by Chloe Adler
Who hurt you? I want to ask. But it’s too soon. She’d bolt like a green stallion. When she finishes the slow circle, I reward her with a smile. The one that melts girls’ hearts the world over. This girl’s heart must be buried in ice because she barely smiles back, almost as though it’s an inconvenience for her to stretch her mouth into a tiny fragment of a grin.
“Dress off.”
She doesn’t argue as others sometimes do, asking if I would rather remove it. She doesn’t ask me how I want her to disrobe. She doesn’t even hesitate. Instead, she dances around the bed, like a stripper performing a slow and sensual tease. She pulls one strap off her flawless shoulder and then the other. Her hands glide over her body and I watch the way she touches herself because that’s my first clue. Being a good lover starts with keen observation. Sex is about pleasing my partners, whether I’m paying them or not. I get off when they get off. Sydney claims she doesn’t get off—and I love a challenge.
“Come closer so I can touch you,” I say.
She shimmies over and I move to the edge of the bed. She turns her back to me and I unzip her dress, slowly, taking in each delectable inch of her bare skin as it reveals itself to me. Her upper back is unblemished and I lean in to kiss it. I stop unzipping and run my hands along the light muscles and toward her shoulders, following with kisses along her spine. She gyrates her hips and her head tilts back.
I circle her neck with a hand and grasp, not too tightly but tight enough so she knows I’m in charge. More acting, or a genuine sound? I reach my hand up, climbing up her neck and over her chin, dipping a finger in her mouth. She bites and sucks on it expertly, showing me what she can do to my dick. I push my finger into her mouth, circle and pull it out, running it wet and hot over her thick lips.
“Is there anywhere I can’t touch you?” My tongue is thick in my mouth, my voice gruff.
“No,” she breathes. “Touch me wherever you like.”
I unzip her dress further, exposing more skin, the wing bones of her back—and I stop, frozen. Staring. She wears a crisscross of scars, old and thick, lighter than the rest of her olive skin. I keep one hand on her jaw, my finger poking in and out of her mouth while I run kisses over her scars and then use my tongue to lick them. I’ve been alive for a very long time. Vampires and witches live much longer than humans. I know these scars are from a whip. Licking and kissing her back, I keep unzipping the dress. More scars reveal themselves, some from blades, and I have to grit my teeth and force my eyes shut because I want to jump out of my skin right now and kill whoever did this to her.
“Niall?” Her voice is softer than it had been. “Do you still want me with the scars? Or would you prefer I turn off the lights?”
“Sydney.” Her name sticks in my throat. I spin her around, almost too forcefully and she hides a wince. “Who did this to you?”
She tosses her hair, reaches behind herself and finishes unzipping her dress. With a little shake of her shoulders it falls off her exquisite body, catching her curves on the way down. “Rule number five.” She shakes her head, waggling a finger in front of my face and bends over toward me. Her full breasts push out of the top of her red lace bra, begging to be touched. She pulls my hands toward them. I hadn’t realized I was holding them in tight fists. The woman plants them on her tits and I squeeze and knead appreciatively.
Cupping them, I thumb her nipples through the thin fabric and they plump up for me. “Come here.” I wrap my hands around her ass, caressing her exposed butt cheeks, which defy gravity around her matching thong. Warm and unscarred. I yank her forward and bury my face in her cleavage, licking up the length of it.
She moans and this time it’s different. This time it’s real. I squeeze her ass, pinching the hot skin gently, and then work my hands down her orbs and between her legs. She widens her stance for me and I follow her perfect lines to the insides of her sleek thighs, stroking up and down the tender skin there. She juts her body toward me and I smile, inwardly. Pushing my hands up and over the crotch of her thin lace panties rewards me with her soaking pussy, wet completely through the fabric. Yeah, this lady may know all the tricks in the world but she’s never met anyone like me before. I’m going to make her beg. For real.
5
Sydney
Stepping out of the shower, I check the clock and crawl back onto the bed. It’s hard to believe that an hour has passed since Niall left and with him, too many firsts. The first first, I enjoyed the way he touched me. The second first, I enjoyed being with him. The third first, it felt genuine, not like a job. And the fourth first, I fell asleep, something I haven’t done with a john since I was an inexperienced fourteen-year-old.
Instead of letting myself ponder any of these even for a second, I pinch myself, hard. Pull out of this, Syd. It only leads to bad places. Things you can never have and shouldn’t want.
Since waking, I haven’t been able to go downstairs and offer myself to another john. I haven’t wanted to. I’ve ignored the blinking phone light telling me another john is waiting and I’m sure Miss Cheryl won’t let me stay up here for much longer.
My head reels, spins and then rights itself. Niall has left me in . . . tatters. That’s the word, tatters. No one’s ever gotten to me like that before. I had to fight every screaming cell in my body not to come. That man, vampire, has mad skills. Maddening skills. It’s difficult for me to even have an orgasm. When I was younger and too stupid to fake it and johns would try to make me come, it would take them hours—if they didn’t give up entirely.
