Charlie beamed happily as he ran the wooden engine over Rusty’s feet.
“Sorry,” Esther apologised to the patient teacher.
“It’s okay. Kind of feels like a massage.” He wiggled his toes and Charlie giggled.
Faith leaned on the table next to her husband. “Hey, what kind of clothes should a hooker wear?”
He turned over a paper without batting an eyelid. “Why, are you thinking of earning some extra money?”
“Ha ha. Esther’s dressing up for Toby for the Naughty Nights game.”
He chuckled as Esther glared at Faith. “One thing you need to know if you stay with us is that there are no secrets where Faith’s concerned.”
“I’m beginning to get that,” Esther said.
Faith grinned. “So? Outfit?” She took his pen away.
He paused then and glanced up at her with exasperation. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for a reply, so he sighed and moved his gaze to Esther. He studied her for a moment, starting to smile as her cheeks grew warm.
Then he dropped his gaze and picked up another essay. “The blue dress,” he said, taking back his pen and clicking it on. He started writing.
Faith straightened. “Of course!”
“Ankle length, up to the chin?” Esther asked hopefully.
“Some hooker you’d make. Come on, honey. Let’s see if we can’t make Toby’s eyes pop out of his head.”
Chapter Fifteen
Toby saw her as soon as she came into the bar.
Of course, it helped that he’d had his eyes glued to the door for the past ten minutes, but things had got more difficult when an old friend of his father’s spotted him and came over for a chat.
As Esther walked in, however, Toby stood and picked up his glass. He tried to interrupt the old man, but he was currently in the middle of a story and hadn’t taken a breath for the past five minutes.
Toby nodded politely, hoping the old boy would take a hint considering he was now standing, and his gaze slid over to the woman at the bar. She looked stunning. She wore a skin-tight sky-blue dress he’d seen Faith in once, although Faith had worn it with leggings and a baggy jacket. But Esther wore it on its own, along with high-heeled silver sandals that showed off her shapely legs to perfection. The dress came down to mid-thigh and clung to her curves. The top was low cut enough to show a great deal of cleavage. She obviously wore some kind of bra that propped everything up and out. If she wore any panties at all, they had to consist of hardly any material, because there was no sign of a VPL.
He’d never seen her in anything like this—usually her skirts almost touched the ground, and she rarely wore anything clingy. He’d forgotten what a great figure she had. There was no doubt she drew every eye in the bar.
Okay, two seconds into the evening and he already had a hard-on the size of the Eiffel Tower.
The old guy droned on without a pause, and Toby sighed silently, wondering how to excuse himself without being rude. He glanced back at the bar and then froze at the sight of a guy approaching Esther. Shit.
“Nineteen-thirty, I think it was,” droned the old guy. “The shops weren’t there then, you know.”
“Fascinating,” Toby said, watching the young guy lean on the bar next to Esther and start talking to her. “Well, it’s been great talking to you, but my friend’s here now so I’ve got to go, sorry.”
The old guy looked over at the bar and grinned. “‘Friend’, eh?”
“Special friend,” Toby said, winking.
The old guy laughed. “Say g’day to your dad for me, won’t you?”
“Will do. See you, Ben.”
He picked up his empty bottle and walked over to the bar. Leaning on the wooden surface, he smiled at the barman and ordered another beer.
“Thanks,” he heard Esther say, “but I’m really not interested.”
“Aw, come on,” the guy pushed. “You’re obviously out for a good time. Let me buy you a drink or three and then we’ll go back to my place. You won’t be disappointed—I’ve got a ten-inch dick.” He rested a hand on her butt.
Aghast at the audacity of the male species, Toby bristled and opened his mouth to say something to the idiot, but Esther spoke before he could get a word out.
“Okay, as you obviously can’t take a polite hint, I’ll say this in the sort of language you’ll understand. Fuck off.”
