by Jayne Rylon
Star of Christmas
Jayne Rylon
Star has seen it all as a sex worker in Amsterdam. She harnesses her intense sexuality to bring her clients satisfaction—or whatever else they desire. When one of her favorites, Rick, makes an unusual proposition, she accepts the rare opportunity.
She finds herself onstage, the lead in a naughty Christmas pageant, indulging in electrophilia where anyone can witness her client-turned-costar give her a present she’ll never forget. The sparks between them grow into something more, forcing them to decide if they’re strong enough to seek more than simple pleasure together.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Star of Christmas
ISBN 9781419931765
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Star of Christmas Copyright © 2010 Jayne Rylon
Edited by Mary Moran
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication December 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Star of Christmas
Jayne Rylon
Dedication
This book is for all the people at Ellora’s Cave who have encouraged, inspired and helped me along the way.
To oodles of EC authors for first introducing me to erotic romance…
To my wonderful editor Mary Moran for never steering me wrong…
To Raelene for taking a chance on an unconventional manuscript…
To Kelli Collins for making me laugh while teaching me how to be a better writer…
To the amazing support staff for slaving away behind the scenes…
This one’s for you.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Louboutin: Christian Louboutin
Overture
Through my window, snow is falling. Unique flakes dazzle me as they swarm and crash then disperse, earthbound, in the glow from my red light. Gorgeous and yet a pain in the ass—like so many things in life.
Let me count the ways.
Customers stay indoors to avoid the chill or romp through the rare weather, making for slow nights in Amsterdam’s infamous district. Unless you factor in the men who seek alternative methods to keep toasty and stranded passengers from Schipol taking advantage their airline delays.
Slut shoes plus treacherous icy cobblestones equal a terrifying combination. I’m not the sort of woman who wears rubbers to work—at least not the kind that protect my investment in my Louboutins—only to slip on sumptuous six-inch stilettos at the last instant. My pride rebels. The mystique generated by my stacked heels is part of who I am.
Which is why I cringe when Rick, a frequent customer, fills me in on the news.
“Damn it, Star.” He pants as his orgasm weakens him. My liquefied bones leave me unable to protest as he withdraws his softening cock from my pussy and crashes to the mattress in my booth’s loft. The hint of frustration in his tone has me squinting.
“You’re not satisfied?” A complaint would be a first for me. Not that whores have the equivalent to a corporate comment box system, but my popularity and the abundance of my repeat clients reassure me of my skill.
I sit up, crossing my legs, lifting his head to rest on my thigh as I play with his hair. Dozens of shared sessions with him have taught me I don’t have to hesitate to explore in the aftermath of our pleasure. I figure he craves the interaction. After all, he purchased a full hour tonight when he never requires more than a quarter of that to reach satisfaction in my body, usually dragging me along with him.
Something about his honest craving for me—not just an easy lay—affects me. The chemistry between us makes serving him a pleasure. Sure, he hires other girls in the district from time to time. Then again, I sometimes try a new ice cream flavor before indulging in Rocky Road for my standard Saturday night treat.
“No. I mean, yes. I’m satisfied. More than.”
I massage Rick’s scalp until he rewards me with his content relaxation. Before I can gloat to myself, he shakes his head, caressing me with his thick mane. When he tilts his face to meet my curious stare, his nostrils flare in response to the scent of the arousal he’s inspired.
He laughs. “I can’t think straight when I’m near you. What I meant is, I didn’t come here for this.”
“You didn’t?” What else would he seek from me? I’m providing his essentials.
Rapture.
Friendship.
Intimacy without responsibility.
“Not tonight.” He levers upright, granting me the opportunity to admire his toned torso as he rests his shoulders on the wall beside me.
A far cry from baby’s-butt smooth or steroid-strong. A natural ideal. Nice.
“Star, I have a proposition.” He links our fingers as though he misses our contact as much as I do.
“I thought I already resolved your proposition.”
He rolls his eyes, soliciting a giggle. A reaction not every customer can inspire.
“Not a request for myself. For Chloe.” He sighs as he rubs the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, his scruffiness multiplying his handsomeness.
I cup my breast with my free hand, remembering how his whiskers applied the precise amount of roughness I prefer to my skin. So different than the touch of a woman. “Chloe? The principal at Triple X?”
Rick works as a bouncer for a live sex show near my window.
When he nods, I wince. I hate to disappoint.
“Sorry, Rick. I’m not attracted to her. If you hire me so you can watch me with another woman, or arrange a threesome, I could suggest—”
“Holy shit. Stop. Right there.” He gulps in breaths until he resembles my goldfish Goldy. “Or I’ll need another fuck before I can finish our business.”
