By the Hour (The Pleasure Principle Series #2)

by Roni Loren

  Her lips parted, words extinct.

  He released her chin with a sound of disgust. “Yeah. So I know exactly what game is being played out at that table. And I’m telling you that you need to walk away. It’s not for you.”

  The shock of finding out Lane used to be an escort was enough to have her ears ringing. She had questions. So many questions. But the last part of his declaration set off a knee-jerk response. “And who are you to tell me what’s not for me? Is he a bad guy? Dangerous?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re done here. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to school me on it. I’m not some pampered debutante who’s going to pretend this is something other than it is. All I care about is having a good time with a guy without having to worry that it’s going to get complicated. This is a business exchange and you’re interrupting the deal. Now let me get back to it.”

  He didn’t move. “So that’s your kink, then? You want to have a rent boy you can pay? Want to call all the shots and make him do your bidding?”

  Her stomach dipped, but she didn’t let him see her flinch. “So what if it is?”

  “It’s not,” he said, stepping fully into her space, his voice softening. “And you know it. If it was your thing, I’d tell you to go for it. But that’s not what gets you off. You could have that any day of the week without spending a dime. Willing men wanting to please the pretty doctor. You’ve tried that already, haven’t you?”

  She had to fight not to look away, not to reveal he was hitting targets.

  “Did you have to imagine filthy things while they were fucking you to get off? Pretend that they were holding you down or being rough instead of gently coaxing an orgasm out of you?”

  Her heart thumped hard against her ribs, but she refused to let any emotion show on her face. His observations were painfully accurate. How many times had she squeezed her eyes shut with a guy and pretended the things happening were so much darker, more dangerous?

  The look on his face said he knew he’d hit the mark. “Isaiah can’t give you what you want. He might be able to play the role, but that’s not his natural way. He’s not mean enough for you. He can’t do what I did for you. I know that’s what you’re hoping.”

  The words pushed needles into her. “You’re such an egotistical jerk.”

  “Doesn’t change what’s true.” His hand slid onto her hip, the heat of his palm searing her through her dress. “You’re too smart to trick yourself. You think you’ll be able to pretend it’s all real, but you’ll always know in the back of your mind that he’s in your bed because you’re paying him to be. That he’d be following your orders, not his own desires. And I promise you, that’s going to take the fire right out of it. You’ll see the strings at the magician’s show. The magic will be gone.”

  She shook her head, not wanting to hear it. That, of course, had been her fear all along. She’d fooled herself in her marriage, tricking herself into believing she was loved and cherished, that she meant something to someone. When, in reality, she’d meant nothing—not to her husband or her family. She’d sworn she’d never let herself fall into that kind of fantasyland again. She couldn’t read books with happy endings anymore. Fairy tales were bullshit. Even when she weaved fantasies in the privacy of her own head, reality had an ugly way of pushing in and marring them.

  Some of the fight went out of her, a cold, empty feeling pinging through her. “Maybe so. But this is what I have to work with. You don’t think I get that I’m fucked up about this? That this isn’t normal? I get it. But it is what it is. I’m a solution-focused person. And no solution is perfect, but this is the one that’s the closest for me. So please, let me go back to my fake date so I can go home and get fake laid.”

  “Elle.” Lane frowned, his eyes scanning her expression. She thought that’d be the end of it, that he’d drop it and let her go. Instead, he kissed her.

  The shock of his lips against hers stunned her into instant silence, and without thinking, she reached up and grabbed his shirt. At first, she did it with the intent to push him away, but then found herself dragging him closer and parting her lips.

  His tongue slid against hers and he groaned, a whole-body sound that sent a flash of heat to all her best parts. The enticing scent of him had already been too much in the tight space, but adding the taste of him against her tongue put her brain into shutdown mode. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she made a noise that sounded way too close to desperation.

  His hand grasped the back of her head and his other slid behind her thigh, lifting her leg so he could step even closer. The hard press of his zipper dragged against her belly and he pressed the heat of his body against her now spread legs.

  Everything inside her went warm and needy and ready. She clung to him and kissed him back hard, unable to do anything else but follow where her body wanted to go. Fingers in his hair, breasts pressed against his chest, body melting into him.

  “Doc, fuck.” The words were mumbled between hungry kisses and grabbing hands. He left her leg hooked around his hip and dragged his hand up to squeeze her breast. Not a light, tender touch, but a rough, possessive grab that made her gasp and writhe. She wanted more, his hand against her bare skin, his teeth tugging her nipple.

  But they shouldn’t be doing this. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. “Lane, please. Isaiah is—”

  He didn’t let her finish the sentence. He pulled back from the kiss and grabbed her hips to spin her around to face the wall. “You have a word that will make me stop.”

  His erection pressed hard against her backside and when she didn’t say a damn thing, his hand slipped between her and the wall and cupped her through her dress. Just the burning heat of his palm was almost enough to bring her to her knees. But of course he didn’t leave it at that. He pressed kisses to the side of her neck and rocked his fingers against her, putting pressure right where she needed it most. Her forehead tapped the wall.