Amused, Toby turned and leaned on the bar. As the guy opened his mouth to retort, he said, “Dude, take a hint. She’s not interested.”
The guy spun around, presumably intending to mouth off to whoever had interrupted him. When he found himself on a level with Toby’s chin, he looked up with alarm. Toby raised an eyebrow. Picking up his beer, the man walked off without another word.
Toby met Esther’s gaze and his lips curved. “Wow, that was subtle.”
“He was being rude,” she said defensively.
“Sweetheart, I meant his comment, not yours. I thought you were remarkably restrained.”
“Oh.”
“I’d lay my house on him not having a ten-inch dick.”
“Thank the Lord I’ll never have to find out,” she said, clearly relieved.
The barman came back up with Toby’s beer. Toby nodded at Esther. “And whatever the lady wants.”
The barman raised his eyebrows as if wondering if Toby would get the same treatment as the previous guy.
Esther cleared her throat. “Glass of chardonnay, please.”
He nodded. “Oyster Bay, ma’am?”
“Lovely, thanks.”
As he went off to pour the glass, Toby sipped his beer and studied her. “So he wasn’t the sort of customer you were looking for tonight?” he asked in a low voice.
She raised her lashes and met his gaze. He caught his breath. Something passed between them, sharp and sweet like biting into a chili, and his heart rate increased, blood surging through his veins. From his high vantage point, he had a great view down her cleavage, and he noted that she’d made up her eyes with mascara and dark eyeliner and had highlighted her lips with red gloss. An image leapt into his head of those lips closing around the erection that had miraculously sprung to life, and he started to smile.
Her lips curved in response. “He didn’t look the type who’d be prepared to pay the price.” Her eyes danced. “I’m very expensive.”
“I see.”
The barman brought over her glass, and Toby paid. When the barman moved farther down the bar to serve another customer, Toby turned his attention back to her. “So you are open to offers tonight?”
“Why else would I come to a bar on my own?” She ran her gaze slowly down him, then back up. “You look the rich sort.”
He chuckled. “I’m here on business.”
“Oh? I thought businessmen wore suits.”
He looked down at himself. The truth was that he didn’t own a suit, and he hadn’t yet picked up the one he’d hired for Dan’s wedding the following weekend. Instead, he wore jeans and the smartest item in his wardrobe—a dark grey, long-sleeved dress shirt embroidered with black velvet thread. “Only to work,” he clarified. “This is a businessman at leisure.”
She giggled. “I wasn’t complaining. You look…” She ran her gaze down him again, then slowly back up. “Nice.” Her eyes twinkled.
He smiled. It looked as if she was enjoying herself. He was glad. Something told him that, apart from Charlie, she hadn’t had an awful lot of fun in her life over the last few years.
“Would you like to share a table with me?” He indicated one over by the window that looked out at the palms outside the bar entrance. “Perhaps we could discuss an…arrangement for the evening.”
She picked up her glass. “Sure.”
He led the way over, held out the chair for her, moved it in as she sat, then took the seat opposite. It was a small, square table, and their knees touched underneath. Toby sat back and took a mouthful of beer, watching as she sipped her wine and tucked a strand of hair behind her ea
r.
She’d taken care over her appearance, with her skilfully applied makeup and curls pinned up to reveal her slim neck, and she’d borrowed a pair of Faith’s hooped earrings. She must have confided in Faith. He knew Faith would have helped her out—she would have taken great delight in having a project. But he was taken aback that Esther had opened up to her. The warmth that flooded through him surprised him.
She looked up and met his gaze. “So… Are you looking for company tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“Because if you’re not, I’d rather you tell me now. I don’t want to waste my time—there are plenty more clients in here.” She scouted the room airily.
“Like Mr. Ten-Inch Dick?” He grinned.
“Maybe not him. I wouldn’t go with him if he were a millionaire. Well…” She thought about it, then shook her head. “No, not even then.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He drank some of his beer. “Do you enjoy your job?”
