by Jade West
Pleasure in the pain.
My thoughts were blurry and mixed with terror, but I couldn’t hide it, not from myself – there was a faint little thrill, running deep, just as it had been when the prospect first tickled my senses. Only now it was deeper, darker. Now the fizz of nerves tickled between my thighs, and I clenched them tight under the covers. I squirmed and wriggled, trying to get comfortable and forget it, but my skin was clammy and my nipples were hard against my night-time cami top, and I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t stop.
My fingers dipped inside my knickers, teeth pinning my bottom lip hard as I let the rhythm take me.
I knew the walls were thin. Holly was just inches away in the bed next door. I’d heard every grunt, slap and tickle as she’d brought a guy in for a one-night stand a few weeks back. If I made a noise…
But I couldn’t stop my breath coming fast. Couldn’t stop the creak of the worn-in mattress springs as my fingers rocked to the groove. Couldn’t stop picturing him there waiting for me in the shadows with a proposition that could grant me everything.
A new start. He could give me and Phoebe a brand new start.
I’d pay gladly for that new start. Body and soul. He could take both from me.
But the most frightening thing of all was that right then, in that dirty moment, with my fingers grinding my most sensitive places and my breath short enough to rasp, I wanted him to.
I shouldn’t want it. Not any of it.
I shouldn’t think about it. Not now, not ever.
I’d done my best to stop. Done my best to stay good. Done my best to ignore the calling of pain, and filthy words, and humiliation. The thought of being taken by a man who’d claim my body as his. Completely. Who’d take away my choices, my inhibitions, my reservations. And I’d like it.
He’d take me to such crazy dark depths that my body would sing and hum and flutter, and I’d like it. My dark saviour would make me like it.
My climax came hard and tainted with disgust. I’d spent years trying to destroy this side of myself – the dark urges for dirty pleasure.
The devil on my shoulder lost his footing as my senses tumbled back to themselves in the aftermath. The angel on the opposite side of me grabbed my ear right back and scolded my excitement as a broken girl gone mad. I clung onto the more regular dream futures of mine and willed the rest away, and they were there, real and true, just as always. A good girl wanting a good, regular life.
A nice boyfriend and a nice little home somewhere and I love yous whispered sweetly. A Golden Labrador and a job helping people, and a couple of kids who wouldn’t ever have to know the shit I’d known growing up.
That’s what I grabbed hold of as I buried deeper under the covers and fought again for sleep to find me. Happy dreams. Love. A brighter future.
But yet again, sleep didn’t stand a chance.
My eyes were already open when the alarm clock sounded time for college. I reached out and dismissed it, then swung my legs out from under the covers without so much as a five-minute snooze.
I showered and dressed and scraped my hair up into a messy bun, hoping that my most understated clothes would make me invisible to any prying eyes around campus with a sixth sense for nervousness, because I was buzzing with it. Rippling with it.
I could feel it beaming from my skin with its own tainted heartbeat. Feel it on me, in me, pulsing like serpent coils, tight and slimy.
I avoided my fledgling friend Carolyn, even though she reached out with a smiley face on social media. I sent back a ‘donuts tomorrow?’ message and she sent me a thumbs-up, giving me just the break I needed to make any bad decisions in solitude. I hid from my dorm friends and slipped back to my room early, jumping in for another shower and a whole new hair wash before settling on an outfit for my evening meet.
Decent. I wanted decent. But not on display decent. Demure. Like demure was in any way a fair choice for a sex-for-money hook-up on a beach after dark. Still, I opted for a navy blue dress, cleavage low but not too low, hem resting just above the knee. A fitted cardigan with all the buttons intact. Sandals for the sand, even though my toes would be freezing.
I styled my hair straight and parted it neatly. I dabbed on some light foundation in a bid to hide any inevitable blushes and opted for one coat of mascara and a thin sheen of clear lip gloss.
The mirror said I’d do.
I hoped the mirror was telling the truth.
The girls were in the dorm kitchen enjoying a mid-week wine when I crept on by. I was careful with the door catch and careful with the click of the lock as it swung closed behind me. I took the stairs down quietly, stayed close to the wall with a hand tight on the rails as I made it down and out into the open air. I was quick through campus, taking the eastern exit and heading out onto the pebbled little side street leading down to the front.
I checked my phone before the beach was in sight. Ten minutes to spare. Perfect. Long enough to scope out my surroundings, but not long enough for my nerves to snap and send me running.
I could hear the crash of the sea before I saw it, finally turning the corner onto the front and taking a long breath as my eyes fixed on the horizon. The moon was out but blurry through low clouds. The waves glimmered with the muted reflection, foamy waves rising high and eating up the sand.
It was a world away from the bustle of a summer’s day. Empty stretches of bare damp sand were impressive in their rawness. The pier was a little way to my left, a dark husk of life like a toothy mouth in the night light. I wondered if he was already under there, Mr Shadow. The setting suited him. I’d likely leave the meeting with no more idea what he looked like in the flesh than his shady profile image had granted.
