by Tara Sivec
I claw at his shoulders and moan into his mouth as he deepens the kiss, walking down the hallway and into his bedroom. He slowly lowers me to the bed, holding himself above me as he breaks the kiss.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he says softly.
I let go of the grip I have on his hair, pressing my palms to either side of his face.
“Stop it,” I order. “I’m fine. I want this. I want you. I’m not changing my mind and I’m not going anywhere.”
He turns his head to the side and kisses the inside of my palm.
“Promise?” he whispers.
“I promise.”
Resting his hips on the bed between my legs, he grabs my wrists and lifts them above my head.
“Then you might want to hold onto the headboard, princess,” he says with a smirk.
I open my mouth to tell him to stop being so arrogant, quickly clamping it closed and wrapping my hands around the spindles of the headboard as he kisses his way down the side of my neck, over my breasts still spilling out of the costume push-up bra I wore for the show, and down over my stomach.
He moves his body back down the bed, yanking my skirt off as he goes and tossing it to the side. As he positions himself on his stomach between my thighs, I watch as he drops his head and presses his mouth against the satin material of my underwear.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, my thighs clenching when he rubs his mouth back and forth against the satin.
“My name’s Vincent. But you can yell whatever you want tonight,” he replies with laughter in his voice as he continues torturing me.
“Look who’s got jokes tonight,” I reply sarcastically. “Just because you—HOLY SHIT!”
I squeeze the spindles tighter and my head drops back down to the bed when he quickly rips my underwear off like it’s made of paper and I feel his mouth on me.
There’s absolutely nothing I can do but hold on tight and squeeze my eyes closed.
He swirls his tongue in the most amazing way and my back arches as I pant and moan.
I’ve imagined what it would be like for a guy to do this to me, but it always seemed so embarrassing, and I always wondered how women could forget about the fact that a man is using his tongue in the most intimate of places and just enjoy it.
And now I understand.
Vincent was right. He definitely knows what he’s doing, and all thought completely leaves my mind except for how good it feels. He uses just the right amount of pressure and his lips and tongue hit me in just the right spot until I have to let go of the headboard and grab onto his head, clutching his hair in my hands to tightly I’m surprised I don’t tear it out by the roots.
He sucks me into his mouth and spots explode behind my eyes when my orgasm rushes through me, pulsing and quaking as he continues to caress me with his tongue until I collapse onto the bed.
While I pant and try to catch my breath, Vincent crawls up my body, yanking his shirt off and tossing it to the side of the bed.
He drops his hands down on either side of me, holding himself up as he lowers his head and kisses me. When I taste myself on his lips, the fire inside of me starts coming back to life, and I quickly reach down between us and unbutton his jeans.
I help him push them down his thighs and he kicks them off, settling himself back between my legs with his chest pressing against mine.
He stares down at me and I can see it written all over his face again—worry.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I hold him tighter to me, wrapping my legs around his waist.
I can feel him, hot and hard and heavy between my thighs, and my body immediately reacts, my hips jerking forward as I slide myself against him.
He lets out a low grown and I lift my head, pressing my mouth to his.
“I’m fine. I swear. Please, Vincent,” I beg, whispering against his lips. “I need you.”
“Christ,” he mutters. “If I hurt you at all, you damn well better tell me.”
He quickly reaches over to his nightstand drawer, pulling out a foil packet. My body starts writhing on the bed with eagerness as I watch him lift up and quickly put on the condom before dropping back down to my body, sliding his arms under me and holding me close.
“I have never wanted anymore more than I do you. Don’t you ever fucking forget that,” he growls.
His mouth slams against mine and the next thing I know, he’s sliding into me.
My thighs tighten so hard around his waist that I know they’re going to hurt tomorrow, and I cling to his shoulders like I’m seconds away from falling off a cliff. But that’s exactly how I feel as he takes his time, pushing into me achingly slowly.
“Stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” I mutter, my hips jerking up to bring him in deeper.
He lets out another low growl, thrusting his hips until he’s fully inside, and I immediately regret what I just said. I’d like to say it goes smashingly well and doesn’t hurt at all, but . . .
Sweet mother of all that is holy, how does he even fit in there?!
“Breathe, Belle,” he whispers in my ear.
He holds himself perfectly still and the feel of his warm breath against my face and his arms wrapped tightly around me, holding me close, makes the pain disappear in an instant.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he whispers again, peppering kisses along my cheek and my jaw.
His concern for me, and his gentleness, make me forget about everything and just want more. I immediately move my hips against him, wanting more . . . needing more.
“I’m okay, I swear. You can move now.”
And move he does. He makes love to me in a soft, sweet way that I never thought possible from him. I don’t know where the beast he said was raging inside of him went, but right now, I’m glad he’s taking a nap. Next time, he can bring that sucker out and let it wreak havoc on my body. Right now, I just want soft and slow and perfect. And that’s exactly what he gives me.
Our hips rock together in perfect sync, and before I know it, I’m tumbling over the edge again, scraping my nails down his back and shouting his name.
