by Amy Brent
There was a bottle of wine waiting for her. She poured herself a glass, drank it down fast to soothe her nerves, then poured another. She sipped the second glass slowly while the driver drove her over the bridge into Philadelphia, then to a high rise building that looked rather well-to-do. They drove into the parking garage beneath the building, then the driver let her out in front of the elevator. She was grateful for the privacy that offered; if she'd had to walk in through the main lobby, considering what she was here for, she would have been devastated.
She rode the elevator up to the penthouse, the butterflies in her stomach riding with her the whole way. The doors opened into a small foyer, where Thomas waited for her holding a single red rose. He was dressed in black pants and a white shirt with a few buttons undone at the top. It somehow made him simultaneously look both casual and romantic.
She took the rose, forcing a smile. It felt like such a mixed message to her. You gave a rose to a girl on a date, but this definitely wasn't a date. At least, not as far as she was concerned.
“Jillian,” he said. “You look lovely.” He touched a hand to the small of her back and led her inside. The apartment was spacious and decorated with accents of silver and black, with expensive but subdued artwork on the walls and black marble floor tiles. The dining room table was set with a pair of candles and a single, slender vase. She stuck the stem of the rose into the vase, then sat when Thomas held her chair out for her.
“I hope you brought your appetite,” Thomas said. “I consider myself something of a decent chef.”
“You...you cooked?” She looked up at him, incredulous. She'd expected that someone so wealthy would have a professional cook working for him.
“There's something much more satisfying about a meal I've prepared myself,” he said. He brought a silver tray in from the kitchen and opened the lid. Delightful scents filled the air. He set a plate before her, with a delectable chicken and vegetable medley topped with some kind of sweet sauce that set off a delightful explosion in her mouth. They ate and shared a bottle of wine, and by the time Jillian finished what was her third glass, counting the two she'd had in the car, she was starting to feel pleasantly relaxed.
“How is everything?” Thomas asked.
“Oh, it's just wonderful.” She looked around the apartment, wondering what it was like to live in a place like this. Everything was spotless, and the furniture looked like it had never been sat on. She wondered if he kept things so neat all on his own, or if he had a cleaning staff to thank for it.
“I'm glad,” he said. “I want everything to be perfect tonight. You deserve to have a wonderful time.”
He raised his glass to her, and she raised hers as well, though she couldn't help but wonder if this was all just pointless window dressing. They both already knew what tonight was all about. The deal was sealed. Was he just trying to pretend? To put on a show and make this seem like a romantic evening, when it was really just about sex?
She decided to play along. It made things easier, and truth be told, she really was having a nice time. If this had been a normal date, she would be quite happy right now.
After they finished eating, Thomas put on some music. He offered her his hand, and when she took it, he led her to a clear space in the middle of the living room. He placed his hands on her waist, she wrapped hers around his shoulders, and they started to slowly dance.
Swaying together in time with the music made Jillian feel even more relaxed. She laid her head against Thomas's shoulder and let out a content sigh. His fingers strayed along her waistline, sending little shivers through her. He held her close enough that she could feel his warmth. She whimpered softly against his neck. She let herself completely forget about the real reason she was here, the fact that this was a business arrangement. She set all of that aside and simply let herself be swept up in the moment.
His cheek brushed against hers, followed by his lips. He kissed her cheek softly, then kissed the corner of her mouth. Then his lips were pressed against hers. His hands slid lower, gripping her ass through her skirt. She gasped, but let it happen. Not because she had to, but because it felt so nice to be touched.
They stopped dancing and stood there, kissing, while Thomas's hands continued to roam. He hitched up her skirt and reached underneath so he could touch her skin. She clung to him, whimpering and breathless. His fingers followed the curves of her cheeks, then slid between her legs, bringing forth a soft moan.
“Thomas...” she whispered.
“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips. “You don't need to say anything.”
She nodded, then let him lead her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the silken sheets and started planting kisses down her body while he slowly drew her dress down and tossed it aside. She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into the sheets, moaning, while his lips and his tongue touched her most tender places. Then before she knew it, he was sliding her panties down.
She sat up, bracing herself on her elbows, and looked down at him. Her lips trembled. Her chest felt tight. She wanted this, wanted to abandon herself in the moment, but she knew that this was a line that once crossed, she could never come back. She looked up at Thomas, unable to think or speak. He stood up and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. Then he dropped his pants to the floor, and she saw that he was more than ready to take her. To get what he had paid for.
She expected it to be fast, for him to have his way with her and get it over with. But he took his time, rubbing himself against her until she ached to have him inside of her. He caressed her breasts and planted kisses along her shoulders, her neck, her ears. By the time he entered her, she wanted him so badly that she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders. Even then, he drove her mad with his slow, deliberate pace, filling every inch of her until she felt like she was going to explode.
