Hush, Hush

by Franco, Lucia

  James smirks. "I bet you could, but I bet I can make you forget your name. Tell me something, Valentina, do you like being restrained during sex? If I secured your arms and took power over your pleasure, your thoughts, your body, so that all you can do is feel what I'm doing to you, would you come?"

  I swallow hard and take note of the devious grin growing on his face. My hips are still rolling over his, his cock stroking my clit just right. God, I want to come.

  "I bet you would come hard," he states, his voice breaking me down.

  I know I would. My eyes threaten to flutter shut and my heart leaps. I don't like the thought of it, I love the thought of it. But doing something like that requires trust between two people and it’s not something I'd ever give to a client. It’s not something I’m allowed to give a client. And I don't have an issue with kinky sex, but he isn't going to handcuff me to a bed or practice shibari on me. I made sure to make that explicitly clear to Christine when we went over my hard limits.

  "You're a conqueror, aren't you, James?" I ask, my voice a husky whisper. "You like to control? Do you want to dominate me?" His eyes flash with something wicked and a smile spreads across my face. "Unfortunately for you, I don't have a submissive bone in my body, which I'm sure you've already noticed. A meek and docile person I am not."

  His fingers on my neck press into my skin, just hard enough to illicit a soft sigh from me.

  "Weakness and submission are not the same thing," he says, his voice low. "Submissive women are strong women, they just want someone who's stronger than them."

  "And you think I'm strong?" I bluntly ask. "If I kneel at your feet, will I have to walk behind you too?"

  Twenty-Four

  "I like a woman who challenges me." James grins, and his eyes heavy with desire. He waits a few seconds before he speaks again, like he's weighing his options. "How about we finish this bottle and see where the night takes us?"

  I nod and get off his lap to sit next to him and right my dress. I'm glad he suggested this. I stare up at the gold-tiled ceiling wondering what I'm doing and how I got myself in this predicament. He hands me my glass and I down it in one gulp. I hand it back to him for another.

  "I feel like I need a cigarette and I don't even smoke," I say, sounding out of breath. He chuckles and refills my glass. I continue staring up in a daze, confused. "Honestly, James, my clients before you were total whack jobs. None of them left me so turned on the way you have, and none have declined me like that either. It's a hit to my ego," I joke. I turn to look at him but he's already studying me.

  "You get turned on easily?" he asks, as he adjusts his bulge. He looks so fucking hot when he does that. It looks painful, though, so I'll have to try again to relieve that for him. It's why I'm here, after all.

  "No, not too easily, unless I'm really drunk. Then I turn into a two-dollar hooker instead of a two-thousand dollar one." I pause, laughing at myself. Luckily James doesn't seem bothered by my crude humor and laughs with me. "I usually think too much and can't shut my brain off any other time. Plus, this isn't a regular nine-to-five job, so it's a little different for me." I pause again, wondering why I even said that. "How old are you?"

  "How old do you think I am?"

  "Early forties?"

  "Fifty-two."

  My brows raise in surprise. "You don't seem like a normal fifty-year-old."

  His chuckle is robust and deep, and he brushes his free hand down his beard.

  "How old are you?" he asks.

  I debate lying as I take a sip of cognac, but figure there’s no harm in him knowing my age. "Twenty-one."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really."

  His brows furrow like that number bothers him, but he doesn't push the topic. "Your real name isn't Valentina, is it?"

  "Why are you here with me and not your wife?" I counter, blatantly eying his gold band.

  His mouth twitches but it's his eyes that give him away. "Fair enough. I guess there are a few things we're both not willing to talk about." James takes a long pull on his glass. "You know what I do. I'm your typical New York bloodsucking, money-hungry lawyer. What do you do?"

  "I told you. I’m a pastry chef."

  "Oh, yeah? What's your favorite dessert, Valentina?"

  I blank, hesitating for a moment to think. "Tiramisu."

  "Liar."

  I take a sip then lick my lips. "Macarons?" I offer, trying not to laugh.

  He smiles and it warms my belly again. "Those are cookies," he states.

  I lift my glass and toast to myself. "And I hear they're fabulous."

  He's grinning from ear to ear now and I can't help but smile too. It's like everything he does is contagious, and I feel that pull in my chest again. He's fun to talk to.

  "You've never had one?"

  "Nope. I have a bad sweet tooth, but I've never had those."

  "What do you do?" he asks again.

  "I'm a librarian." He's not impressed. "A shot girl? A florist?" He doesn't say anything and my humor fades. Against my better judgment, I decide to get real with him. "Do you want me to say prostitute, James? Because that's what I am. But you already know that."

  He doesn't even flinch. "I want the truth."

  I frown. "Why? What does it matter? Is this a test or something? Are you going to report me?"

  He doesn't say anything, just sits there waiting patiently.

  "I'm in college."

  "Which one?"

  "One in the five boroughs. Take your pick. There’re tons. I'm just your typical struggling college student, only I was raised with very little means. I have to work myself to the bone for everything I have, and now I'm trying to support the only family I have left. Selling my body makes me more money in one week than I would make in six months at a respectable job, and since I've always liked sex, mainly one-night stands, I’m making my peace with this line of work."

  "You have commitment issues," he states, curiosity in his voice.

  I look him dead in the eye and tell him how I really feel. "No, I don't. I've just never found anyone I actually want to give myself to long enough, someone who can handle me with my odd sense of humor and realist views and not be offended easily. I'm also young and I don't care to be locked down just yet, to be honest. Not to mention I have family to support, so my free time is limited anyway."