I thought hearing him tell me how much he’s wanted me earlier was the best thing I’d ever heard, but I was wrong. Hearing him shout my name when he comes immediately goes to the top of my list.
Chapter 29: You Won’t Have to Be a Hooker
“I’m calling off of work.”
“You’re not calling off of work. You’re being ridiculous,” I tell Vincent as he stands in the bathroom doorway and watches me put the finishing touches on my makeup.
“I could drag you back into the shower and go slower this time, making you miss this fucking party all together,” he growls.
My body heats as I glance over at the shower, thinking about what he did to me in there an hour ago.
Even though our first time was slow and gentle and perfect, it still took me a few days to recover before I attacked him as soon as he came home from work later that week. He tried keeping himself reined in, but I put my foot down and told him I love the beast inside of him as well, and to stop holding back. Not only did I put my foot down, I put my foot right in my mouth blurting out the L word, but he didn’t even comment on it. He shoved everything off the kitchen counter and almost made it so I couldn’t walk for a week that time.
When I don’t immediately reply to Vincent’s shower comment, he comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist and starts kissing the side of my neck.
“Stop trying to distract me,” I moan when he gently bites down on me. I let the mascara drop into the sink and rest my hands on his arms, which are around my stomach.
“I’m going with you,” he mutters against my neck, lifting his head and looking at me in the mirror.
“You’re not calling off work, and you are absolutely not going with me. Honestly, I’m surprised PJ even gave you that promotion, considering how many times you’ve skipped out of work early lately.”
Something passes over his face that look
s a lot like guilt, and I immediately feel bad for saying that, considering I’m the reason he he’s ditched work all those times.
“I already told you, Ariel will be there to keep an eye on me during my first official party, and it will be fine. She whittled a shank out of a toothbrush during our scheduling meeting at Cindy’s house yesterday,” I tell him, laughing when he lets out a deep sigh.
He drops his arms from around me, grabbing my hips and turning me to face him.
“I still don’t like it,” he mutters, reaching up and brushing my hair off my forehead.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to just come right out and tell him I love him, but I hold it inside. We’ve never talked about the things I said the night I danced at Charming’s, about how I was falling for him and don’t want to ruin what’s happening between us right now. There’s no need for me to rush things or make it awkward. I know he cares about me. He shows me every single day, and that’s good enough for now.
Besides, I’m too excited about doing my first party tonight to worry about anything else. I’m shocked that I’m excited about it and not one bit nervous, and I know that has everything to do with the man standing in front of me and how much confidence he’s given me, especially recently, what with all the bedroom sex, kitchen sex, library sex. . . .
“It’s a bachelorette party filled with drunk women. There’s nothing for you to worry about,” I reassure him, reaching up and patting the side of his face as I turn back around and finish getting ready.
“PJ goes with Cindy,” he says petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest as I fluff out my hair, which I curled, and spritz myself with perfume.
PJ has been Cindy’s bodyguard at every party she’s booked and plans to do that until we’re making enough money to hire someone else. I think it’s kind of sweet that Vincent wants to do the same thing because he’s worried about my safety. But he doesn’t own Charming’s and can’t just come and go as he pleases. At least, not anymore, if wants to keep his job.
“Ariel already has your number programmed into her phone in case anything goes wrong,” I remind him. “But nothing will go wrong.”
“What does she have me labeled as in her phone?” he suddenly asks.
After the first night we had sex, I made the mistake of telling him the next morning over breakfast all of the things Ariel called him when I was on the phone with her during our ride home from Charming’s. He thought it was hilarious when I told him all the names she made up for him while she screamed in my ear.
“Uh . . . I believe she has you labeled as Mother Fucking Ass Licking Dick Hole,” I inform him as he chuckles under his breath.
Shoving all of my toiletries into the drawer, I turn around and lift up on my toes to give him a quick kiss.
“Stop worrying so much.”
“Call me as soon as you finish. Not when you’re in the car, not when you’re on your way home, and not when you get home. As. Soon. As. You. Finish,” he orders in a clipped voice.
“Stop being so bossy.”
“I’ll show you bossy when I get home from work,” he tells me with a smirk.
“Promise?” I ask, already thinking about what he might do to me when I get home.
“Promise,” he says with a smile, kissing the tip of my nose before he turns and leaves the bathroom.
* * *
“Where are your notes?” Ariel asks as I connect my phone to the customer’s Bluetooth speaker and pull up my playlist.
“I don’t need notes, jackass,” I reply, setting my phone down on a side table.
When I turn to face her, she’s wiping an imaginary tear off her cheek.
“Our little girl is all grown up. She gets a good dicking, and now I don’t even recognize her,” Ariel says, adding a fake sniffle.
I roll my eyes at her as the woman who owns the house and booked the party starts leading a whole horde of loud, tipsy women into the living room from the kitchen. Everyone is wearing tiaras, and they have so many plastic items with penises on them, it’s shocking. Penis earrings, penis necklaces, penis water bottles that I’m sure are filled with alcohol, judging by the way they’re guzzling from the straws—which are, incidentally, also penises. They all come screaming and cheering into the living room in a gaggle of penis products, and I smile to myself, so excited to get this party started that I almost can’t stand it.