  “Tell me what you would’ve done if I’d taken the money that night?” he asked, the words rough against her ear.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, the pleasure of what he was doing with his fingers in direct opposition to the anxiety the question caused. “I knew you wouldn’t take it.”

  “You wanted to piss me off, chase me out?” His fingers made circles around her sensitive clit, the silk of her panties sliding over it in a maddening glide.

  “Yes.”

  She gasped as he moved his hand and abruptly hiked up her skirt. His fingers pushed aside her panties, finding her wet and wanting.

  “Why?”

  Her nails curled against the wall, thoughts harder to put together now that his fingers were on her, inside her, touching her exactly where she needed.

  “Because I can’t handle complicated.”

  His fingers slowed down to a sensual rhythm, one that had her lifting up on her toes and breathing hard, and the scent of arousal filled the small room.

  He kissed behind her ear and then nipped at her lobe. “You never answered my question. What would you have done if I’d accepted the money?”

  She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, fighting not to beg for more of his touch or ride his fingers like some desperate, needy thing. She was so close. “I would’ve asked you to come over the next night. And the next.”

  “To use me.”

  She scoffed, though it came out sounding more like pleasure than disbelief. “To use each other. Don’t act like you want me for anything but this. You and I have nothing in common besides this.”

  He plunged his fingers deep at that. “Why, because I’m a lowly former hooker and you’re the fancy doctor?”

  She shook her head, somehow wanting to laugh at that notion. “No.”

  “Why then?” he demanded.

  “Because life hasn’t killed off the good parts of you yet.”

  His pace stuttered at that and she regretted letting the words slip out, but he didn’t give her time to take them back. “You
give me too much credit, doc. Life’s done a hell of a lot to me. And I promise you, none of it’s good.”

  His fingers found her clit again, and he stroked her with expert precision and no reprieve. Her thoughts blurred around the edges and her breath soughed out of her in quick, loud bursts. Orgasm wouldn’t be far behind.

  “Make me the offer again, doc,” he growled as his fingers worked her.

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. “What?”

  “Tell me you want me to fuck you for money.”

  She was sweating, her hair and makeup would be ruined. She couldn’t find it in her to care. “I want you to fuck me. For money.”

  “Good. Here’s the catch, doc. I’m in control. I set the rules. You’re paying me, but you’re my plaything. And only mine.”

  Her need to come was so strong her entire body was pulsing with it, but she forced herself to focus on the words. “I’m not a submissive.”

  “Don’t need you to be. Don’t want you to be. You can fight me as much as you want. And you’ll always have your safe word. We can even keep it quiet at work so that you don’t taint your precious reputation. But I come over when I want. I’m in charge of how things go. That means I won’t be treated like a dog who needs to be sent home after getting his scraps. If I want to stay over, I’ll stay. I’ve had enough rich bitches send me home after they’ve used up the help. I’m not the help anymore. No fuck is worth going back to that. Not even one with you.”

  She winced.

  “But I will give you the guarantee you want, the one to fix that thing that scares you so much.”

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  “I won’t expect more than you’re capable of giving. I know who you are. You don’t have to pretend you’re something different with me. And when it’s time, I’ll walk away. I’ve spent my whole life walking away. I’m good at it.”

  “Lane…”

  He pressed the length of his body against her back. “Now come for me, doc. Come all over my hand and then walk back to that table with your soaked panties and throbbing cunt and tell Isaiah that you’re off the market.”

  She gasped, fighting hard not to make too much noise, and writhed on Lane’s fingers, her entire attention focused on the pleasure coursing through her. She couldn’t think about the fact that she was in some dark storeroom or that she’d made some crazy deal with Lane. She’d worry about that when her world wasn’t exploding behind her eyelids.

  “That’s it,” Lane said softly against her skin. “Show me how sexy you are when you come, how hungry you are for this.”

  Lane banded his other arm around her waist and turned her with him, putting his back to the wall and her front toward the cracked mirror leaning against the other side.

  The broken reflection stared back at her. Her dress was hiked up and her panties pushed aside. Lane’s fingers worked her, a knee-weakening orgasm making her shamelessly rock herself against him. She was the picture of a woman utterly undone. And his expression was pure male intent. Determined. Stern. Almost grim.

  Going on expression alone, she’d guess he wasn’t enjoying things. But his body said otherwise. His erection was like steel against her ass and his heart pounded against her back. What that did to her was visceral and potent. She knew Lane could fake interest if needed. His job required that. But that wasn’t the case with her. He wasn’t doing this for the money or an easy lay.

  That both comforted her and scared the shit out of her. Because if not for one of those, why was he going through the trouble?

  But the thought escaped her as her mind went blank with pleasure. Her eyes closed and she let herself fall into the bliss of all that sensation. She’d think later. Right now, she’d just feel.

  “That’s it,” he said after a few moments, the words quiet against her ear and his hand slipping away. “It’s a deal, then.”

  Her mind snapped back into focus at that. “Lane…”

  “No more talking, cupcake.” He shifted behind her and righted her clothes. When she turned to confront him, he pressed his slick fingers to her lips in a mock kiss. “Get rid of Isaiah. I’ll send you my account number so you can deposit the money. And I’ll be in touch.”