It felt strange approaching the moment of destiny. My skin was goose-pimpled with more than the sea breeze, arms folded tight as my sandals slapped the tiled path beneath my feet. I avoided the descent onto the sand for as long as possible, relishing the sad glow of the street lights before the final set of steps before the pier.
And then they were there. Calling me down. Into the fear.
I took one final look around, a desperate flash of my eyes along the front, searching for something. Anything. Some crazy semblance of safety from nowhere.
And then fate was kind.
A bunch of guys piled out of one of the boho bars a little way ahead, and sure, they were drunk and not exactly the type for white knight chivalry, but they were clearly college buddies, and beefy enough to investigate the screams of a damsel in distress should they boom loud. I let out a happy sigh as a few of them made the drunk decision to hang out awhile on the sand, and held back long enough that they took the steps down before me, barely giving me a glance before taking up a spot on the beach a little way back to the right.
That would have to do.
They lent my frazzled nerves enough stamina to get my shaky legs down to the sand. The dry dunes were hard for balance, my arms spread for stability as I took a sharp diagonal over to the base of the pier. The ground evened out then, the sand flattening as it grew damper underfoot. I skirted the edge of the huge support posts, eyes dancing in the dark for the sight of the terrible stranger.
At that moment I didn’t know what was more terrifying. The prospect of him being there, lurking in wait, or the prospect of a no show.
Please, God, don’t be a no show.
My heart was thumping loud in my ears as I headed toward the sea. There was nothing. No sign of life, no sign of anyone bar the muted laughter of the couple of drunks on the air. Just me, and my blood rush, and my dry mouth desperate for this opportunity to come to life.
I checked my phone and it was ten on the dot, not even the hope of having a few minutes to get through before the guy could show.
The sand was wet here, cold water pooling in my footprints and soaking my toes. The wind was rougher here too, sweeping my hair from my shoulders and destroying my earlier styling efforts in a flash.
That didn’t matter, either.
; Nothing mattered.
Nothing but him being here and offering my lifeline.
Please, let him be here.
I jumped a pathetic little jump as a greedy wave lapped at my feet, springing off one of the huge wooden pier struts as I retreated.
And there he was.
Him.
A prickle of senses. A dark scent behind me. A presence. A heat.
I knew it was him before I turned, my instincts on fire as I prepared myself to face the beast.
But he wasn’t a beast.
Not at all.
He was lighting up a cigarette, the flicker of the flame illuminating him in a fleeting orange glow as his eyes landed hard on mine.
And he was absolutely.
Fucking.
Beautiful.
Chapter Eight
Brandon
Her huge eyes reflected the flame of my cigarette lighter as she stared up at me.
She was tall, but I was taller, dwarfing her slender frame as I took a step forward in the darkness and exhaled smoke on a long breath.
We were close. Bodies just a pace apart with the thrum of the night between us. My suit felt heavy, unwelcome against the need for flesh on flesh.
I hadn’t felt that need for quite some time.
I knew then, even in that first meeting of the eyes, that sixty days with this one would be more than a cold hard cash job.
The wind caught her hair and the fine strands formed a strange elfin halo in the moonlight. The angles of her pretty face were prominent, even in the shadows.
The girl was a creature to behold. The price tag on her body would be obscene, and it had little to do with the promise of taut flesh under the thick wool of her cardigan, nor the pale expanse of twiggy legs under her good-girl dress.
It was to do with the butterfly nerves tickling the air around her body. The heady rush of breath from her pretty mouth, disguised little by the mist of the waves.
It was to do with the genuine humility in the way her pupils widened in wonder on mine, as though I was inhuman; some kind of mythical beast from the deep all set to gobble her up.
“You came,” she said, and her voice was nothing like I expected. It was stronger and weaker all at once, gorgeous in its husky lilt, polite but not in any way cultured.
Relief. It was full of relief.
I hadn’t felt someone’s relief at my presence for quite some time.
I offered her a cigarette, but she shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”
That didn’t surprise me for a second. I slipped them back in my jacket pocket, my eyes not leaving hers. “It’s a bold move to meet a stranger in the shadows on a dark beach. Some would argue foolish.”
Her stance shifted as she wrapped her cardigan tighter. “I thought it was worth the risk.”
I never minced my words, not even under the draw of pretty doe eyes. “What cash sum did you have in mind as worth the risk exactly?”
Her eyes dropped, focused on the knot of my tie like an anchor in the darkness. “I heard your payment terms were generous.”
“Generous is a subjective term.”
“Sure, maybe, but I’ve heard you are… big payers,” she insisted.
I flicked ash onto the sand. “And where exactly did you hear that?”
I already knew, of course. I had no doubt that this dainty creature in front of me had heard Miss Lane’s mouth blurting. On the grapevine or direct, the details mattered little, sixty days with Rebecca was making the rounds.
“People have been whispering.”
“Someone has been doing a lot more than whispering,” I countered, then opted for provocation. “On the table here is ten grand. Five per month. Cash on completion. How generous does that sound?”
She stumbled beautifully, legs unsteady with such delicious disappointment that I had to fight the urge to reach out and grab her.
“Ten thousand? For the full sixty days?”