I’m actually kind of glad Cindy and Ariel decided this party should be my first one. It’s much more comforting having my first time being with a group of women instead of strange men.
When a straggler comes into the living room after everyone else, she looks at me and stops in her tracks.
Oh, no.
“Isabelle? Isabelle Reading?” the woman says, looking at me with wide eyes.
I try to remain professional and not completely freak out, but considering I’m wearing the tiniest dress Ariel could find at the store, and she demanded I wear it tonight to “show off the goods,” it’s a little difficult. The yellow cotton dress clings to every curve and stops just below my ass, with a very low-cut front showing a lot of cleavage. It has teeny, tiny little buttons all down the front, and after a lot of practice recently, I can easily tear it open with one tug and not rip all the buttons off.
Vincent made me test it out for him last night, which resulted in all of the supper dishes being shoved off the kitchen table and me tossed on top of it, but even that memory doesn’t stop me from wanting to run out of this room right now.
“Mrs. Anderson, how are you doing this evening?” I ask politely, clasping my hands together in front of me so tightly I might be cutting off the blood supply.
Of all people to be at this party tonight, it has to be MaryAnn Anderson, wife of the one of the library-board members. I’ve met her a few times at the annual Christmas party we have, and when she’s stopped by to check out books every now and again. She was always very nice, but a tad . . . how do I say this? Uptight? Maybe just a tiny bit snobby, always making it a point to show me the latest piece of jewelry her husband bought her or tell me about the new car she was driving. Which just irritates me right now, considering her tightwad of a husband is one of the people responsible for shutting down my library.
“What in the world are you doing here, dressed like . . . that?” she asks, looking me up and down with a curl of her lip.
I could ask her the very same thing, considering she currently has a penis-shot-glass necklace hanging around her neck, but I really don’t want to get into a fight with my first client’s friend.
“I’m the entertainment,” I tell her, smiling broadly.
“I thought you ran the library?” she says with an air of suspicion and judgment.
Forget being professional. I’m going to tell this woman she can shove her judgment right up her—
“Oh, didn’t you hear? The library is closing,” Ariel says, coming up next to me and wrapping her arm around my waist. “Poor, sweet Isabelle.”
Ariel makes a tsking sound, giving me a sad look and a secret wink before looking back at Mrs. Anderson with the same forlorn expression on her face.
“She lost her mother at a young age in a tragic accident and has spent all of her life taking care of her sweet, ailing father,” Ariel laments dramatically. “Without the library, she just doesn’t have anything else. The poor dear has had to turn to stripping just to make ends meet. It’s a shame, really. She’s such a bright, wonderful young woman, and look what’s become of her. Who knows what will happen next? First it’s stripping, then it’s selling her body for money. It’s just a sad, cold world out there Mrs. Anderson, and what’s a girl like Isabelle to do without her precious library to keep her safe?”
She’s really laying it on thick, and I’d throw my head back and laugh if Mrs. Anderson weren’t eating up every word, her expression quickly turning from disgust to worry before ending up with anger.
“The library is closing?” she asks in confusion.
I find it kind of hard t
o believe she doesn’t already know this, but she truly does look surprised by this news.
“Well, um, yes. The board decided it just wasn’t worth it, and since we don’t have enough funds to keep it open . . .” I trail off.
“That no good, rotten son of a bitch!” she suddenly shouts.
“I’m sorry?”
Now it’s my turn to be confused.
“The piece of absolute dog shit of a man I married promised me they wouldn’t close the library! Oh, he’s going to regret this. Don’t you worry, dear. As soon as I get home, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. You won’t have to be a hooker, I promise,” Mrs. Anderson reassures me, reaching out and patting my arm.
“Um, thank you?” I mutter.
Ariel and I watch her walk away, pulling her phone out of the purse hanging from her arm.
“Did I just save your library?” Ariel asks.
“I don’t know. I think you might have.”
“Hot damn!” she cheers, dropping her arm from around my waist and smacking my ass. “Now, get over there and make momma some money!”
I laugh at her and move to the middle of the room to quiet everyone down, trying really hard not to get my hopes up that Mrs. Anderson just might be the answer to my prayers.
As Ariel moves over to the corner of the room to stand out of the way and let me do my thing, I introduce myself and give them the short list of rules we state at the beginning of each party. I feel a little strange saying them since they’re mostly geared towards men, but it still has to be done. I just change them up a little, since telling these women they aren’t allowed to jerk off in front of me would be weird.
“No touching me, no touching yourself in front of me, and no removing your own clothes during the performance,” I tell them with a smile.
“Did you hear that MaryAnn?” the owner of the home and the bride’s mother shouts to Mrs. Anderson who’s over by the fireplace, still on her phone. “No diddling yourself during the performance!”