“It could be fun to ride you and chat at the same time.” Why do I hunger to please him—and myself in the process—again so soon? The night is young. There will be plenty of other customers to share with. “Now, oral sex and conversation, that’s trickier. But I am a professional, you know. I could probably handle it.”
“Maybe you should put some clothes on.” Rick grumbles then tugs my satin sheet over his better-than-average form.
Disappointment suffuses me. It’s quickly replaced with concern. I usually have no trouble becoming exactly what my customer needs, whatever they may desire. He’s certainly never turned away from me before.
What am I missing?
“Am I annoying you?” I can’t quite catch my balance tonight.
“No, S
tar.” He gathers me to his side, the damn fabric separating us even as the barrier heats with our joint radiance. Somehow the temperature seems to spike when we’re near. “You could never do that. I’m trying to tell you Chloe had an accident.”
“Oh shit. Is she all right? Are you?” I raise my head to weigh his reaction. His compassion for his charges is legendary—something I’ve always admired.
“I’m fine. She will be too, but she fractured her hip. Damn boots with gargantuan heels were not made for these conditions.” He grunted. “She was running late, as usual. Rushing.”
“Wearing her thigh-highs? Red leather? Buckles up the sides?”
He nods.
“They were designed to make her legs look ten miles long. And they do.” Chloe may not have my heart racing. Her boots…they’re another matter. The sleek material oozes sexuality no human can ignore.
Mmm. I rub my pussy against Rick’s sheathed hip.
He grips my waist, refraining from acting on the arousal stiffening his cock once more. I force my fingers to stay where they’ve landed on his taut abdomen instead of drifting lower to stroke the bulge tenting the silky material.
At least for the moment.
Rick’s powers of concentration degrade at an alarming rate. I’d love to indulge in another round of mattress gymnastics, except he’s incited my curiosity. I sense he wouldn’t appreciate my intervention, so I nudge him back on track.
After all, I’m here to serve. Whatever he needs.
“Wasn’t Chloe the lead in the Kinkmas pageant?” Dozens of fliers for the adult spectacular have decorated windows, littered the ground and been passed from tourist to tourist in the past month.
Hell, if I didn’t have to work, I might have checked it out myself. Christmas Eve—all holidays for that matter—are popular nights for average Joes to slake their loneliness. Like a waiter at a fancy restaurant hosting company parties or a harried department store clerk, I capitalize on the season.
No rest for the wicked.
“Yeah. Not possible now. She can’t even spread her legs, never mind take all they had scripted.”
“Who’s her understudy?”
“This isn’t Broadway, Star!” Rick tousles my hair as he cracks up, goading me to smack his impressive biceps. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just picturing the playbill for Kinkmas. Priceless. Maybe I should suggest it to Tommy as a souvenir.”
Triple X’s owner has earned a reputation for ruthless pursuit of profit, though never at the expense of his performers. I settle against Rick once more, enjoying the warmth he lends me. “He won’t go for it. Too many of the performers are incognito. No pictures. No proof.”
“You’re right. Still, the Kinkmas pageant is why I came to you tonight.” He draws a breath deep enough to raise me several inches as I ride his inflating chest. “Tommy’s looking for someone to step in. Tomorrow night. Someone who can live up to all the hype he’s set in motion. Someone breathtaking.”
I can’t help myself. I peer into his glittering blue eyes. I think I discern respect, tenderness and admiration swirling in them. Maybe I’m imagining it.
“And you thought of me?” In a city full of prostitutes and women willing to use their assets to the fullest advantage, it wouldn’t take five minutes for Tommy to assemble a line a mile long—brimming with women who’d claw each other’s eyes out—to audition for a gig with that kind of exposure. That kind of incentive.
“Yeah.”
I’d be lying if I said the opportunity didn’t intrigue me. Not for the glory. Not for the money, but for the chance to experiment. “I’ve never fucked onstage before.”
“Only you would make the perfect Star of Kinkmas. Will you come with me? Talk to him?”
Well, shit, how can I say no when something in my gut is doing flip-flops at the compliment. “Yes. But on one condition…”
“What’s that?” He cups my cheek in his hand as he smiles. I think he might grant me all sorts of favors to earn my compliance.
“Let me thank you right.”
Act One
Tommy’s huge grin reveals a bleached-white grill too perfect to be anything but artificial. His straight, even chompers cause me to imagine the mogul eating me alive when Rick leads me into his boss’s office with one hand on the small of my back. I justify the protective gesture by reminding myself it’s his job. Triple X can’t afford to lose another performer.
If that’s what I’m to become tonight.