Until Connor, who gave me orgasm after orgasm. He got the way my body worked and he played it. Then he played me and broke my heart. That was back when I still had a heart to break. So usually I just perform for them, make them come and if they’re intent on exploring me, I let them. I lie back, faking little sounds of pleasure and clenching at the right moment.
It’s much easier to fake an orgasm and get on with it. No one’s ever been able to tell that I’m faking. Some won’t stop jackhammering until I do, though most don’t give two shits about my pleasure. I prefer it that way. I usually don’t even tell the johns that they’re not allowed to make me come. What’s the point?
Why, then, did I tell Niall? How was I to predict he would take it as a challenge? Something about his intensity made me throw caution to the wind and throw down the gauntlet, hoping what? That he’d pick it up? One look at that man’s belt and I could tell he was trouble, so why did I say anything? Stupido, Sydney.
I’m sliding off the bed and gathering myself together when there’s a quick rap on the door. Before I can respond, it swings open and Miss Cheryl stands there in all her pretentious glory. No surprise.
“Niall was very pleased with you.” She leans against the doorframe, sizing me up. “That’s a first.”
“He’s not usually pleased?”
“No, not usually.”
“Well, I know how to fuck.” I plaster a smile across my face.
“He left you a rather large tip, wanted to make sure I handed it to you so it doesn’t go into your paycheck. I waited for you to come down but . . .” She taps her wristwatch, looks up and shrugs.
I raise my brows and walk over to her.
“You let him drink from you too?”
“Nope.” I pop the p at the end of the word and hold out my hand.
“Strange, he didn’t drink from any of the other girls tonight and it’s been a week.” She places a wad of cash in my outstretched hand.
Odd. Vampires need to drink at least once a week. But I let the thought go in favor of counting. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred. Nice.
She watches me put the money in my bra. “You can’t wear that costume home. You’ll have to change back into your street clothes before you leave and deposit it in the hamper for dry cleaning.”
“No problem.” Like I haven’t gotten this lecture a hundred times before. I’ve never stolen from her once, but I guess she can’t help but keep her eye on the dirty Mexican. “I�
��m sure it’s not so weird that Niall didn’t drink here. He must have a line of willing females to choose from.”
“He doesn’t form attachments to women.”
“Who said anything about attachments?” I push past her and start down the hallway.
She follows. “A woman who isn’t paid ultimately gets attached. Even some who are paid.”
I bat her words away with a hand. “Oh, are you afraid your beloved john will go to the competition? I did hear they can just download an app in this town and cut you out entirely.” I’d miss the tips, but I can’t help needling the heifer right now.
“Yes.” She narrows her eyes. “But if you work for me . . . if you work here, you can’t also be an independent contractor. You signed a contract.”
“I have absolutely no interest in being a vampire’s dinner.” Too bad they don’t have an app for prostitution. Instead they have a bunch for hookups, women who put out and don’t get paid for it. Morons. If they did have a whore app, what would Miss Cheryl do, take me to court? Worse, I’m sure. You don’t want to cross a madam. I clear my throat. “I meant for Niall. I’m sure he could dial up blood delivery.” I continue down the stairs.
“I suppose.” She sighs. “But then they’d know where he lives or where he’s staying if he chooses a hotel, and Niall prefers to be incognito.”
“Whatever, not my problem. Thanks for giving me the tip he left. I’ll go change out of this dress. See you tomorrow night.”
I walk away from her and change in the dressing room, then make my way out of Ichor. I pause on the front steps.
If it weren’t so late at night, I’d consider bussing back to my apartment in Imperial Beach from here, but that would take a couple hours and I have enough cash to grab a Lyft. I tap open the app.
“Whatcha doin’ outside, pretty lady?” a slurred voice asks. A man in his early thirties lunges up the steps toward me. A very drunk man.
“Leaving.”
“Come back inside with me.” He reaches for my arm.
“No thanks, I’m off work now but there are plenty of other girls and boys in there for the taking.” I shrug him off and walk down the steps.
“Don’ walk away from me when imma talkin’, bitch.”
Yeah, that’s not gonna work. I continue walking and thumb in my address. One second I’m walking down the street and the next, I’m facedown on the dirty sidewalk. A replay of so many nights in Ensenada and one I was not expecting here. What’s the point of all the security guards sitting in the back room with a bank of cameras? They should be stationed out front, though that would take some explaining to the local authorities. Regardless, Miss Cheryl must have at least one camera trained on the entrance, and in a matter of minutes the hired goons will kick this guy’s ass. Calm settles over me like an old friend.
I struggle to stand, fishing in my pocket for the knife I carry or my pepper spray. I’ve had to use both before and usually have them in my hands outside, but I thought the Edge was safer.
The guy flips me over and straddles me, pressing his stinking face into mine. The stench of alcohol makes me gag. I’m not usually afraid but then I’ve never dealt with Signum before. What if this guy’s a vampire? Or a shifter? I press my hands down, following the lines of my legs, keeping them close to my body.
“Get the fuck off me, you asshole.” I’ve always led with my mouth before my head. My fingertips brush the top of my jeans pocket. Shit, he’s pressing down on my arms so hard I can’t reach any further.
“Whatchu callin’ me? You think you better than me, bitch?”
“Well I’m not some drunk asshole assaulting a woman, so yeah.” Mouth, please meet brain.
