couple more, and then he pushes deep inside me.

  It’s perfect.

  I spread my thighs wider as I flick my bottom up, the pretension between us completely gone. We no longer need it. Not me. And not him.

  He grabs my hair, and pulls it back, forcing me to arch my spine as he pumps me roughly. Just the way I like it.

  His slap on my butt makes my skin sting as he keeps driving his cock inside me.

  Panting, he hooks his fingers into my hips, and rams me hard, the sound of skin slamming against skin, filling the room.

  My core starts tingling as swarms of throbbing bits swirl between my thighs.

  “Oh, my fucking God. Abel...” I finally burst out.

  Groaning and shuddering, he pounds me fast bringing me up and gifting me a fast relief.

  Damp from the shower, Abel walks into the bedroom, sporting only a towel wrapped around his waist.

  I take in his athletic body.

  “You look good...” I offer, stretching a mischievous grin.

  “Your pussy got it good, baby,” he tosses back to me. “It’s not as if you’ve never seen me before.”

  I motion to the table.

  “Your money is there.”

  Casually, he glances in that direction before he veers toward the bed. He slides next to me, props his head on his hand, and studies me, curious.

  “The stubble does you justice,” I say, giving him a warm smile.

  He ignores my comment, his eyes moving down my naked body, his hand cupping one of my breasts.

  “You’re a strange woman, Senna,” he says with a softer voice.

  “Am I? What about the other women you, um... service?”

  He sinks into a pillow, folding his arm beneath his head. A grin lifts the corners of his lips, beaming into his eyes.

  He’s a handsome man. I’ll give him that.

  “There are only two other women... You know I don’t do volume, but I do like to honor specific requests. Besides, I stumbled into this. It’s not like I’m out there whoring.”

  “You get paid.”

  “I do. A reward for a job well done,” he says, letting out a soft chuckle. “I’m not doing it for money, baby. I have enough money, and a well-paying job,” he says, serious this time.

  “Yet... if the other women pay my rate, this little hobby of yours tops your salary a few times over.”

  “It does, but I’d fuck you for free any day.”

  My eyes narrow with a smile.

  “What about the other two? What’s their story?” I ask, handing him his glass of wine.

  “One is a wife who lives in a sexless marriage, and the other one is a businesswoman who wants a reliable dick without a headache.”

  I laugh.

  “Meaning?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

  He grins, amused.

  “You know... Stroking his ego, dealing with his insecurities, slobbering over him once in a while to make him feel good so he can get it up...” he says, and we share a chuckle. “You fucking know all that. Why do you ask me?” he asks, flashing a playful smile.

  “Are you sure she’s a woman?” I ask jokingly.

  He laughs softly.

  “Damn sure. She’s been tested.”

  “Sounds like a match made in heaven,” I say, picking my glass of wine from the nightstand and bringing it to my lips.

  I take a swig.

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “So what do they want from you?” I ask.

  His eyes slant to me.

  “Regular stuff. Getting dick, basically. Some fake romance, thrown in for good measure. Whatever turns them on.”

  “What about you? What do you like?”

  “I like pussy. Not so much the bullshit that comes with it. I’ve tried it before... Sex and romance. Sex was good, but I had a hard time with the long list of restrictions that came attached to the relationship. You know... The things I wasn’t supposed to say or do or whatever. It was tiresome, and it got old really quickly, so it died out eventually. It always does after you run empty for a while. And I did for a long time.”

  His smile drops from his face, his eyes shifting back to me.

  “What about you? What’s your story?”

  “You know my story.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “There’s not much to it,” I say, a twisted smile creeping up my lips. He looks at me intently. “I’ve never been any different than I am right now. That’s all I know.”

  “What about romance?”

  “Never happened.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “I didn’t need to. It doesn’t do anything for me. I’ve never had the calling. The same way I’ve never been attracted to the idea of getting married or having kids. It’s just not in my blood.”

  He searches my eyes. I catch a sliver of concern and smile.

  “I’m good, though. I don’t feel as if I’m missing anything, so don’t worry about me.”

  “Are you sure you’re a woman?” he asks humorously, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

  I nod, stretching my smile.

  “I think you know the answer to that one,” I say softly, and gently kiss his lips. “I have to go now,” I whisper.

  His hand curls around my wrist, his eyes locking mine.

  “Stay... Please... The next round is on me,” he says, a warm smile beaming in his eyes.

  My hand goes to his face.

  “It wouldn’t work, Abel. Trust me.”

  His eyebrows shoot up.

  “You don’t like me?”

  “I do like you... You’re a good man, and you fuck me really good, and if I weren't broken you’d be the perfect man for me.”

  “Since when fucking someone good can’t tip the scale?”

  I sense the humor in his words, and also the regret. I try to recoil, perfectly aware I’m not making any sense.

  “I’m strange like you said, and it’s not only temporary. Chances are I’m gonna be like that for some time, perhaps forever, and nobody deserves this kind of damaged goods.”

  His finger brushes my face tenderly.

  “Just because you like it rough... and you pay for it, doesn’t mean you’re damaged,” he murmurs.

