by Emery Cross
“Those two men at the auction seemed to think they had a claim on you. Are you telling me neither has offered to set you up for his exclusive use?”
“How the hell is my life your business?” My hands curled into fists. “I thought you were here to fuck?”
“Thirty thousand dollars makes it my business. Answer the question.”
“They’ve offered. But this is six nights a year. To do this every week, possibly every day…” I shook my head.
“Too much work faking all those orgasms?”
“Something like that.”
I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. “Why does Fremont hate you so much?”
He tilted his head back, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. “I made the mistake of hiring him. He’s a shit contractor, and I kicked him off the project.” A muscle in his jaw ticked.
He could slam out of here and take my freedom with him. Flirt, damn you, I warned myself, or blow this whole thing. I slipped out of my sweatshirt and walked to the ice bucket. My hand was trembling as I peeled the foil wrapper off the wine.
I sensed him walk up behind me. His long fingers brushed mine as he took the bottle from me and set it back in the ice. His touch was electric. “Do you have to get drunk to do this?” he asked.
I bit back a sarcastic reply and settled for a smart-assy smile.
He walked past the bed to the small corner I’d partitioned off with a room divider painted with cherry blossoms. Nobody had ever ventured behind that screen before.
“That’s my private area, sir,” I said, my voice rising. The corner held a vinyl loveseat and a dilapidated side table piled high with books, spiral notebooks, and pens. “There is plenty to entertain on this side of the room.”
“Sir.” He paused. “I like that. I could get used to it. And I find your personal space more intriguing.” He picked up the book from the top of the pile. It was a battered copy of The Wyvern Mystery, a Gothic novel I’d discovered in my favorite used-bookstore. He leafed through the pages. I watched him run his finger down the notes I’d made in the margins and wondered if he was seeing beyond my body.
He set the book down. “Take off your clothes and sit here,” he demanded, pointing toward the small sofa, instantly dispelling my naive notion. No man that paid to enter this chamber was interested in my inner thoughts.
Clearly, he was too arrogant to have sex in the bed. He probably equated it to participating in sloppy seconds. I disappeared behind the screen and chose a tube of lubricant from the vanity table. I also plucked a variety of condoms from the basket. It was cheeky really, since judging by the outline of the erection he was already sporting, he was one of those rare men who actually needed an extra large.
He glanced at the vanilla-scented lubricant in my hand and arched an eyebrow. “I was told that action was off limits.”
I nearly dropped the tube. “It is.” Anal sex was definitely not on the agenda. Force of habit, made me pick up the lubricant. I found it made vaginal sex with strangers easier.
“Then put that shit down.”
“Fine,” I said, returning the tube to the vanity table, “but you will have to wear a condom.”
“Of course,” he said with obvious irritation. His gaze raked me up and down. “You aren’t very good at taking orders, Ms. Shay.”
The bastard had memorized my license. “It’s Diamond.”
His lips tipped into a surly smile as he stepped forward and quickly popped free the few buttons holding the chemise together. The panels parted, and he skimmed the back of his fingers from my bellybutton to my cleavage. He slid the straps off my shoulders, and the sheer material fluttered to the ground. I could feel the color rising in my face as he swept my hair back to more fully reveal my breasts. I could see surprise flicker in his blue eyes at my blushing cheeks.
You are the professional here, I reminded myself. Don’t relinquish control to the client. But when his eyelashes swept down and he focused on my breasts, I couldn’t stop my nipples from perking up.
He circled my waist with his big hands and pulled me toward him. It was an indescribable sensation to be pressed against him. With one large hand cupping my buttocks, he lifted me to my toes just as he dipped his head. He intended to kiss me first, as if we’d just come from a hot date.
I pressed my hands against his chest. “I don’t kiss. Most of the girls don’t.” It was an intimacy saved for dates or boyfriends or in Tiffany’s case, a husband. I hadn’t kissed anybody since Sam.
His mouth hovered over mine, his warm breath caressing my lips. “So, you never kiss?”
My willpower was deserting me. “Not while working.”
“I’m this establishment’s first five digit trick. Make an exception.” His fingers dug into my hair, and he pulled me roughly to meet his mouth. Nothing had ever tasted this good. I clung to his shoulders just to keep myself upright. When he lifted his head, he stared into my face for a long moment as if he’d been hit by the same thunderbolt.
With obvious reluctance, he lowered his arms. Feeling a bit dizzy, I walked over and took a seat on the sofa.
He removed his jacket and hung it over the chair in front of the vanity table. I couldn’t help noticing how his glossy black hair curled just a little where it met the collar of his crisp white shirt. He yanked off his tie and tucked it in his suit pocket.
“You can’t be more than thirty. Was it an inheritance?” I asked, though I was fairly certain my first impression was accurate, that he was a self-made man.
“Fuck, was I supposed to bring my resume?” he asked with a chuckle. After removing his cuff-links, he rolled up his sleeves. “I’m twenty-eight. No inheritance. I buy people’s mistakes.”
“Their mistakes?”
“Developers and contractors who have a project underway and then lose control of it financially. I purchase it at a discounted price, finish it and then resell it.”