The first punch lands on my cheek because I saw it coming and turned my head. The movement loosens his hold on my torso and arms. Not enough, but almost. I’m still pinned. His face is twisted above me, rage spilling from his reddened eyes.
I force a laugh. “That all you got, asshole?”
He punches me again, this time quicker and it breaks my nose, spraying blood everywhere. Dammit. I love my nose. And now that minutes have passed, it’s clear Miss Cheryl isn’t riding to my rescue with her rent-a-cops after all. So much for waiting for a rescue. I wriggle further down and spit blood into his face. One more hit and I’ve reached my knife with one hand and the pepper spray with my other.
“Hey!” a woman calls out from the darkness. “Get the hell off her. The police are on their way.”
The jerk jumps up just as I flash my blade. No time. I spray his face and he screams, throwing his hands to his eyes. Wailing, he lurches down the street.
The woman drops to my side and places one hand under my neck. Her face swims in front of my eyes. Pretty. Blurry. Pretty blurry.
“I’ve got you.” She struggles to lift me but can’t.
“Help me stand, I can walk.” Now I’m the one who sounds drunk.
She moves her arm down under my shoulders and with her help I stand, leaning heavily against her.
“Let me take you into Ichor. My mom’s the nurse there. She can assess you.”
“Not there.” The last thing I need is for Miss Cheryl to see me like this. If she does, I can kiss my job goodbye.
“Okay, I’m parked right here. Let me help you to my car.”
The woman opens the passenger door for me and helps me get inside, then goes around to the driver’s side and slides in. “Are you Signum?” she asks.
I shake my head. Bad idea. A sharp jolt of pain radiates through my head. I lean it against the door and moan. She starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. I close my eyes.
“I’m not a nurse but you may have a concussion so I’m taking you to the closest hospital. It’s non-ESH but that doesn’t matter anyway since you’re not Signum. Do not fall asleep.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about but as soon as I close my eyes she squeezes my thigh. Less than five minutes later she’s pulled up into the emergency room bay and is yelling at somebody through the window.
The passenger door opens and two large orderlies carry me out and onto a gurney. I try to wave them away. “I’m fine.”
A pretty nurse swims into view. “If you chose to wear your blood on the outside of your body, I’d agree with you,” she says, wearing a tamer version of the stripper outfit I nixed. “I’m Adeline and we’re going to get you all patched up. What’s your name?”
“Sydney . . .” My mouth is full of marbles. “Flores.” I squint at her. “Do you like your job? You could make more money . . .” Jesus, they must have pumped me full of drugs. Loose lips should be wrapped around a john’s hard cock, Mamá always said.
She holds up several fingers. “Good, now how many fingers am I holding up?”
What is this, preschool? “Three.”
The nurse jots something down on a pad I can’t see. “What year is it?”
Shit. “Nineteen. No. Two thousand and something?”
“Okay, that’s all for now. Let’s get you inside, Sydney.”
I let my eyes slam shut. A woman’s high-pitched voice moves in and out of my consciousness. I catch the words assault and concussion and another woman’s voice trying to calm and soothe.
Several minutes later, I open my eyes again, and I’m already in a room. I don’t even remember going up an elevator. The woman who brought me here is by my side, looking down at me.
“Sydney.” She dabs a wet cloth over my face. I flinch. “You’re going to be okay.”
Of course I’m going to be okay. This is nothing. A broken nose, probably a black eye. Maybe even a minor concussion. No big deal. Perhaps a little worse than what I’ve had before, cosmetically but body hits hurt a hell of a lot more. I’ll deal. But now I’m sedated and can’t tell her this so I just lock eyes with her.
The door opens and in walks a sight to behold. I look right past the nurse who’s accompanying him to the delicious vision of a black knight so handsome my eyes water. Or maybe that’s the concussion.
“Hello, Sydney. My name is Dr. Kaden Decker.” He waves to the nurse next to him. “You’ve already met Adeline.” He turns back to me, “and it looks like you’re a very lucky girl.” He crosses to my bedside, opposite the woman who brought me here. “Maggie, can you leave us for a few?”
“Of course, Doctor.” My Good Samaritan looks down at me, her brows drawing together, then takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’ll be right outside.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, the Adonis turns back to me. “Do you know the man who did this to you?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ve never seen him before.”
“If I bring in the police would you be able to describe him?”
“It was dark and . . .” His face was so close to mine, the details were blurry. “I could try.”
“Great, they have a talented sketch artist. I’ll give the station a call.”
“It’s fine. Really. This is nothing.” I reach up to touch my nose. Bad idea. It’s swollen and the pain shoots across my face. I flinch.
“This is not nothing. We take assault and battery very seriously in the Edge.” He sits down next to me. “I’m going to have to set your nose and treat your concussion. First we’ll take an X-ray to determine if your nose is displaced or fractured. I’ve seen a lot of broken noses and this looks displaced to me. A much better scenario. And . . .” He pauses for a fraction of a second. “You’ll need at least ten stitches on your cheek.”
What the . . . ? “Can I have a mirror, please?”
The grim line of his jaw tells me it’s bad.
