by Serena Grey
“You have condoms?” I ask her.
She pauses, and my stomach starts to contract in dread. Then she retrieves a roll from her purse and hands them to me.
I walk into the room and toss them on the bed before sitting on the armchair close to the bed. I’m trying my best to stay cool, but my fingers are tingling, aching to tear off her clothes and fuck her till she can’t stand. She’s still standing by the door, looking like she’s not sure what to do. I motion for her to move towards me, and when she a few feet from me, I raise a hand to stop her.
“Take off your clothes,” I say.
Slowly, she unzips her dress, while my whole body tightens in anticipation. Under the dress is a black lace bra and panties. Her breasts are full, her stomach flat. Her legs in her high heels are long, and I can already imagine them wrapped around my waist.
She looking at me. Waiting for me to say something. “All your clothes.” I clarify, watching as she unhooks her bra and her beautiful pink-tipped breast spill out.
My cock is straining in my pants, hard and insistent. My eyes fix on her nipples, watching them harden. She bends to pulls down her panties, and when she straightens, I can’t look away from the perfection that’s her body.
“Get on the bed,” I manage.
She walks over to the bed, her breasts swaying with every step. I want to get up and throw her onto the bed, spread her legs and taste her. The thought takes me closer to the edge. I get up, and start to take off my clothes. “Take off your shoes, Rachel,” I say. “Pull up your legs and spread them, I want to see you touch yourself.”
She does as I say, her fingers slipping between her legs, rubbing over every spot I have to fight the urge to cover with my tongue. She moans, her head falling back as she closes her eyes.
I tear at my buttons, watching her fingers hungrily, and yet also needing to see the look in her eyes. “Open your eyes,” I tell her. “Don’t close them. Don’t do anything unless I tell you to.”
She nods, and I rip off the rest of my clothes, watching her eyes cloud as she looks at me. She moans again just as I pull off my briefs. My cock is rock hard, tight and aching with the need to replace the finger she’s right now slipping inside herself.
Fuck. I roll on a condom and kneel on the bed between her legs. Her fingers are still moving and I cover them with mine, taking over as I palm her cunt and slip two fingers inside her.
She’s wet, and soft, and responsive. I feel her body, warm and slick, tighten around my fingers. Her groan is soft and needy, and as I start to move my fingers, she moves in time with me, driving her hips into my hand. She’s so hot, so eager, and it’s so arousing. “Don’t stop,” she moans, “oh please don’t stop.”
As if I would. My cock is at the point of pain, but still I wait, and plunge another finger inside her. Her body stiffens, jerking off the bed as she comes.
I can’t wait anymore. As soon as the first wave of her orgasm is over, I pull out my fingers, grab hold of her legs, spreading them wider as I bury myself deep inside her warmth.
Sweet Jesus! She’s fucking tight, and so hot. She feels so fucking good.
I barely feel her legs wrapping around my waist. All I can feel is the need to thrust into her again and again, relishing the pleasure as her heat surrounds my cock, hungry, demanding everything. I hear her moan as her body stiffens again, tightening around me, and squeezing everything from me. I lose myself, groaning as I come with an intensity that I’ve never felt before.
My heart continues to pound against my chest like a sledgehammer while I try to catch my breath. When I finally do, I release her legs and pull out from inside her, feeling her body shudder and pulse tightly around me. She lets out a soft sigh and falls back on the pillows, her eyes heavy. They follow me across the room as I take care of the condom before returning to the bed to join her.
We’re both silent. I hand her a tissue from the box on the nightstand, turning away while she cleans herself up.
Who knew sex with a hooker could be so mind-blowing?
She’s still staring at me, her green eyes almost dreamy. I have an impulsive and insane urge to stroke her face, to kiss her full pink lips, and run my hands over her smooth skin.
“I can’t feel my legs,” she says suddenly, and then she chuckles, a small soft sound that for some reason makes me want to smile.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I reply. “I can’t feel mine either.”
Her chuckle turns into a laugh, and a dimple appears on her right cheek, just the one. I find myself staring, and when the laugh turns into a small smile, my eyes travel down to her nipples, hard and pink, and I feel myself getting hard again.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says.
Reluctantly, I drag my eyes back to her face. “Go on.”
“Why would someone who looks like you ever need a hooker?”
“Looks like me?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Someone as hot as you.”
I’ve been described as good-looking by many people, but hearing her say it makes me grin like a fool. “Not to mention devastating in bed,” I add, still grinning.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” I tease, “but you said you couldn’t feel your legs.”
She sighs. “Okay, devastating in bed,” she chuckles. “Why would you ever need a hooker?”
“Are all your clients unattractive?” I ask, suppressing the sharp stab of jealousy that accompanies the thought of her with any other man.
She pauses. “Yes,” she says finally, “or busy, or just adventurous.”
I shrug. “Maybe I’m busy and adventurous.”
She doesn’t reply. I find myself searching for a topic, anything, so we can keep talking. It’s ridiculous. I’m not some average guy on a first date who has to pull out all the stops to keep a girl interested.