Soon his movements became more energetic, more filled with need, and she could tell that he was nearing the edge. She wrapped her legs around him tight, pulling him closer, moving her body in time with his thrusts. He grunted and held her tight, his entire body stiffening as climax poured over him.
He collapsed against her, and for one disappointing moment, she thought that it was over. But he looked into her eyes, and seeing that she still wasn't satisfied, he started up again, focusing his every movement on her pleasure. He gave it to her hard and fast, the way she liked it, the way she needed it. She moaned and cried out, telling him when he hit the right spot, when to keep going, when she was nearing the edge. He kept driving it into her until her orgasm exploded within her, filling her with pleasure from her loins to the tips of her fingers and toes.
He climbed off of her, then turned towards her and held her close. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself after the workout. The longer she laid there, the more she knew she had to get up and leave, but she didn't have the energy. The bed was so soft and comfortable, and Thomas was so warm, his arms so strong. She nestled closer to him, telling herself she would only stay a few more minutes. Before she realized it, she'd fallen asleep.
In the morning she awoke to an empty bed. She could hear the shower running through the open door to the bathroom. She looked around at the tousled sheets and the clothes strewn all over the floor, remembering what they'd done last night. Shame that had been held at bay by the wine started crashing down on her. Her chest felt tight and tears welled in her eyes.
She hurried to get dressed, hoping to be out the door before Thomas finished in the shower. She was still searching for one of her shoes when the water turned off. A minute later, he walked out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist.
“Good morning,” he said, stretching and yawning.
“Morning,” she muttered. She found her shoe under the bed and pulled it on, then started heading for the door without looking at Thomas.
“You in a hurry to get to church or something?” he asked. “I thought you'd stay for breakfast.”
&nbs
p; “I need to go. I...” She shook her head, still refusing to look at him. “Look, last night was nice, but let's not pretend it was something other than what it was. It's done, so now it's time to go.”
She headed out the bedroom door, but he called out to her again. “Wait.”
She paused, chewing on her lip.
He pulled an envelope out of the nightstand and handed it to her. She glanced inside. It was filled with cash. Her payment.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
She trembled, unsure what to say. Last night had been amazing, but it had come with a price. Not the price he'd paid her, but the price she'd paid in her soul. She wasn't sure if she could face that again.
“Find another therapist,” she whispered, unable to find her voice. “I don't think it's appropriate for you to come to my office again.”
Before he could reply, she headed out the door. She took the elevator downstairs, then headed out into the busy city street. She knew she could have gotten Thomas's driver to give her a ride home, but she wanted the whole situation over with and behind her. She walked a few blocks, then took a cab to the train station. She rode the train over the bridge and back into New Jersey, clutching her purse with her ill-gotten money against her chest, and fighting back tears the entire time.
* * *
Jillian didn't hear from Thomas for several days. She took the money he'd paid her and deposited it into her checking account, then paid off one of her credit cards with it in a single payment. She heaved a sigh of relief as soon as she submitted the payment, feeling like this was the first step towards her financial recovery. Her budget was loosened up now that she had one less monthly payment to worry about, though she still had so much debt from her mortgage, her other credit cards, and her student loans, that she'd really only taken a chip off the total.
Her relief was short lived, however. Just two weeks after her liaison with Thomas, her car broke down. When she took it in to get repaired, the bill came to almost $2000. Which was money she just didn't have. She ended up having to use the recently-freed credit card for it, and as she swiped the card through the machine at the mechanic's, she almost started to weep.
She trudged through the days after that, still trying to balance all of her payments while somehow being able to put food on the table. She kept thinking about Thomas, wondering if he would be willing to pay her for her “services” once again. Had she been good enough to make him want more? He hadn't called her since the day she walked out on him, and she didn't know if it was because she'd told him to stay away and he was respecting that, or if she'd been so bad in bed that he'd simply forgotten about her. No doubt, she thought, he could have dozens of other women lining up at the door to his penthouse apartment.
She was home one Saturday morning, almost a month after the last time she'd seen Thomas, working in her garden. Her poor little flowers were struggling, thanks to the moody weather that had been swinging back and forth between hot and freezing every few days. And since she couldn't afford to buy any fertilizer or weed killer, she was having a hard time getting her garden to thrive.
She was pulling weeds with her bare hands when her phone started vibrating in her pocket. She muttered a curse and wiped her dirty hands on her pants, then pulled her phone out. It was a number she didn't recognize, but when she answered the phone, she heard a familiar voice on the other end.
“Jillian.”
“Thomas.” Her breath caught in her throat. Had he not forgotten about her after all?
“I've been thinking about you,” he said.
She chewed on her lip, trying to figure out what to say. She could tell him that she'd been thinking about him, too. That she'd spent many nights dreaming about his touch. Or that she desperately needed more money, and she was willing to do anything to get it. Especially when it would mean doing something that she had been craving for weeks.
