by Amy Brent
“Thomas...” she whispered.
“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips. “You don't need to say anything.”
She nodded, then let him lead her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the silken sheets and started planting kisses down her body while he slowly drew her dress down and tossed it aside. She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into the sheets, moaning, while his lips and his tongue touched her most tender places. Then before she knew it, he was sliding her panties down.
She sat up, bracing herself on her elbows, and looked down at him. Her lips trembled. Her chest felt tight. She wanted this, wanted to abandon herself in the moment, but she knew that this was a line that once crossed, she could never come back. She looked up at Thomas, unable to think or speak. He stood up and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. Then he dropped his pants to the floor, and she saw that he was more than ready to take her. To get what he had paid for.
She expected it to be fast, for him to have his way with her and get it over with. But he took his time, rubbing himself against her until she ached to have him inside of her. He caressed her breasts and planted kisses along her shoulders, her neck, her ears. By the time he entered her, she wanted him so badly that she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders. Even then, he drove her mad with his slow, deliberate pace, filling every inch of her until she felt like she was going to explode.
Soon his movements became more energetic, more filled with need, and she could tell that he was nearing the edge. She wrapped her legs around him tight, pulling him closer, moving her body in time with his thrusts. He grunted and held her tight, his entire body stiffening as climax poured over him.
He collapsed against her, and for one disappointing moment, she thought that it was over. But he looked into her eyes, and seeing that she still wasn't satisfied, he started up again, focusing his every movement on her pleasure. He gave it to her hard and fast, the way she liked it, the way she needed it. She moaned and cried out, telling him when he hit the right spot, when to keep going, when she was nearing the edge. He kept driving it into her until her orgasm exploded within her, filling her with pleasure from her loins to the tips of her fingers and toes.
He climbed off of her, then turned towards her and held her close. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself after the workout. The longer she laid there, the more she knew she had to get up and leave, but she didn't have the energy. The bed was so soft and comfortable, and Thomas was so warm, his arms so strong. She nestled closer to him, telling herself she would only stay a few more minutes. Before she realized it, she'd fallen asleep.
In the morning she awoke to an empty bed. She could hear the shower running through the open door to the bathroom. She looked around at the tousled sheets and the clothes strewn all over the floor, remembering what they'd done last night. Shame that had been held at bay by the wine started crashing down on her. Her chest felt tight and tears welled in her eyes.
She hurried to get dressed, hoping to be out the door before Thomas finished in the shower. She was still searching for one of her shoes when the water turned off. A minute later, he walked out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist.
“Good morning,” he said, stretching and yawning.
“Morning,” she muttered. She found her shoe under the bed and pulled it on, then started heading for the door without looking at Thomas.
“You in a hurry to get to church or something?” he asked. “I thought you'd stay for breakfast.”
“I need to go. I...” She shook her head, still refusing to look at him. “Look, last night was nice, but let's not pretend it was something other than what it was. It's done, so now it's time to go.”
She headed out the bedroom door, but he called out to her again. “Wait.”
She paused, chewing on her lip.
He pulled an envelope out of the nightstand and handed it to her. She glanced inside. It was filled with cash. Her payment.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
She trembled, unsure what to say. Last night had been amazing, but it had come with a price. Not the price he'd paid her, but the price she'd paid in her soul. She wasn't sure if she could face that again.
“Find another therapist,” she whispered, unable to find her voice. “I don't think it's appropriate for you to come to my office again.”
Before he could reply, she headed out the door. She took the elevator downstairs, then headed out into the busy city street. She knew she could have gotten Thomas's driver to give her a ride home, but she wanted the whole situation over with and behind her. She walked a few blocks, then took a cab to the train station. She rode the train over the bridge and back into New Jersey, clutching her purse with her ill-gotten money against her chest, and fighting back tears the entire time.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Jillian didn't hear from Thomas for several days. She took the money he'd paid her and deposited it into her checking account, then paid off one of her credit cards with it in a single payment. She heaved a sigh of relief as soon as she submitted the payment, feeling like this was the first step towards her financial recovery. Her budget was loosened up now that she had one less monthly payment to worry about, though she still had so much debt from her mortgage, her other credit cards, and her student loans, that she'd really only taken a chip off the total.
Her relief was short lived, however. Just two weeks after her liaison with Thomas, her car broke down. When she took it in to get repaired, the bill came to almost $2000. Which was money she just didn't have. She ended up having to use the recently-freed credit card for it, and as she swiped the card through the machine at the mechanic's, she almost started to weep.
She trudged through the days after that, still trying to balance all of her payments while somehow being able to put food on the table. She kept thinking about Thomas, wondering if he would be willing to pay her for her “services” once again. Had she been good enough to make him want more? He hadn't called her since the day she walked out on him, and she didn't know if it was because she'd told him to stay away and he was respecting that, or if she'd been so bad in bed that he'd simply forgotten about her. No doubt, she thought, he could have dozens of other women lining up at the door to his penthouse apartment.