  Silent, we share a stare for a moment, absorbing the meaning of his words before we both start laughing.

  “Yeah... It doesn’t sound damaged at all,” I say, amused.

  “Anyway, what I meant––”

  My smile dies out.

  “I know what you mean Abel, and you may be right. There could be a path to a better, softer me, but I don’t know if I’m ever gonna find it. I can’t take anyone on that journey. Not you of all people.”

  I lean to him and kiss him again, his hand sliding off my arm as I pull away. I grab my clothing, and drape it on me, his eyes following me, his hand reaching for his growing cock.

  Smiling, I pull my zipper up.

  “Next time Abel... Next time.”

  The evening quickly sets in.

  Cars come and go, but not many people walk in. The temperature is pleasant, and the air a bit crisp, reminding me of the real fall, and the childhood home, up north.

  “It’s a quiet Friday,” I say, my fingers brushing the cold glass.

  “It’s the weather most likely,” Scottie says, running his hand over the table, brushing off invisible crumbs.

  I glance at the window.

  Drops of rain stain the glass, looking like silent tears.

  “Food?”

  “Yes.”

  “Same?”

  “Uh-huh. Add a side of fries and pickles.”

  “So you’re back for good,” he says, his lips drawing into a smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  He lowers his eyes, stifling a grin. Of all the people who work here, he’s probably
the one who knows me best.

  “Oh... You mean... I'm a regular again,” I say, smiling.

  He nods.

  “It’s because I like the food...” I say, smirking.

  He cocks his head to the side, and lifts an eyebrow, looking at me incredulously.

  “No, no. It’s really good.”

  “I know, but I wasn’t talking about the food.”

  Hmm.

  I guess it wasn’t that hard to spot my new obsession.

  As of lately, I come at Jill’s religiously, every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Nine o’clock sharp. I always occupy the same little booth by the window, and spend most of my time, staring at the mysterious man who also happens to show up regularly, but never comes inside.

  Very few people approach him, and they’re almost never regulars. From time to time, he disappears briefly from the front of the building, and he’s usually gone for good by midnight.

  I never see him coming or going, but my heart flips every time I catch a glimpse of him, and every time I notice his absence.

  Tossing my car keys to the side, I glance at Scottie.

  “So who is he?” I ask nonchalantly.

  “I don’t know his name. He’s only been inside the bar a couple of times. People call him... No Ash.”

  “Meaning?”

  He shrugs.

  “I don’t know. Maybe his name is Ash.”

  “How long has he been around?”

  “A couple of months or so. Since the beginning of the fall. I don’t remember seeing him before the end of August. He rarely comes in for food or drinks. He’s here for one thing only,” he says.

  His pause makes me raise an eyebrow. I give him a questioning look.

  “Turning tricks,” he finally says with a lower voice.

  “Really?” I ask, unable to stifle my surprise.

  I glance out of the window again, hiding my baffled expression.

  Cold rain dribbles on the sidewalk, the cars swishing by, none of them stopping.

  The parking lot is deserted.

  “Like an escort?” I murmur, flicking my eyes back to him.

  “We’re not exactly a five-star hotel, so I wouldn’t call him an escort.”

  “What kind of customers?” I ask, my voice ringing out cold.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen his clients. Cars pick him up and drop him off, but I can tell it’s not women. They don’t pay for sex. Not on the streets anyway. Men are the ones who look for guys like him on the streets.”

  “Oh...” I mutter, disappointment threading through my voice.

  He quickly picks up on the nuance.

  “Would you be interested?” he asks, half seriously.

  “No... no. Not my thing,” I say, dismissing the idea with a forced smile. “I was just curious. He seems, um... He seemed rather different than everybody else,” I mumble, bothered by his absence, at the same time still hoping to see him tonight.

  “You think he’ll show up?”

  “Probably. He’s never missed a night,” he says, and walks away from me.

  Minutes later, he sets the plate of food on my table and swiftly vanishes behind the bar.

  I eat in silence.

  The smell of french fries, grilled fish and lemon zest, entices my appetite, keeping my mind away from that man for a few good minutes.

  By the time I finish up, my hope to see him tonight has vanished. It’s too late for him to show up.

  I slide my finger onto the phone and start reading a text message when the back door swings open, and Ash or No Ash walks in.

  Heat spreads over my shoulders.

  He runs his fingers through his hair and flicks his head a couple of times, shaking off drops of rain.

  Silent, he swaggers to the bar. Scottie locks my eyes, his chin pointing to the man.

  He slides onto a barstool and orders a drink.

  His elbows rest on the counter as he stares vacantly at his glass. He threads his fingers through his hair again.

  Tonight, he sports dark jeans, a black T-shirt, an emblazoned, racer jacket, and biker boots. A silver necklace glints on his chest, matching the ring on his right hand.

  The bartender sets another glass of scotch in front of him. In one smooth motion, he lifts it to his lips and tosses it back.

  I push my plate to the side, grab my keys and my phone and head to the bar. The man who sits next to him turns his head, furtively giving me an once over.