“Getting paid for sex?” She shrugged. “Easy money. Just have to lie there and think about the housework while the client does his thing.”
“That’s nice to know. Now I’ll be wondering if you’re pondering on the vacuuming while I’m going at it.”
They both laughed. She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. “I’m joking, of course. There’s more to being a good whore than just lying there and thinking of England.”
“There is?”
“Oh yes.” She dipped her finger into the glass, then placed it in her mouth and sucked the drip of wine off it.
He hardened again at the thought of those red lips around him. He’d not seen her act like this before. In Fiji she’d followed his lead most of the time, like a country girl spirited to the city, staring up at the bright lights. Willing enough to do whatever he suggested, but rarely taking the initiative. Which he’d loved, enjoying giving her the guided tour. But this flirty, saucy wench made his heart race.
“Do elaborate,” he said.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Well, maybe for some hookers it’s just about lying there, but I’m different. You see, I was trained at an expensive establishment, where I learned the art of pleasing a man.”
“Oh?” He loved that she’d thrown herself into playing the game. “And what sort of things does that involve?”
“You’ll have to pay me to find out.” She sipped her wine, her eyes dancing over the rim of the glass.
His lips twitched. “Okay, so tell me, what does an exclusive lady like yourself charge the average gentleman?”
She looked startled, as if she hadn’t thought about it. “Oh, um, I calculate the rate on a case-by-case basis.”
“Okay, let me put it like this.” He leaned forward, his gaze resting on her lips, enjoying the anticipation of the pleasure that awaited them both. “How much is it going to cost me to fuck you senseless for the rest of the evening?”
Chapter Sixteen
Esther didn’t have to fake her gasp at Toby’s outrageous words. She stared at him, seeing by the curve of his lips that he’d meant to shock her. He’d loved doing this before, enjoying her reaction when he overstepped her previously narrow boundaries, saying things to make her exclaim and scold him, before eventually admitting he turned her on.
She sat back in her chair, giving herself a moment for her heart rate to slow down. Part of her still couldn’t believe she was doing this. It had taken an immense amount of courage to walk into the bar dressed in such a revealing outfit. Even now, she had to fight to stop covering herself up as Toby’s gaze dropped to her breasts, barely covered by the skimpy material.
She forced herself not to, though, instead taking the glass of wine and sipping it slowly. The alcohol had started to thread through her, giving her the courage to play him at his own game.
Letting her gaze roam over him, she appraised him properly. He sat back and accepted her perusal, content to wait until she’d drunk her fill. He’d taken time over his appearance—he’d showered, shaved and used product in his usually unruly hair. He smelt delicious, of freshly washed, warm man tinged with a subtle aftershave.
It was the first time she’d seen him in a dress shirt, and the effect blew her away. She’d thought him handsome in his well-worn tees and scruffy jeans, but in the dark shirt, neatly groomed and with that naughty twinkle in his eye, she was lost.
She was going to have sex. Very soon. With this gorgeous man. Possibly more than once and, knowing Toby, in a variety of different positions. Probably with numerous orgasms each time.
When had she died and gone to heaven? Had it happened and she’d missed it?
He signalled the barman and ordered another round of drinks—wine for her, Coke for himself as he was driving. He continued to wait patiently for her to speak, obviously enjoying the effect he’d had on her, his dark eyes challenging her to react to his provocative statement.
She cleared her throat. “It depends.”
He tipped his head. “On what?”
“Positions. What other requests the client has.”
“I’d like some details if I’m going to part with my hard-earned cash.”
“Fair enough.” She should have thought about this. How much did a classy prostitute charge? She had no idea. In Pretty Woman, Richard Gere had paid Julia Roberts three thousand dollars to stay with him for the week. What was that, about four hundred a day? But that was over twenty years ago—she had to account for inflation.
Inflation? She started to giggle.