She was home one Saturday morning, almost a month after the last time she'd seen Thomas, working in her garden. Her poor little flowers were struggling, thanks to the moody weather that had been swinging back and forth between hot and freezing every few days. And since she couldn't afford to buy any fertilizer or weed killer, she was having a hard time getting her garden to thrive.
She was pulling weeds with her bare hands when her phone started vibrating in her pocket. She muttered a curse and wiped her dirty hands on her pants, then pulled her phone out. It was a number she didn't recognize, but when she answered the phone, she heard a familiar voice on the other end.
“Jillian.”
“Thomas.” Her breath caught in her throat. Had he not forgotten about her after all?
“I've been thinking about you,” he said.
She chewed on her lip, trying to figure out what to say. She could tell him that she'd been thinking about him, too. That she'd spent many nights dreaming about his touch. Or that she desperately needed more money, and she was willing to do anything to get it. Especially when it would mean doing something that she had been craving for weeks.
But she couldn't clear her head enough to say any of those things. Instead, she simply asked, “How's your back been doing?”
He chuckled into the phone. “It's all right. I've got more movement in my shoulders now. Though my new therapist doesn't quite have your touch.”
Her face heated up as she wondered if he was talking about her medical touch, or the other kind.
There was a long, awkward silence. Then he said, “I want to see you again.”
“As your therapist?” s
he asked, knowing that wasn't what he meant.
“No,” he said. “At my place. Tonight.”
She tilted her head back and looked up at the cloudy sky. This was what she'd been hoping for, but part of her was still hesitant. While the night they'd spent together had been amazing, the morning after had been humiliating. She wasn't sure if she could go through that again.
“Please,” he said. “Come on. You know you had a good time. And I'm sure you could use the money.”
Those last words were like a knife twisting in her gut. They told her exactly what she was to him. Not a girlfriend, not someone he had romantic feelings for. Just a prostitute.
But she really did need the money.
“Okay,” she said. “What time?”
They discussed the arrangements, and then she went inside to shower and change. She spent the car ride there drinking a few glasses of wine to soothe her nerves. She felt fidgety, constantly needing to move her hands. She picked at the threads on her dressed and smoothed out her skirt. She knew it was silly to be nervous. She wasn't doing anything that she hadn't already done before. But somehow, she felt more terrified about the night this time than she had the first time.
Thomas greeted her as soon as she got off the elevator, once again holding out a rose. She decided this time to ignore the gift. It gave the wrong impression about what the night was about.
They sat down for dinner and made small talk. This time, Thomas had made lamb chops with a wonderful balsamic sauce, and each bite was absolute heaven. At first the conversation was bland, with Thomas asking her about how things were going at work and whether she'd been enjoying the weather lately. Then the subject turned to something that, while perfectly casual, felt a little too personal for her.
“So,” Thomas asked, “have you been keeping up with your gardening?”
Jillian froze with a forkful halfway to her mouth, then set it down and wiped her lips with her napkin. “Do you really care?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” he said, wearing a confused frown. “I want to get to know you better.”
“Why?” She spread her hands. “Why not just get right down to business?”
His frown deepened. “Jillian, what's the matter? I'm just trying to be friendly here. We were having such a nice evening.”
“I...” She shook her head, then tossed her napkin back down on the table. “I'm sorry. Excuse me a moment.”
She got up and headed into the bathroom, fighting back tears. She didn't understand why she was getting so worked up. He'd just asked her a simple question.
But, she realized, it wasn't so simple. Her gardening was a part of her personal life. While it wasn't something intimate or secret, it was something that was very much a part of her. Asking her about part of her personal life meant that the evening was becoming more personal, less professional. And she'd come here to do something professional.
She paced back and forth in the spacious bathroom for a few minutes, dabbing at her eyes with a piece of tissue. She needed to get herself together and get back out there. She had to go through with this. She wanted to go through with it. But the problem was, she couldn't really have what she wanted. This would never become a committed relationship. They would never go out in public. Thomas would never meet her family. They wouldn't exchange gifts at Christmas or on their birthdays. The most they would exchange would be money and bodily fluids.
She looked at herself in the mirror, setting her jaw determinedly. She silently told herself that she was going to go back out there, put on a good show of being the girl Thomas wanted, do the deed, then leave without spending the night.
She wiped away the last of her tears and gave herself a serious nod. Then she turned and left the bathroom.
Thomas was sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, waiting for her. He looked tense, and he wore a concerned expression on his face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just had a little too much wine, I think.”
“Ahh, okay. Good.”