“Do you want another drink?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
I sit up, looking at her face. Where did I hear that hookers don’t kiss? I want to kiss her. To taste her lips. I watch her eyes travel down to my cock, and back to my face. A faint blush stains her cheeks.
“You’re not tired,” I ask, “are you?”
She shakes her head.
“Good.” I run my hand down the side of her body, from her shoulder to her hip, and feel her tremble slightly. Then I move my hand to her back, sliding it over her soft skin until I’m cupping her butt.
Her skin is flushed already, and when I look at her face, her mouth is open, her breath coming hard. I smile at her, then turn her over so she’s lying on her stomach, her butt facing me. I run my hands over the supple skin, before kneading her gently. She makes a sound that’s anywhere between a moan and a sigh.
Pulling her up on her hands and knees, I reach between her legs, pleased to find that she’s soaking wet. She moans loudly when I run a finger over her wet clit, and it turns into a groan when I plunged my fingers deep inside her warmth.
She lets out a soft moan, and I move my fingers, out, then in again. “You’re so wet,” I tell her, “so wet and so hot.”
Her body spasms as she tightens around my fingers, demanding more. Suddenly I’m impatient to be inside her again. I reach for the condoms, rolling one on, as fast as I can, then I take hold of her waist, positioning her so I can slide slowly inside her.
This time I take it slow, letting the sensations wash over me. She whimpers softly as I move, her fingers gripping the sheets. I find myself wondering again at how tight she is, how hot, how good it feels to be inside her. I want it to last as long as possible, so I flex my hips slowly, sliding in, then out again, until she’s pulsing uncontrollably around my aching cock. Her body starts to shudder, the hot clenching in her core urging me deeper. I bend over her, losing control as I plunge faster and deeper inside her heat. I hear her scream, and feel the contractions as she comes, and I reach for her breasts, teasing her hard nipples as her body continues to convulse ar
ound me. Leaning back up, I grip her thighs and lift her legs off the bed, losing control as I thrust deeper into her pulsing heat. Vaguely I hear her cry out as she climaxes again, and the pleasure rises in my brain until I can’t take it anymore. I groan loudly and slam into her, almost losing my mind as I come.
I release her legs and collapse on top of her. She’s breathing deeply, her body glowing with sweat. I pull out of her and get rid of the condom before collapsing back on the bed.
“Now, I definitely can’t feel my legs,” she pants.
“Me neither.” I sigh, and surprise myself by pressing a kiss on her shoulder. She smiles at me and I smile back. Who knew sex with a whore would be this good?
The silence stretches as our breathing returns to normal. “The elevator doesn’t require a code to leave.” I inform her, sure that she’s thinking of leaving. “Just press the call button.” When she doesn’t say anything, I turn to look at her, and she has a strange look on her face that I can’t decipher. I get up and retrieve my wallet from my pants. Pulling out a couple of bills, I leave the on the nightstand on her side. “I know you’ve been paid,” I tell her, “but consider that a bonus.”
She gives me a small smile, but she still doesn’t say anything. I imagine that she’s tired and drowsy. I know I am. I smile at her before laying back down on my side. “You can leave when you’re less tired,” I say, “and don’t forget to leave your number.”
I’m a light sleeper, so I’m surprised that I don’t hear her leave. When I wake up hours later, she’s already gone. The cash is still on the table, and there’s no number anywhere.
Across from me on a conference table in his lawyer’s office, a petulant Evans Sinclair is signing the papers that will ensure that he can no longer go around badmouthing me to anyone who will listen, as he has made a point to do in the few months since I purchased the hotel his father built from him.
His petulance won’t last long though, I think, more than a little disgusted with him. As soon as he’s out of here, he’ll go back to spending the money he made from the sale, as well as the small settlement that’s part of the contract we’re now signing, on exotic cars, fast women and the never-ending party that’s his life. He spent the years since his father died paying lip service to his position as the president of the management board of the Gold Dust Hotel, but as soon the other board members forced him to sell rather than watch the hotel die a painful death, I became the villain, at least to him.
“Mr. Court.” The lawyer gets up as soon as the signatures are on paper, and extends a hand to me.
I rise from my seat, leaving Alex Haven, my lawyer to retrieve the papers. I shake Sinclair’s lawyer’s hand. “Thank you.” I tell him. Then turn to Evans.
He gets up and takes my hand in a soft, indecisive grip. “Fuck You Landon,” he says resentfully.
I shrug, and redo the button on my jacket, turning away from the table. Before I get to the glass doors, I spy the Gold Dust, soon to be Gold Dust – A Swanson Court Hotel, through the floor to ceiling windows. The retention of the old name had been the condition of the board members, all members of the extended Sinclair family. I would take total control, but keep the original name of the hotel. I had no problem agreeing. Before Evans, the Gold Dust name had been one to be reckoned with.
Already, my team are working, refurbishing the old hotel and transforming it into an establishment worthy of the Swanson Court name. In a few weeks, we’ll open for business.
Downstairs, the hired car is already waiting outside the main doors. My chauffeur Joe, in the driver seat. He looks nondescript, graying hair in a crew cut, and ordinary black suit, but he’s a security expert, deadly with a firearm and a skilled martial artist. With him around. I don’t need any other bodyguards.
