Sizzle

by Holly S. Roberts

  She finally pulls back completely and I swear something breaks inside me when she dips her head and kisses just the tip of my cock. She lays her head on my thigh and I thread my fingers into her hair and pull her closer.

  I barely control the urge to pick her up and carry her to bed for round two. My personal rules be damned. I want to fuck her until she’s screaming my name. I want to fuck her until I’m screaming hers.

  Time stops and how long we stay like this is unknown. I fuck these women so I don’t have thoughts beyond what their delectable mouths can do for me. This woman changes the game. I want to know all of Celina’s secrets. I especially want to know why she’s here this minute and why she just gave me the best blow job of my life.

  Her head lifts and our eyes meet. I smile because that’s all I’m capable of. For a few seconds she looks at me with more trust than anyone has ever given me. Her eyes hold her soul and for those seconds, her soul is mine. Then I watch realization settle over her expression. One second we’re still joined in a way that transcends touch and the next she’s scrambling away. It’s a punch in the gut, but I don’t stop her. She runs into the bedroom and slams the door to the bathroom.

  I’m an ass for letting her run into the other room, but I need time to assess the raw feelings swirling through me. I stand and lift my pants over my hips and gingerly zip them because I’m already semi-hard. I take out my phone and check the time. Celina’s been here for less than an hour. I like to take things slow. A little food and conversation mixed with blow jobs. Controlled and on my timeline. Celina took that away.

  The life I lead takes a toll. I don’t enjoy killing. It’s a necessity and it keeps my family safe. I make no excuses for who I am. The brutality of the blood on my hands is something I live with each day. Maybe that’s why I’ve never visited my sister, Theresa. She thinks of me as the young boy she knew who had hopes and dreams. My father protected her from the dirt that saturated our lives. She was his princess and she never saw the world of petty drug dealing we were involved in. A world that turned into blood, vengeance, and death.

  My world.

  If I really wanted to see Theresa, I could find a way without endangering her and her family.

  Maybe it’s seeing Moon so happy and fulfilled in his life that has settled this melancholy feeling over me. I want more than the fucked up world we live in. That must be why I’m having a difficult time placing Celina in the box that holds no emotion and only lust.

  I look down at my hands and curl my fingers into fists. I’ve never worn the knuckle gloves to protect my hands. I like the gloves because they have a different sound when they pound flesh. The pain, the sound—my enjoyment of both—that’s what makes me a sick fuck.

  I run my fingers over my head before walking into the bedroom and approaching the bathroom door. I plan to knock and tell her to get dressed so she can leave. It’s the crying that stops me. It’s so full of anguish I almost smash the door and barrel inside. I try the knob, which turns in my hand.

  She isn’t dressed. She’s sitting on the toilet seat with her face buried in a white monogramed Lincoln Hotel towel. The thoughts from a few moments ago vanish. I lift her into my arms. It shouldn’t feel so perfect holding her this way. I don’t know her, don’t want to know her. At least that’s what I tell myself. She keeps a strangle hold on the towel and I hear a muttered, “Sorry,” in between more sobs.

  “Shh,” I tell her as I carry her to the bed. I whip back the covers and lay her on her side. Hell, I’m not a saint and never have been, but I shuck my pants and climb in beside her anyway. Her entire body is cool, which seems so unusual. The room is cool, but I swear the temperature outside keeps my body hotter year around. I like that I feel so warm against her flesh.

  She’s clutching the towel like a lifeline. I smooth her hair from around the edges of the towel and lay it over her shoulder. “Why are you here, Celina?”

  She sniffs and I don’t think she’ll answer, but finally a faint condemning laugh escapes. “I need the money,” she chokes out.

  That, I’ve already guessed. It’s why ninety percent of the escorts start in this line of work. From paying for college to supporting a family—if you’ve got the goods, men will pay. I squeeze her a little tighter. “Explain why you need the money.” She doesn’t answer until I prompt with, “Celina,” in the voice I use to show I’m serious.

  “I can’t tell you that,” she says a little louder. A little more desperately.

  I tug on the towel and after one half-hearted attempt to hold on, she lets go. I toss it off the bed and she turns her face into my chest.