But she couldn't clear her head enough to say any of those things. Instead, she simply asked, “How's your back been doing?”
He chuckled into the phone. “It's all right. I've got more movement in my shoulders now. Though my new therapist doesn't quite have your touch.”
Her face heated up as she wondered if he was talking about her medical touch, or the other kind.
There was a long, awkward silence. Then he said, “I want to see you again.”
“As your therapist?” she asked, knowing that wasn't what he meant.
“No,” he said. “At my place. Tonight.”
She tilted her head back and looked up at the cloudy sky. This was what she'd been hoping for, but part of her was still hesitant. While the night they'd spent together had been amazing, the morning after had been humiliating. She wasn't sure if she could go through that again.
“Please,” he said. “Come on. You know you had a good time. And I'm sure you could use the money.”
Those last words were like a knife twisting in her gut. They told her exactly what she was to him. Not a girlfriend, not someone he had romantic feelings for. Just a prostitute.
But she really did need the money.
“Okay,” she said. “What time?”
They discussed the arrangements, and then she went inside to shower and change. She spent the car ride there drinking a few glasses of wine to soothe her nerves. She felt fidgety, constantly needing to move her hands. She picked at the threads on her dressed and smoothed out her skirt. She knew it was silly to be nervous. She wasn't doing anything that she hadn't already done before. But somehow, she felt more terrified about the night this time than she had the first time.
Thomas greeted her as soon as she got off the elevator, once again holding out a rose. She decided this time to ignore the gift. It gave the wrong impression about what the night was about.
They sat down for dinner and made small talk. This time, Thomas had made lamb chops with a wonderful balsamic sauce, and each bite was absolute heaven. At first the conversation was bland, with Thomas asking her about how things were going at work and whether she'd been enjoying the weather lately. Then the subject turned to something that, while perfectly casual, felt a little too personal for her.
“So,” Thomas asked, “have you been keeping up with your gardening?”
Jillian froze with a forkful halfway to her mouth, then set it down and wiped her lips with her napkin. “Do you really care?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” he said, wearing a confused frown. “I want to get to know you better.”
“Why?” She spread her hands. “Why not just get right down to business?”
His frown deepened. “Jillian, what's the matter? I'm just trying to be friendly here. We were having such a nice evening.”
“I...” She shook her head, then tossed her napkin back down on the table. “I'm sorry. Excuse me a moment.”
She got up and headed into the bathroom, fighting back tears. She didn't understand why she was getting so worked up. He'd just asked her a simple question.
But, she realized, it wasn't so simple. Her gardening was a part of her personal life. While it wasn't something intimate or secret, it was something that was very much a part of her. Asking her about part of her personal life meant that the evening was becoming more personal, less professional. And she'd come here to do something professional.
She paced back and forth in the spacious bathroom for a few minutes, dabbing at her eyes with a piece of tissue. She needed to get herself together and get back out there. She had to go through with this. She wanted to go through with it. But the problem was, she couldn't really have what she wanted. This would never become a committed relationship. They would never go out in public. Thomas would never meet her family. They wouldn't exchange gifts at Christmas or on their birthdays. The most they would exchange would be money and bodily fluids.
She looked at herself in the mirror, setting her jaw determinedly. She silently told herself that she was going to go back out there, put on a good show of being the girl Thomas wanted, do th
e deed, then leave without spending the night.
She wiped away the last of her tears and gave herself a serious nod. Then she turned and left the bathroom.
Thomas was sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, waiting for her. He looked tense, and he wore a concerned expression on his face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just had a little too much wine, I think.”
“Ahh, okay. Good.”
He set down his wine glass and went over to the stereo to put on some music. Jillian hesitated. She didn't want to dance again. Which was to say, she did want to dance again, but she couldn't let herself. It had felt nice to be in Thomas's arms, sharing a quiet, intimate moment like that. But that was the sort of thing that riled up all of her confused, conflicting emotions. She wanted to keep things as impersonal as she could. Professional.
She intercepted him on the way to the stereo and started kissing him passionately. He gasped in surprise, but surrendered to her kiss, his arms slipping around her. She slid her tongue between his lips and pressed herself against him. It didn't take long before she could feel something poking her and she knew she was getting him worked up.
“Wait, slow down,” he said.
She ignored his request and slipped her hand down to grab him between his legs. She started rubbing, firm and quick, and soon he lost the ability to protest.
He tried to steer her towards the bedroom, but that felt too personal to her. She pushed him down on the couch and got down on her knees, unzipping his pants. He was flushed and his breathing was becoming erratic as his arousal passed the point of no return. When she pulled down his pants and took him into her mouth, he moaned out loud, dropping his head back and relaxing against the sofa.
She worked him up for a few minutes until she was sure he was more than ready to go. Then she slipped off her underwear, hitched up her skirt, and climbed on top of him.