He set down his wine glass and went over to the stereo to put on some music. Jillian hesitated. She didn't want to dance again. Which was to say, she did want to dance again, but she couldn't let herself. It had felt nice to be in Thomas's arms, sharing a quiet, intimate moment like that. But that was the sort of thing that riled up all of her confused, conflicting emotions. She wanted to keep things as impersonal as she could. Professional.
She intercepted him on the way to the stereo and started kissing him passionately. He gasped in surprise, but surrendered to her kiss, his arms slipping around her. She slid her tongue between his lips and pressed herself against him. It didn't take long before she could feel something poking her and she knew she was getting him worked up.
“Wait, slow down,” he said.
She ignored his request and slipped her hand down to grab him between his legs. She started rubbing, firm and quick, and soon he lost the ability to protest.
He tried to steer her towards the bedroom, but that felt too personal to her. She pushed him down on the couch and got down on her knees, unzipping his pants. He was flushed and his breathing was becoming erratic as his arousal passed the point of no return. When she pulled down his pants and took him into her mouth, he moaned out loud, dropping his head back and relaxing against the sofa.
She worked him up for a few minutes until she was sure he was more than ready to go. Then she slipped off her underwear, hitched up her skirt, and climbed on top of him.
He grabbed her hips and guided her as she rode him. Unlike last time, she didn't want to take her time. Sure, she wanted to enjoy herself. But there was a big difference between slow, intimate sex, and a good hard fucking. She only wanted the latter. It would satisfy her physical urges without stirring up the same intimate feelings that came with making love.
Thomas's grunts grew more forceful. He held onto her tight, thrusting up into her as she rode him. She grinned, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him. She wasn't near climaxing herself, but she faked it, letting out some deep, guttural moans and arching her back. She laid it on thick, giving her best to the performance. She needed to make sure Thomas was satisfied, and part of that was making him believe he'd satisfied her as well.
When it was done, he clung to her, burying his face against her shoulder. She let him hold her for just a minute, then she got up, retrieved her underwear, and pulled it back on. She adjusted her dress and her hair while Thomas sat there, panting.
He looked up at her with a satisfied smile, then pouted when he saw she was getting ready to leave. “You in a rush, babe?”
“I've got an early day tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow's Sunday.”
“Yes,” she said. “I have church.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat, his face turning red. She wondered if the subject of God was a touchy one for a man who paid a woman to have sex with him.
He went into the bedroom, zipping up his pants, and returned with the envelope that held her money. She put it into her purse, gave Thomas a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed for the door.
He followed her and put his arm across the door, blocking her way. “When do I get to see you again?” he asked. He reached up to caress her cheek. She wanted to pull away from the tender gesture, but she let it happen so as not to offend him.
“My schedule is kind of busy.” She bit her lip, trying to think of what to say. She needed the money, so she would definitely be coming back. But she didn't want this to be a regular thing. If she came to him every weekend, it would feel too much like dating.
“Next month,” she said. Thomas pouted in disappointment. “I'm sorry. I just can't fit the time into my schedule otherwise.”
“All right,” he said. He leaned in and gave her a kiss. She let his lips linger on his for a few moments, then pulled away.
He watched her as she headed into the elevator. She kept her back straight, trying not to show any signs of weaknes
s. She kept it completely professional. She even accepted a ride home from Thomas's driver this time.
It wasn't until she got home and was lying in her own bed that the weight of the night started to settle onto her. She stared at the ceiling, thinking about what she'd done. About what she would do again next month.
And about how much she wished she didn't have to detach herself from it so much. But keeping the emotional distance was the only way she could survive this. If she let herself get too close to Thomas, she knew that sooner or later, she would end up with a broken heart.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Over the next few months, Jillian and Thomas were a regular thing. Every few weeks, he would give her a call, asking her to come see him. She agreed each time, but only because she continued to be desperate for the money. After their third encounter, she sat down at home one day, going over her budget and doing some math. She'd already managed to pay off two credit cards with the money Thomas had paid her. But it would take several more months before she could pay off the rest and get rid of her student loans at the same time. After working the numbers, she realized that if she wanted to pay off everything—except for her mortgage, which she had twenty-five years left on—she would need to continue sleeping with Thomas about once a month until the end of the year. She could get it done faster if she agreed to see him more often, but try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to do that. She needed time between each encounter in order to let her emotions settle. It was the only way to avoid becoming too attached.
She woke up one Saturday morning after a long and tiresome night. She'd been stuck at the clinic late, and she'd forgotten to eat dinner. Her stomach was bothering her, she was grumpy, and all she wanted to do was sleep in and forget about the world.
She was pulling the covers over her head to go back to sleep when her phone rang. She grabbed it, ready to chuck it across the room, when she saw it was Thomas calling.