  He doesn’t even flinch.

  I motion to Scottie, who walks behind the bar and meets me at the other end. Slipping my fingers inside my jacket, I retrieve a hundred bill.

  “Cover his drinks and keep the change,” I say, motioning to my left.

  “Thanks.”

  He collects the money and pulls away.

  Without wasting another moment, I dash to the back exit and slip out through the employees' door.

  The air is cold. It starts drizzling again. I walk down the dimly lit alley until I reach the corner of the building, and then I make a beeline for the parking lot.

  Footsteps pound the ground behind me.

  They come closer. And closer.

  “Hey!”

  The burst of anger in his voice hits me in my chest.

  His voice sounds different than what I expected. Thick and smoky, it has a sharp edge to it and vibrates in his throat, soaked in boiling anger.

  I should pick up the pace and just vanish. Instead, I listen to my gut and stop. A few long strides put him right in front of me.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he growls, sounding more like ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’.

  “I can ask you the same thing... No Ash,” I say, unfazed.

  He scorches me with his eyes.

  “I don’t need your fucking drinks,” he barks, his gaze roving down on me.

  I slip my hands into my pockets and lean against the wall. Defiant, I look at him and say nothing.

  Fury simmers in his eyes. I don’t break my stare. Not even bat a lash. Quirking my lips, I run my gaze on him as well.

  His pecs are hard and carved beneath the T-shirt clinging to his body.

  I take in the wide line of his shoulders and hard lines of his torso before I dip my gaze to his tapered waist and tight hips.

  The way his jeans hug him below his waist makes my breath hitch. He has that luring slant of hips that comes with a hard ass, muscular thighs, a perfectly sized package, and a circling, thrusting motion in the bedroom that leaves you breathless.

  “Do you hear me?” he barks again, somewhat disconcerted by my silence.

  A fresh scent lifts off his skin. I almost want to sniff him, but the two good cells in my brain warn me that I should drop it.

  The soft light of a lamppost brings his face into focus.

  I silently gasp.

  He’s even more striking than I thought. He has a beautifully drawn face, with high cheekbones, angled jawline, and well-defined lips.

  His eyebrows––now pinched into a furrowed line, make his eyes remarkably expressive, their color hard to guess under the pale light.

  His hair is long enough to run your fingers through it.

  “There’s nothing you can do about it...” I toss back at him. “I give money to whoever the hell I want,” I say deadpan, flashing a cold smirk at him.

  He digs into his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash and hands it to me.

  My hands curl up into fists, diving deep into my pockets.

  “I don’t need your money,” I say.

  “I don’t need yours either.”

  He tugs at my arm.

  “Don’t you dare to touch me,” I snarl, baring my teeth at him.

  Furious, he slaps his hands against the wall on either side of me. Boxing me in, he leans to me, his lips inches from mine.

  “You shouldn’t have given me money if you didn’t want me to touch you,” he says.

  Without another word, he pulls my zipper down, opens my jacket, and slips the c
ash into my pocket.

  As he stashes it inside, he briefly grazes my breasts with his fingers. I sense a rush between my legs.

  Baffled, I flick my gaze up to him.

  This has never happened to me before. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a man, especially in this sort of circumstance. It should make me happy. Instead, it saddens me.

  I flick my head to the side to conceal my eyes. He clasps my chin and turns my face to him.

  His eyebrows tilt up with surprise as he gets a glimpse of my expression. The moments tick by, none of us keen to speak. He searches my eyes for a few more seconds before he finally breaks the silence.

  “Stay away from me,” he says with a quiet voice as he slides his hands off me.

  Holding my eyes, he takes a few steps back before he spins around and pulls away.

  5

  SENNA

  “Do you want me to put up the tree, Miss?”

  “No. I’ll do it. You can leave, now. Thank you,” I say.

  The housekeeper collects her bag and walks out the door.

  I slide the laptop onto the table, flip the lid shut, and saunter outside.

  The weather is warmer than a couple of days ago. I shed my clothing and slip into the pool, enjoying the quiet afternoon.

  Trees, blooming shrubs, and a brick wall separate my backyard from the neighbors’ house. They are quiet people, and luckily, very private too.

  A few more laps help me to unwind.

  One of these days, I have go to the ocean. I haven’t been to the beach in a while. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a Christmas tree in a while either.

  The Christmas trees were always the attraction point in my parents’ house as I was growing up, the food and parties a bonus for the adults.

  Sophisticated, wealthy people comprised my parents’ inner circle. Money always attracts money, my mom used to say, having an eye on us, the girls, as we were growing up, and also on the suitors.

  Evelyne was the first in line. Six years older than me, same age as Adele, she made it to the parties way before I could even crack the door open to take a peek.

  By default, I had to clump up with Isabel, my younger sister. Four years younger than me, she wasn't anywhere close to being allowed to get a glimpse of the adult world.

  My mom set the rules, and we couldn’t even form an opinion on the men lined up for Evelyne’s hand, let alone dream about them. We had to wait our turn, my mom said, and that’s exactly what we did.