“What?” He smiled as she tried to smother her laughter.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” For God’s sake, she told herself, this was make-believe. It didn’t have to be accurate.
The barman brought over their drinks, and she sipped her wine. “There’s a flat rate of five hundred dollars for my time.”
“Okay.”
Well, at least he hadn’t burst out laughing. That gave her the courage to continue. Time to tease him.
She leaned forward, knowing the way she rested her breasts on her arms was probably forcing them almost out of the dress. To his credit, he didn’t stare at them, but his smile increased. “That includes missionary,” she told him. “Everything else is additional.”
“Okay.”
“Me on top—two hundred dollars.”
“Of course.”
She was beginning to enjoy herself now. “From behind—three hundred dollars.”
He chuckled. “Right.”
“Oral sex—five hundred.”
“Giving or receiving?” His eyes gleamed.
“Well, you receiving of course.” She sipped her wine and grinned. “I’ll pay you for giving it.”
He laughed and leaned forward again. Just another six inches or so, and he’d be able to kiss her. He looked into her eyes, obviously enjoying himself. “And what extras do you offer?”
She thought about it. “Mild S&M, five hundred dollars.”
“Define ‘mild’.”
“Slaps on the ass. Reddening’s okay, bruising not so much. I’m not into pain.”
“Fair enough.” The amused look he’d sported since the conversation began was morphing into desire. She was turning him on. Yes!
His gaze dipped to her lips, then came back to hers. “What else?”
She leaned forward a bit more, glancing down briefly to make sure her breasts hadn’t fully emerged from her clothing. They hadn’t, but another half inch or so and there would be nipples visible. Perhaps she should stop there before she made a complete fool of herself.
Oh, what the hell. She was supposed to be a prostitute, after all. “Oh, there are a variety of other options available. Massage, two hundred dollars. Dressing up, two hundred. Sex toys, five hundred. And…” Her voice tailed off, vanquished by his smouldering eyes.
“And…” he prompted.
She moistened her lips. “Anal sex will cost you another thousand.” They’d indulged on their second-to-last night in Fiji. Clearl
y, he was remembering the moment, judging by the way his pupils had dilated. It had been her first time, and the experience had blown her away. He’d been commanding, but so gentle, and it had been lying there afterward in the circle of his arms that she’d realised she didn’t want to lose him.
She dropped her lashes. She didn’t want to think about how they’d ended. This wasn’t about relationships or accusations or recriminations. This was about two people enjoying each other’s bodies, about sex, nothing more.
His hand slid under her chin and lifted it. She looked into his dark eyes. They held something she couldn’t quite fathom. Pity? Understanding?
Then she caught her breath as he leaned forward across the table and kissed her.
His lips were warm and firm, and he slid his hand to the back of her neck and held her in place as he moved his lips across hers.
When he finally pulled back, she pressed her lips together, enjoying the rapid thump of her heart, but sent him a remonstrative look, pretending to be shocked. “You’re not supposed to sample the goods before you’ve paid.”
He grinned. “Put it on my tab.”
“So you’d like to purchase?”
In answer, he reached into his back pocket and brought out a pen and his wallet. Opening it, smirking at her, he removed a folded-up blank cheque and unfurled it.
“Wait,” she said. “I haven’t finished.”
“Oh?”
Time to enter the realms of fantasy and get him really steamed up. “Don’t you want to hear about the other services I offer?”
He twirled the pen in his fingers, studying her with an amused smile. “Sure.”
“Alternative locations for sex, a sliding scale depending on how likely we are to be seen. For example, back seat of the car in the middle of the forest, a hundred dollars. Photo booth in the middle of the chemist, five hundred dollars.”
He chuckled. “Cheap at twice the price.”
“What about other people?” She leaned forward again, propping up her bosom.
“Other people?”
“Per person watching, a hundred dollars.” She licked her lips. “Per person taking part, five hundred dollars.”
Six Naughty Nights: Love in Reverse, Book 2 Page 10