  “But—”

  “We’re done here.” With that, he walked out, leaving her there with a pounding heart, boneless legs, and a spinning brain. Something had dropped out of Lane’s pocket on the way out, but she didn’t have the energy to call out to him or to go over and pick it up. She sagged against the wall and ran a hand over her forehead, trying to get her mind back together.

  Somehow, she’d gone from having a formal, maybe-this-might-happen conversation with Isaiah to being manhandled in a storeroom and coming at the hands of a guy she’d sworn off for good. A man she’d now agreed to pay.

  And frankly, that wasn’t what was freaking her out.

  No, what was making that tremble move through her body was something entirely different.

  She’d just agreed to give Lane Cannon control.

  What the fuck had she been thinking?

  Chapter 10

  What the fuck had he been thinking?

  Lane took a long gulp of beer and flipped through Carlotta’s case notes without seeing them. He was supposed to be concentrating on his clients and making a decision about the school testing his professor had suggested, but all he could think about was the stupid deal he’d made with Elle yesterday at the café. He’d been in a haze of possessive lust, wanting to do whatever it took to make sure it was him in her bed and not someone else.

  He’d broken so many personal codes it wasn’t funny. Keeping the drama factor low in his life. Gone. Not poaching another escort’s client. Done. Never ever taking money for non-therapeutic sex again. Fail.

  He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. That last one was such a stupid, stupid move. Not only because he’d made a personal vow to himself to never go backward, to never return to that life. But he was putting everything at risk. He’d worked hard for his current position and was busting his ass to get his degree so he could move to the next level. Make something of himself. This could ruin it all. If anyone got even a whiff that he was taking money for recreational sex, he could kiss his job and his license good-bye. It was the stereotype surrogates fought against—that they were just glorified whores—and now he was agreeing to an arrangement that was anything but therapeutic.

  Fucking destructive was more like it.

  But the alternative wasn’t an option either, anymore. Elle had infected his entire system and he needed to cure that obsession. Hearing her words yesterday had put a knife through him. Life hasn’t killed the good parts of you yet. In that moment, it hadn’t been about how hot she was or the challenge of her. He’d gotten a glimpse of the real woman beneath it all. Heard an echo of something that he’d thought way too often when he’d lain in a woman’s bed, cash stacked on the bedside table. He’d sold his body. He’d sold his compliments. He’d sold his affection and some I-love-you’s. Those kinds of thoughts had stalked him. What if there’s nothing good left to give? What if I’ve sold it all to the highest bidder?

  Elle had never been a hooker, but somewhere along the way, she’d given things away, too—or maybe they’d been stolen. He didn’t know, but that was what had kept him from taking back his reckless offer. He’d realized in that moment that she didn’t know how to deal with things in a different way. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. But paying for it was the only way she could feel safe acting on it.

  So be it. He’d do it.

  But that didn’t mean he was going to let her do things her way. If she wanted to give him some token cash to put a nice clear line in the sand for herself, fine. He’d funnel the cash into the domestic violence shelter The Grove helped fund. But he wasn’t going to be her whore. He wasn’t going to do her bidding. He wasn’t going to act out some role. He wasn’t that guy anymore.

  He’d told her as much. But what she didn’t know was that she wa
s going to have to pay a much higher price for his services than she ever anticipated.

  He didn’t require submission. Or trips to the kink club. Or even blow jobs—though, those were always nice. No, what he was going to require would terrify her more than any of that.

  She was going to have to let him in.

  Seven days. Elle collapsed onto her couch with a bowlful of banana ice cream that she’d drowned in chocolate sauce. Seven goddamned days since Lane had dragged her into the storeroom. And five since she’d deposited money into his account. She hadn’t heard a word from him. He’d told her he’d be in touch, but that had obviously been a lie. Or he’d been playing a game.

  She’d seen him on campus yesterday and had planned to confront him, but then a woman had run up to him and started walking with him. The woman had been young, pretty, and smiling way too eagerly at Lane. The warm smile he gave her was one he’d never given Elle.

  Elle had immediately typed out a text, telling him not to bother calling her, but she hadn’t been able to send it. She didn’t want to look as if she’d been hanging by a thread and waiting for him to call. She’d rather let him believe that she’d forgotten about the whole thing entirely. If he called, she wasn’t going to answer. Let him think she’d moved on without a thought.

  She shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, full of righteous indignation, and flipped on the news. She should’ve stuck with Isaiah. The guy had been nothing but gracious when she’d told him she’d changed her mind. He hadn’t tried to persuade her but had instead given her his card and told her he was always open to hearing from her. She needed to dig out that card and go with her original plan.

  But she didn’t move from the couch. She just took another big bite of dessert and fumed.

  Her phone rang next to her on the couch, and she hated the way she perked up like a Pekingese being offered a treat. But the screen showed it was her mother again. She knew she should answer. She’d avoided two of her mom’s calls already, but she didn’t have it in her. It wouldn’t benefit either of them for her to answer in this mood. She sent it to voicemail, knowing her mother would never leave one, and tossed her phone to the other side of the couch.