  “I think you can tell me.”

  She says nothing, so I slide my arm beneath her shoulders and partially lift her. “How much do you need?” Her eyes are closed, but she opens them at my question.

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” she says with a despairing look.

  “Is it drugs or gambling?” I ask. I’m dreading the answer. She doesn’t look like a drug addict, but it’s not always easy to tell.

  Her tone is indignant and I almost smile. “It isn’t drugs or gambling. I wish it were. I can’t tell you anything more. It’s too dangerous. I need the money and that’s why I’m here.” She sniffs and flushes a bit redder. “I’m sorry for crying. It’s really stupid of me. You’ve been very… nice.”

  Nice. The word doesn’t sit well. The last thing I am is nice. “How soon do you need the money?” I ask instead of telling her the truth.

  Her blue eyes are tinged red from crying and a slight hitch enters her voice when she says, “One month.”

  My brain puzzles through the math. Even if all her clients are as generous as I am, she’ll be lucky to make that in a month. “I’m working two jobs. I can do it,” she says at the look on my face.

  Well, hell. She should not have told me that. I have a feeling she’s talking about two escort jobs, which is against the rules. “Does Madison know?”

  Her expression turns desperate. “Please don’t tell her. You don’t understand,” she continues. “I don’t have a choice, and if I don’t get the money, something very bad will happen.”

  She has no idea that something very bad has already happened. The other escort service in Phoenix is run by Miles Cartwright. He’s scum, and I’ve been itching for a reason to shut his operation down. He plays by Moon’s rules, so I haven’t had that opportunity yet. His lover, Trett McDowell, is scum too and he’s been known to use a heavy hand on their ladies. The problem is… the escorts won’t talk. They aren’t nearly the caliber of the stable Madison runs, and we don’t have work for them anyway.

  I couldn’t care less what Trett’s sexual preference is. Just because you like dick up the ass doesn’t mean you take it out on women when you’re angry. There is no way in hell Cartwright or McDowell will get within a hundred yards of Celina. I’ll work something out with Madison. I’ll also make a call to Cartwright so he knows Celina is off limits. She can take the calls Madison lines up and maybe I’ll decide to foot the bill for the remainder of what she needs. I’ll work with Madison to pad Celina’s accounts so she doesn’t know I’ve subsidized the money. It’s only if she’s been truthful and this isn’t connected to drugs or gambling. I’m not exactly in the trust business; I’ve been lied to so many times that trust comes hard. I’ll find out what the hell she’s involved in and make my final decision once I know. The thought of setting her up someplace to be at my beck and call has a certain appeal. Again, I’ll consider it after I know what the hell she’s gotten herself into.

  The puffy lips that wrapped around my cock ten minutes ago are too much to resist, and I cross another line. I dip my head and capture her mouth. She sighs and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. That’s what she is—sweet. It fits her. Pure, sweet, innocence with the mouth of a succubus. I can feel her stealing every bit of energy I have.

  There isn’t a question that I’m going to fuck her. I tear my mouth away and release her. I have a single emergency
condom in my wallet that’s in the inside pocket of my suit coat. It’s hung up in the small closet by the front door along with my gun and holster.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t fucking move.” The words are harsh, but I would hate to break down the bathroom door to get to her. I stride from the room with purpose and dig the condom from my wallet. She most likely has some. Madison would have made sure of it. I don’t want her moving from the bed, though. I walk back into the bedroom and she’s staring at me with her huge blue eyes.

  I sink one knee into the mattress and roll her to her stomach. I cover her back by lying full length on top of her with my face buried in her hair for about thirty seconds. I rise up to my knees and bring her up with me. I’ve craved feeling the softness of her breasts since I saw them. They fit perfectly in my hands. I add enough pressure so she sucks in a quick breath of air. I place small kisses on the long column of her throat where it meets her collarbone. “Spread your knees,” I say huskily against her skin. I widen mine so she can do as I say.

  I press forward with my body so she goes to her hands. I release one breast and reach to the side table where I left the condom. I use my teeth to open it and hurriedly slide it over my cock. I just want to be… fucking… inside… her.