“So, you capitalize on people’s bad luck.”
He shook his head with a half smile. “You really are a spiteful little kitten,” he said, quoting Victor. “Sweetheart, there’d be a whole lot more crumbling, ghost developments if greedy bastards like me didn’t assume them.”
I deserved that. I was the one who’d gotten this encounter off on the wrong foot, badgering him with questions from the instant he’d stepped in the door. But there was something about being with this man that made me realize all I would never have, and anger and frustration kept bubbling up in me.
I unbuckled the ankle straps on my high heels and set the gold shoes aside. As I rolled one of my thigh-high stockings down my leg, he lowered his big frame onto the small sofa, his arm resting across the back. He watched as I removed the shimmering nylons. I folded and placed them atop my shoes and stupidly wondered whether he’d like the gold polish on my toenails.
His hand was warm as he took hold of my arm and turned it over to read the writing tattooed on the underside. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Maybe he was in the habit of removing it before cheating. I checked for traces of a tan line.
“I wonder how many whores—” I flinched at the ugly word, shaking me out of my contemplation about his marital status. “—have Twain quotes on their bodies?”
“I haven’t taken a poll, but I’m sure even less have Edgar Allan Poe quotes on their inner thighs.”
He smoothed his hand down my leg and with gentle pressure parted my legs. “Literary quotes, classic novels…completely inconsistent with my notion of a pricey hooker.”
He ran his fingers over the words, ‘All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.’ His touch ended on the small black raven. It was just a finger’s width away from the gold panties. I sucked in a breath as he pushed aside the panties to reveal my smooth, hairless state. On Victor’s orders, I’d had the full Brazilian laser rem
oval treatment. I could tell by the way his jaw tightened that he liked what he saw.
I gasped again as his thumb stroked my slit. He pulled his focus from my exposed sex and looked at my face. He undid the clasp of his watch. Perhaps he’d attributed my reactions to the coldness of the metal band. I supposed he didn’t think a whore could have a reaction to such a tame touch.
The heavy timepiece looked to be solid platinum. I imagined you could buy a car or even a small house for the price of it. As he turned away to set it atop my books, I brought my legs together and yanked one of the throw pillows off the sofa to cover my breasts. I had never felt so vulnerable.
He did not seem amused by my sudden modesty. “You can’t con me into believing you’re shy,” he said, as if everything about me was a con. And, perhaps it was. It must seem entirely pretentious for a woman like me to study literature.
“I’m not used to being inspected like this.” I could not control my petulant tone.
He lifted his eyebrows in such a skeptical manner, I wanted to slap his face.
“Believe it or not, normally, I dim the lights, and lie on my back,”—I pointed in the direction of the bed—”and do it missionary style.”
“With those lips and that perfect bottom? You’re telling me, no man’s had you on your knees or taken you up the ass?” He furrowed his brow. “You just tell the customer whatever you think he damn well wants to hear, don’t you?”
I plucked at the tassel on the corner of the pillow. I didn’t bother to respond. I realized there was nothing to be gained by convincing him how new I was to this profession. Collecting money once for sex was enough to brand me.
“And, I suppose you went from virgin to prostitute, no boyfriends in between.”
“There was someone once.” I paused to make certain my voice was under control before continuing. “Unfortunately, we never made love.”
His expression turned sulky. Clearly, he didn’t care for the distinction I was making between romantic sex and the bought-and-paid-for fucking we’d be doing.
I fiddled with the engagement ring Sam had refused to take back. “Sam was killed in a motorcycle accident.” I neglected to tell him that I was the cause of the accident.
He stared at the ring for a moment and then searched my face. I suppose he expected to see tears. I could sense he was looking for something deeper than a mercenary reason for my becoming what I was. But I kept my face blank. It would feel like sacrilege to mourn Sam in front of a man like him. Sam was sweet and kind. The exact opposite of this hard-hearted bastard.
He took the pillow from me and tossed it aside. Then he maneuvered me so that my back was settled against the arm of the sofa with one foot on the floor and the sole of the other flat on the seat cushion. He tugged on the ribbon ties of my panties. The gold triangle flopped forward, completely exposing me. I tried to calm my breathing as his fierce gaze traveled over my nakedness.
He nudged my bent knee until it pressed against the back pillows.
He ran his fingers up the inside of my thigh to once again trace the inked letters. My nipples tightened to stiff peaks as his hand came close to my spread pussy.
A tiny sound escaped my mouth.
“No drama. I don’t want to hear even a small moan out of those lips unless it’s real. Do you understand?”
I peered up at him through my lashes and shrugged. “It’s your money.” I relaxed back against the cool vinyl.
For all my nonchalant attitude, it was clear I was hot for him. I was dripping wet as he dragged his fingers over the folds of my sex.
CHAPTER FOUR
Remi
I fought the sensations for a few moments, but this man had the intuition and skills to make me pant with lust. I soon surrendered to his deft strokes. He adjusted my legs, draping one over the low back of the couch and positioning the one touching the floor so that I was spread shamelessly wide. Through the haze of losing myself to his touch, I saw the pleasure he got from watching me writhe against the rhythm of his hand. His hard jaw was set in concentration, and his thick black lashes couldn’t conceal the hunger in his eyes as he stared down at my exposed sex. I was hot and slick with desire as I bucked against the pressure of his expert touch.