“Cash on completion,” I repeated. “I’m sure you are aware our demands are intense. I hope you’re prepared for that kind of commitment.”
She stepped back, supported herself against one of the struts. “I’m prepared for any commitment necessary, I just…”
Her voice tapered and died. I knew in that heartbeat her desperation knew little bounds. I’d usually push it. Use it. Use her.
But I didn’t.
“What is your price for sixty days?” I asked.
She didn’t have an answer. Her face turned away, eyes on the horizon. I had to quash the urge to take hold of her jaw and wrench her back to me.
“Don’t be coy, sweetheart,” I pushed. “Everyone has a price. Always. Tell me yours and stop wasting my time.”
“I need…” she began, then caught herself. “My price is more than ten.”
“How much more than ten?”
“I thought you gave more than that,” she said, and her voice was so wobbly with confusion it made me smile.
“How about we get off to an easy start,” I offered, and flicked the stub of my cigarette away.
Her eyes were firmly back in my direction as I dipped into my inside pocket and pulled out the wedge of notes. She couldn’t disguise the hunger as I thumbed them for effect.
A full thousand. I told her so.
A full thousand up for grabs right then and there.
“For what?” she asked, and there were those beautiful nerves again. “What do you want me to do?”
“Sixty days don’t come easy. They require all of you, without reservation. No pride, no barriers, no argument.”
“I understand,” she assured me, but she didn’t. She didn’t at all.
“Call this a trial run,” I said, and my tone was different now. Practised in its demand for complicity. “I want you on your knees, pleading for a mouth jammed full of cock. I want to believe you mean it. That you’re hungry for it. That you’re desperate for the throat fucking of the fucking century and desperate for it now.”
How she gulped in breath, hair flicking wild as she checked around for bystanders.
Even in the quest of such a seedy proposition the girl was clinging to modesty.
“What?” I quizzed. “Shy of taking a dick in the mouth? Surely not, sweetheart. There’s a lot worse than that waiting on the other side of an agreement with me, I promise.”
And just like that she was on her knees, shuffling in wet sand as she closed the distance between us. My cock strained in my pants as her palms landed on my thighs, head tipped back as she stared up at me.
“Please,” she whispered. “Whatever you want.”
I was plenty used to the generic language. The bleating offers of obedience.
I wasn’t used to what came next.
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, I swear,” she told me, and she meant it. The honesty dripped right through her words.
My fingers stopped strumming the notes.
“Please,” she continued. “Please let me taste.”
“My cock in your throat,” I said. “Tell me you want my cock stretching your fucking throat.”
Her silence spoke a million words.
Sixty-day girls were many things, but shy wasn’t generally one of them. These girls were pushed to their limits and far beyond at my hands, but they were never strangers to filthy talk or taking a good pounding to begin with.
This one had never talked dirty in her life.
The deep-throat in front of the neighbours under street lighting had certainly been nothing like I’d imagined from her application. I doubted she’d even taken a finger up her tight little asshole.
I should have turned her away right then and there, given her the grand for her trouble and sent her back to her university struggles. I should have told her she wasn’t the girl for this and never would be, no matter how bad she figured she needed the pay day.
“Please,” she said again. “Fuck my throat. I want your cock all the way down my throat.”
My c
ock twitched at her words. I couldn’t resist brushing her cheek with my thumb. She didn’t flinch, eyes open wide as I gripped her jaw.
“Please,” she continued. “I want it.”
Her mouth was wet and warm and welcoming when I pushed two fingers inside. I pressed on her tongue then pushed deep, and she swallowed to hide the beginnings of a gag.
Her reflexes would need a whole world of taming. I shouldn’t even entertain the prospect of toiling through the very basics. I shouldn’t be standing there with my dick pulsing hard, staring down at her with a damn sight more than professional interest.
Her fingers tightened on my thighs. Coaxing. Begging.
“Please,” she mumbled around my fingers. “I need this.”
And that’s when distant laughter caught my ears on the breeze. My sensibilities came crashing back to me with the sounds of humanity.
I tugged my fingers free from her mouth and rejected the urge to taste her spit before I wiped them dry across her cheek.
The little siren on her knees was a cash sum waiting to land in my bank account, and nothing more.
She flinched at my fresh low laugh, and I liked it. My hands were firm on her shoulders, cash safely stuffed back in my pocket before I leaned down to breathe direct into her ear.
“Not my cock, sweetheart,” I told her. “It isn’t my cock you need to be begging for.”
She knew.
I felt it in the tension as her shoulders stiffened.
I could have eaten her fear alive as I twisted her body in the direction of the laughter on the beach.
The bodies were only just visible, reclining back on the sand and talking college boy bullshit no doubt.
“Theirs,” I said. “I want you to walk right over there and beg for theirs.”
Chapter Nine
Paige
I tried my best not to stiffen and stutter at his instructions. I didn’t want him to realise I was little Miss Inexperience, worth nothing like the cash Carolyn’s sister was.
I didn’t want him to know my blowjob skills were total messy novice territory at best, according to the only guy who’d ever experienced them.