  I position myself so the tip of my cock is at the heat of her pussy, and I take her breasts again so I have leverage as I glide home. Her skin might be cool, but her fucking pussy is the hottest thing to ever slide over my cock. Her nipples are little pebbles that grow tighter the more I play with them. These are the things I don’t do with a professional. I let them get themselves off. It’s pure selfishness on my part because I love to watch a woman please herself.

  I rarely touch them and if I do, it’s usually only their hair.

  I never kiss escorts.

  I definitely don’t fuck their pussies.

  And I’m never gentle. Meeting Celina has abolished all the rules. I graze my fingers down to her hips and hold her still as I slide my cock in and out. One, two, three slow strokes and my balls are ready to explode again. Fucking her is unraveling me. She squeezes her internal muscles around my cock and I almost explode.

  “Fuck, you’re killing me, Celina.” She laughs and I lean down and bite her neck hard enough to leave a bruise. Her laughter dies and a low moan takes its place. “Touch your clit or you won’t get off before I’m done.”

  You would think I was a teenager. Hell, I’ve gone hours with my cock in a woman’s mouth and managed to control myself. My last steady relationship, which was over about a year ago, was like that every time. After Kat and all her bullshit, I decided that escorts were much lower maintenance. When all was said and done, they cost less too.

  Celina’s delectable muscles tighten again and her hips buck as she massages her clit. The next time she’s here, I’m fucking eating her, and I’ll control the action her clit gets. I keep breathing and somehow manage to hold back my impending orgasm. The tempo of her breathing increases and I know she needs me to pick up the pace.

  My last thread of control shatters and my thrusts become savage pounding as my cock rams inside her again and again. She cries out. I want to hear my name. I stop all movement even though it almost kills me. “Say my fucking name, Celina.”

  She doesn’t make me wait. “Alex.” It becomes a litany as I continue fucking her with everything I have. I clamp my teeth into her shoulder as my balls unload. I’m half lifting her ass up as I press the front of her down against the pillows. She screams and it’s my name that rings through the room and it’s her name that explodes from my lips.

  “Celina!”

  Chapter Six

  Celina

  MY HANDS SHAKE AS I remove three grand in folded one-hundred dollar bills from my pocket. The agency will pay me each Friday morning for the previous week. I’ll pay taxes on that money and they’ll already be subtracted when I receive the check. This money, which I can’t take my eyes from, is all mine and will go toward rescuing my niece. My only problem…. I haven’t considered how to hide cash in my dingy motel room. For now, I place it in the drawer next to the bed. I’ll find a hiding place before I go out again.

  I cover my warm cheeks with my cool hands. I survived.

  The client didn’t kill me and it’s not like having sex with Alex was a hardship. Being paid to fuck a client must get easier. I know what to expect now. I can do it. Nervously, I remove my personal cell phone from my other pocket and call the clubhouse. Loud music is blaring in the background when a woman answers.

  “This is Celina Thomas. May I speak to Fox?”

  “Yea, bitch, hold on.” I don’t take the name personally. The same woman has answered before and she said the same thing.

  Fox is the president of the Desert Crow outlaw motorcycle gang. My half-brother, Lee, was a full member. Lee died when hit by a stray bullet during a drug buy, or at least that’s what his drugged out girlfriend, Pauline, told me when she called about his death. The myth is that clubs like the DC take care of their own. That’s not the first lie I’ve uncovered since the beginning of this nightmare.

  I knew absolutely nothing about Pauline before the phone call. She told me my brother was dead and she wanted to know what I would do about the brat he left behind. Brat was her word. Lee never said anything about a child.

  My niece, Kiley, is the spitting image of my brother at that age and has a head full of his red hair. Not that it was easy to see through the grime. It was her blue eyes that stood out and made me look closer. My brother and I have the same eyes and inherited them from our father.

  The first and only time I saw Kiley, I slowly washed her face with a wet wipe I had in my bag. I uncovered the same face I’d seen in countless pictures my mother took of my brother when he was a toddler. Sadly, Kiley stood frozen and quiet while I cleaned her up. It was as if she wasn’t there. No emotion passed over her delicate features. But then, I looked into her eyes and saw the scared rabbit. I swear my heart stopped beating.