A soft moan rolled up from my throat, the sound foreign to my ears.
“That’s what I want to hear.” He continued moving his fingers through the wetness and along my clit. “You are the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever touched.” He slid his free hand beneath me, tilting me, and pushed a finger deep inside. I clutched at the sofa. His insistent touch continued.
I pulled in a shivering breath as the hand that cradled my bottom got involved in the sensual onslaught, his big thumb diving in and filling me. He kept his thumb stationary inside me as he continued to plunge in his other finger. My pussy clenched against the driving thrusts. No man had ever brought me this near to climax. As if he sensed how very close I was, his attention to my clit intensified. His expert fingers swirled and rubbed and plucked and flicked until I spasmed around his thumb.
A surprised cry, that in my fog I could barely recognize as my own, escaped my lips. I curled in on myself bringing my legs together as the orgasm shuddered through me. I opened my eyes to find him standing now, staring down at me as he unbuckled his belt.
Though my body felt languid, my mind quickly recovered. I hated him for making me feel something. In my past sessions, it had been easy to play the plastic blow-up doll, but he’d changed that with his egotistical need to prove something.
His forehead creased as he leaned over and cupped my face. “You were supposed to enjoy that, sweetheart.”
I froze away the emotion. I needed to disconnect myself from this man, from the emotional pull the last few minutes had begun. I needed to switch this back to a business transaction. I stood up on shaky legs. Without the heels, I barely came up to the middle of his chest.
“Perhaps, being a man who likes to be in charge, you’d like to use the handcuffs?”
“I want your hands on me,” he said in a voice so deep it resonated to my bones.
“Like this?” Brazenly, I stepped forward and rubbed my hand over the bulge in his boxer briefs. He was even bigger than I’d imagined. I started the patter which Hannah had taught me. “You’re the best. I’ve never had better.” I poured it on thicker. “I’ve never come so hard. I want to lick you and suck you and take you throat deep.” Flattering the virility of my partner always brought him to completion faster.
I could feel him growing tense.
“Shut up,” he said as he removed my hand. He stepped over to where he’d hung his jacket and reached into the inner breast pocket. From his wallet he extracted a condom.
The packaging looked expensive. It had never occurred to me that luxury condoms existed.
He ripped the package with ease. Clearly, it had been designed for the impatient executive. The condom probably fit him as perfectly as his suit. A quick glance told me his cock was as gorgeous and intimidating as the rest of him. Flustered, I looked away as he rolled on the sheath.
“Come here,” he demanded. He scooped me up, then backed me against the wall.
Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Bet you fuck like a champion,” I purred, trying to rile him.
He slammed his mouth over mine, effectively putting an end to my glib words. His kisses were deep and possessive, and I found myself greedily sucking his tongue.
His big hand cupped my bottom and adjusted me to his liking. I made a small, panicked sound at the sheer size of him and clutched at his shoulders, bunching his shirt in my fingers. He lifted his head and scrutinized my face, obviously trying to see if I was still making a pretense of flattering him.
“Wait.” My voice squeaked again as he buried himself deeper. “I’m not used to someone built like you.”<
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“Christ,” he groaned and braced one hand on the wall. “You want me to take this slow, babe? Then stop wiggling.”
I hid my face in the crook of his delicious-smelling neck, ironically seeking comfort from the guy who was causing me discomfort. His body vibrated with frustration as he entered me in increments.
Pleasure soon surpassed pain as my body accommodated him. When he was deeply seated, I felt so stuffed, so overwhelmed, I couldn’t separate myself from the experience as I had in my other sessions. Every one of my senses was engaged. I clenched my muscles at the aching, sweet sensation of having him deep inside me.
“You feel amazing,” he said, his voice rasping.
My head fell back against the wall, my eyes rolling up beneath my lowered lids as he started moving with tantalizing slowness inside me.
I didn’t need to do anything but hold on for dear life as he took complete control. This man was living, breathing testosterone. My pussy pulsed around his shaft as he rocked harder and deeper into me. The erotic rhythm stole my breath.
Just when I thought his strokes couldn’t be more invasive, his big body seemed to shift into overdrive. This stranger owned me, and I couldn’t help letting him know it. I tried to tone down my cries, to keep my pleasure confined within the walls of the room, but I was used to manufacturing sounds of ecstasy. I couldn’t master the pitch of my real moans. My fingers dug into the hard muscles of his back as he drove into me.
I cried my release. He shuddered to completion soon after. Trying to regain my composure, I buried my face again in the crook of his neck to breathe him in, to feel his silken hair against my temple and his stubble against my cheek. I could have clung to him forever. I gave a little groan of frustration as he set me down on shaky legs.
He removed and dispensed with the condom with practiced efficiency, then pulled up his pants, signaling to me that we were done for the night. The man had paid thirty grand for sex, and he hadn’t even bothered to remove his shoes. For good reason, I told myself. I’d performed like a complete amateur.