Not that I can’t take care of myself. On good days, I can outshoot Joe. And I still do mixed martial arts, but Joe’s job is to make sure I never need to use those skills.
Alex catches up to me before I get into the car. He’s a few years older than I am, and is a partner at Fincher and Haven. The name of the law firm has changed since they were my grandfather’s lawyers back in the day. I’ve known Alex for years, since he started working there as an associate, and he’s one of the people I know I can trust to get results.
“I have a meeting with the interior designer,” he tells me. “So I’ll be in New York later tonight.
“Fine,” I say. I already met with most of the people working on the refurbishment before my meeting with Sinclair but there are still some legalities Alex has to iron out. “I want a full report,” I tell him.
He nods. “Are you returning right away? You’re not staying at least a night?”
I almost smile. Of course, he would expect me to stay, to have a date ready for my short visit to the city by the bay.
I shake my head, a brief image of red hair and deep green eyes flashing through my mind. “No, I have a few things to do in New York.”
“Good then. I’ll let you know when I arrive.”
I get into the car and Joe starts the engine. “Airport?” He asks, looking at me through the rearview.
I nod.
He starts the drive to my waiting plane, and my mind goes back to the image that’s been haunting my mind for the better part of three days.
It wasn’t that she was more beautiful than other women I’ve been with. She was good-looking, pretty even, but I knew many better-looking girls. Her body wasn’t the best I’d ever seen either, but in my memory, it felt perfect in every way.
I feel the now familiar tightening in my pants that’s become the norm whenever I think of her, or remember that night. Even now, I can still hear the sound of her moans, like an aural memory that won’t go away.
Get a hold of yourself, Landon. She’s a hooker. She’s probably been with five more men between then and now.
“Sir?”
I realize that I’ve spoken aloud. “Nothing, Joe.” I say. “I’m just thinking.”
He turns back to the road.
I retrieve my phone from my jacket pocket and call Aidan. It’s time to do something about this. She didn’t leave her card, her number, or anything else to contact her by, which was bad business on her part. That doesn’t worry me, though. I’ll just go ahead and ask Aidan how to find her again. This time, I’ll pay for as much of her time as I need to get her face and her body out of my mind.
Aidan doesn’t pick on the first ring, and on the second. On the third, the phone rings twice before I hear his voice.
“Landon.” He sounds tired. “Sup”
“I take it you’re in rehearsals,” I say.
“You have no idea,” he sighs. “I have to work with this nineteen year old Broadway princess whose dad is producing the show. If she wasn’t so talented, I’d fire her and tell her dad to go to hell.”
I chuckle. “If she’s talented, then what’s the problem?”
“Where do I start!” he exclaims. “Anyway, forget about all that. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m in San Francisco.”
“Sinclair taken care of?”
“Yes.”
“And work on the new hotel is going smoothly?”
The questions make me smile. Mainly because Aidan has no real interest in hotels or anything that doesn’t have to do with performing arts. “Yes, everything went fine.”
“Well congratulations,” he says.
“Thanks. But that’s not why I called. I need to know more about the girl you sent over to my apartment.”
“What girl?”
“On my birthday,” I clarify. “The hooker.”
There’s a short pause on his side. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.
I snort. “Aidan, the hooker you sent to my apartment as a birthday present.”
“Landon, you told me you weren’t interested, remember?”
“Since when have you ever listened to me?” I ask. “Stop playing around, Aidan, I need her number.”
“I’m not playing around.” he insists.
He sounds sincere, and I know when Aidan is lying. “So you didn’t send a hooker to my apartment.
“No.” he pauses. “Let me get this straight. Some girl showed up at your apartment and you had sex with her thinking she was the hooker I promised.”
“Yes.” I grind out.
“Wooohoo.” He crows. “I don’t even know if that’s funny or scary,” he says. “Was she cute? Did you use protection?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“She could have been a thief… or an assassin.” He laughs. “This is precious.”
I listen to him laugh some more. “Why do you want to find her anyway?” he asks.
Because I can’t stop thinking about her. I pause, catching myself before I say the words.“I have no idea,” I say instead. Why don’t you go back to your Broadway princess and show her who’s the director?”
He’s still laughing when I cut the connection, but I’m frowning. If Aidan didn’t send her, then who was she, and why was she at my apartment?
It’s late in the evening when I get back to New York, after spending most the five-hour flight trying to work, while being constantly distracted by thoughts of Rachel. Who is she? Why was she in the elevator on my floor? Why didn’t she take the money, and why didn’t she leave her number?
My mind is churning with possibilities. Was she a thief? Unlikely, apart from a few paintings, there aren’t any items of immense value in the apartment, and since I didn’t notice any paintings missing, I could rule that out. A corporate spy sent by a competitor to steal information about my business, maybe, but then her effort would have been in vain, I don’t keep sensitive information lying around, and the level of protection on my computer ensures that nobody else can log in. Now that I think about it, I realize how careless I’d been. If Aidan had sent her, someone would have called from the front desk to confirm from me that I was expecting a guest, but I’d been too intent on fucking her to think of things like that.