  That’s when the hammer fell. Fifty thousand dollars or Fox will sell her to the highest bidder. I almost died. She’s three years old, but the hurt of a thousand lifetimes was reflected in her gaze. I saw it all—fear, desolation, abuse. She didn’t move when Pauline’s hand rose. The slap happened before I could stop it. “Smile at your aunt,” Pauline said. The words alone would have broken my heart. But slapping her? Three fucking years old and she’s hit so she’ll smile. Not a tear slipped down her palm-reddened cheek. A small forced smile is what I got. I couldn’t even pretend to hide my horror. Kiley was removed from the room and I wanted to stomp on my brother’s dead body and scream. How could he? We weren’t raised this way. Hell, how could any human being do this to a child?

  Lee was a bad seed from early on. His mother died when he was a baby and my dad remarried. My brother hated me from the moment I was born and told me so every chance he got. He was so damn good at fooling our parents. At least until he reached high school and the trouble he stalked began catching up to him.

  He was sentenced to several stints in juvenile detention before he turned eighteen. It broke my parents’ hearts. My mother had done her best to love him, but my brother made it hard. He hit her several times and eventually our father kicked him out. Lee was a few months past eighteen when he left for the last time. After that, he contacted me if he needed money. I gave him what little I could scrape together so he wouldn’t burden our parents. My father was laid off his job shortly after he turned fifty-nine. His first stroke followed soon after. He’s in a nursing home now and my mom sits with him each day. She suffered a fractured hip a year ago while helping him to his wheelchair. She had no choice but to stop resisting the idea of putting him in a home.

  All of this is piled high on my shoulders along with equal parts guilt. I could have pursued a college degree that would have allowed me to at least make decent money. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life when I graduated high school. The tests I took showed a high aptitude for political scienc
e and made the decision for me. Now, I have a mountain of college debt, a father whose Social Security doesn’t cover his nursing home expenses, and a mother who works part-time at a twenty-four hour convenience store just to make ends meet. Add selling my body to this mix and my life is shit.

  I have no idea what I’ll even do once I have my niece, and I refuse to think of the possibility that I won’t get her. Her eyes haunt me. It doesn’t matter that I never wanted children. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t enjoy playing with dolls or anything girly when I was young. I was a nerd who enjoyed reading science fiction novels. Not a super smart nerd, either. I didn’t excel in computers or science. Funny that analysis was on my probability chart for careers. It worked for me because I wanted a job to motivate me and hoped to get behind politicians who would do just that. My heart clenched when Alex asked me about my degree. My choice was stupid and he reminded me of that.

  Thinking about Alex makes me hot, and I squirm while waiting for Fox to take my call. Alex is seriously too gorgeous for his own good. I never expected to enjoy the sexual aspect of becoming an escort. Maybe if I think of Alex while attending to my next client, I can get through it.

  “Fox,” barks in my ear.

  “This is Celina Thomas.”

  “I know who the fuck you are. Do you have the money for the kid?” His nastiness bleeds into the phone.

  He can’t possibly be serious. I don’t think I’ve ever truly hated anyone. But. I. Hate. Him. “No, I don’t have the money. You gave me until July 31st.” I squeeze a section of the ugly green motel comforter into my fist and try to keep my voice calm.

  “Then why the fuck you calling me?”

  God, if he were here and I had a gun. “How is she?” I ask instead of screaming my thoughts aloud.

  “This ain’t a fucking daycare, lady. You call when you got my money. Until then, don’t fuck with me.” The call drops.

  My fingers tremble and rage makes it difficult to hold back the screams. I need a long shower even if the shower here is disgusting. In my other life, my roommate, who slept with my fiancé, left me with an apartment I couldn’t afford. The minimum wage bookstore job I held gave me barely enough money to pay my half of the bills. Hell, my roommate and I together could scarcely afford the rent. I was the one screwed because the lease was in my name. Now my credit is trash and I can’t find another place that will take me without a huge down payment. I look toward the bathroom and then back at the phone in my hand. One more call and I’ll hit the shower.