I’m still in shock. I snuffed my red light with plenty of hours remaining before sunrise. One first in a night full of firsts. Most notable so far, Rick departing my window with a boner he refused to permit me to attend to. He’d declined my service, saying it made him uncomfortable. Though he’d paid for the full hour, he didn’t want a gratitude fuck—didn’t want to imply he’d had an ulterior motive for his gesture.
Damn him and his bizarre, misguided sense of honor! Doesn’t he realize our abstinence punishes us both?
“Star!” Tommy steeples his fingers as he leans over his obsidian and chrome desk. I ignore him staring at my breasts while I take a seat in the modern chair Rick presents for me. “I didn’t think our boy had it in him to convince you.”
“Clearly you underestimate him.” I begin to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by coming here. “You should give him a raise.”
“Ah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? He’d visit you twice a night then.”
Glare from the glass tabletops, the one-way mirror opening to the stage below and even Tommy’s over-gelled ebony hair offend my eyes, which are much more accustomed to the soft glow of my loft. I peer at the framed stills of gluttonous debauchery, which have occurred under the blinding lights below, and wince.
This is a mass-market sex production. I’m a craftsman who delights in personal touches. I miss the ultimate control I have over the universe through my window.
“In that case, yes, I would. Pleasing Rick pleases me. Do you object?”
“Not at all, honey.” Tommy chuckles. “In fact, I assumed an enterprising young lady of your caliber to be too far above the illusion of glamour I manufacture. Most of my girls will never know the success you’ve achieved. They dress up in naughty lingerie. Sensuality is part of your soul. No gimmicks needed.”
“High praise from someone who’s never visited my window.”
Do I imagine Rick’s sigh of relief?
I think not. Interesting.
He’s never been the jealous type before. A half-dozen of his friends at least have stopped by—informing me he supplied glowing recommendations for my services—becoming somewhat-regular customers themselves.
“A benefit of being the boss.” Tommy smiles, not unkindly. “Women flock to me, not the other way around. But Rick is hard to impress, and there aren’t any who hold his attention as you do.”
To each his own. I’ve seen enough in my career to destroy any judgmental tendencies I might have once possessed. If the casting couch works for Tommy and his girls—or guys—so be it.
“So, what exactly is it you’re looking for?” I hate playing games. Honest passion excites me, not the pretense of desire. So far, Triple X seems propped on a foundation of smoke and mirrors. The thrill of a novel chance may not be enough to lure me into their domain.
“The Star of Kinkmas.” Tommy laughs, not one to take himself too serious. “Ironic and somehow fitting, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” I check in with Rick, who smiles, patting my thigh before withdrawing almost sheepishly—opposite entirely from the man who usually rides me hard, fast and without apology. How odd, neither of us understand the rules outside our standard playing field.
“The show is slated to run with a handful of escalating acts.” Tommy ticks them off on his fingers. “Santa spanking a naughty girl. A couple sixty-nining under the mistletoe. Some straight fucking after a party scene. A woman who gives her husband anal sex for Christmas. And a little people orgy. You know, it’s all about the elves.”
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity.
“The highlight of the season is always the Christmas tree lighting and the star on top,” he continues with a self-satisfied smirk.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” I try not to wince when Rick’s clenched fingers on my knee make me realize I’ve revealed too much. I resort to humor to cover my gaff. It’s almost as effective a distraction as sex. “I would have thought nothing could top the elf orgy.”
“Electrophilia can.” I pretend I see giant, gold Euro signs flash in Tommy’s eyes, like Uncle Scrooge before he meets up with the infamous Christmas ghosts. “It’s a fetish we don’t showcase very often. Mostly because there aren’t many performers willing to demonstrate.”
The shallow breaths sawing from Rick’s lungs beneath the force of his genuine arousal motivate me a thousand times more than Tommy’s greed. Rick groans as he hijacks Tommy’s explanation. “For the grand finale, Jeremy planned to turn Chloe into the tree, decorating her then lighting her up.”
I can’t deny the shiver racing up my spine stems from excitement since the temperature in the theater is set high with the nude actors in mind. Damn. A fetish I enjoy but rarely indulge in calls my name. Sure, I administer electric play on occasion. Yet I’ve only received the jolt of pleasure it can deliver once, at the hands of the man who trained me in the use of my apparatus.
Anton had been interested in selling equipment. This man, Jeremy, would take things far beyond a clinical demonstration. I tap my manicured nails on the arm of the chair.
Jeremy… No, I can’t place him. Don’t think I know him at all.
“So what do you say? You up to it, Star?”
“Honestly, Tommy, I’m not sure.” I close my eyes for a second. “I’m not used to this presentation. With me, everything is real. Lust isn’t scripted. Dictating how I might feel or what I might do before I’m in the moment leaves me a little cold. I’m not the kind of woman to play up the fake moans to please the crowd.”