  "So then the idea of being trapped worries you," he says, and I notice that he's twirling his wedding ring as he speaks.

  My chest tightens. "Yes, it does, but I don't know why. Seriously, what man is going to want me anyway after he learns I've been around the block more than a few times, and in more than a few ways? He’s going to have to be willing to look past all my imperfections. I'll be lucky if I ever find him."

  "But what if the right one comes along and gives you all you ask for?"

  I shake my head and grimace at him. "It won't happen. I don't go out much, and I'm not going to meet someone like that in my line of work, that's for sure."

  "Understandable you feel that way, but say you meet someone in a coffee shop and they're able to give you that?"

  "Then I'd say it’s happenstance, but I don't believe in that."

  He seems amused. "Of course you don't. You know, subs are seen as an equal."

  "That's great," I snap sarcastically. "I'm not looking to be dominated by any man, but name your price and I just might." I wink then get serious. "You don't see me as an equal, and you never will."

  His forehead creases. James seems hurt by my comment but I don't let it bother me.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "You're paying me for a good time and nothing more. What man is ever going to see a hooker as their equal? I'm below you."

  He shakes his head, then takes a sip of his drink. "You don't get it, do you, Valentina? I don't give a shit how many partners you or anyone else I’m with have had. I see you as an equal because you do what you have to in order to get by. Same as me. It doesn’t matter what job title you have. The world is
going to judge you regardless of that. We're not so different like you think. There's not a single person in this world who's honest in their business. Not even a fucking priest walks the straight and narrow line, they're fucking little boys in the confessional. You want to go toe-to-toe all night? I'm game, sweetheart. Name your price and I'm all yours." He smirks. "I win all my cases."

  That gets a rise out of me, but I'm not angry. He's feeding my words back to me, but playfully, and I'm okay with that.

  "Cocky, much?" I say.

  He shrugs shamelessly. "I won't apologize for who I am."

  I exhale a breath through my nose and decide to change the topic. James was probably born with a silver spoon in his mouth and grew up in a penthouse with a private entrance and butlers. He probably never wanted for anything. He'll never understand my struggles in life.

  "Tell me what your tattoos mean."

  If he wants to play, then I'll play my way.

  James unbuttons his shirt and pulls the material from his pants, letting it hang at his sides. I despise myself for admitting that he looks sexy like this, but damn, he does. He's got abs, but they're not pronounced like the washboard kind are. His remind me of the ones you get from actual hard, back-breaking labor. It takes everything in me not to marvel over his toned, ink-covered body and run my hands over him. But the best part is he doesn't have much chest hair. I love that. I can clearly see each stroke of the ink pen, the beautiful colors and shades of the rainbow. It's mesmerizing. One of his arms is completely inked, along with his chest and one side of his neck. He tells me he's leaving his right arm for something special that hasn't happened yet, but that he'll know when it does.

  If someone would've told me this is how my Saturday as a call girl would go, I'd have laughed in their face. Today was nothing I expected, yet somehow everything I needed.

  James tells me story after story about his tattoos as I point to each one. He's traveled around the world and has met extraordinary people. He’s had moments and conversations he says he never wants to forget. He's all about preserving time and I'm curious to know why.

  I'm a little envious and can't help but wonder if I'll ever get to be as worldly as he is. I hope so. I've heard there are a few clients who will pay for companionship, and I'm wondering if he's one of them.

  "Life is beautiful,” he says at one point. “There's so much to see and experience. It isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be. We're lucky to be alive. The way I see it, it could always be worse."

  Something strikes my chest. He doesn't have an ounce of arrogance when he talks. He seems like he just wants to share things with me, and I find myself absorbing every single word that falls from his lips.

  "You're a fascinating man, James," I say, then finish my glass.

  "What's your passion in life?"

  I pull back. "Getting a little deep, are you?"

  James doesn't say anything, but just waits for me to answer. I lick my lips nervously and debate how honest I should be.

  I decide to go with it. Call it liquid courage.

  "I'm not sure exactly… All I know is that I have this need inside me to help people, ones who are less fortunate like me. My parents always gave to the poor, and it's something I still do, even though there have been many times when I couldn't afford to. I still give back with my grammy every year." I pause, expelling a breath. "I want to help people, I just don't know how I will yet."

  His gaze is intense, and it tugs at my chest. "We essentially have the same passion, but for different reasons."

  "Oh really?" He doesn't seem like he was ever poor.

  "Yes. I see the way you're looking at me, and I'll let it slide. You, more than anyone, should know looks can be deceiving. I didn't always have money, and I worked fucking hard to get where I am. I do believe good fortune comes with good practice."

  Hours have passed and the bottle on the table is now empty. I have no idea what time it is, probably close to midnight. We picked at food and talked as if we were close friends catching up. I know the night has to be coming to an end, but I don't want it to.

  "You make me want to pack a bag and hit the road and see where it takes me."

  The way he smiles causes a storm of emotions in my chest. James is seemingly overflowing with happiness.

  "You should do it. Go alone and experience the world for what it is."

  I look away, feeling the longing at his words. "Maybe one day," I say softly. "I've never been outside of New York."

  His brows rise in surprise. "You're kidding me."

  I brush off the melancholy pressing on me. I don't want to ruin the mood.

  "I'm young. I have time. I'll probably be single for the rest of my life anyway, so I'll get to go everywhere I want," I joke with a smile. "Maybe I'll turn into a gypsy. Sounds kind of fun, actually."

  Finishing the contents in his glass, James stands and buttons his shirt. He puts his suit jacket back on, then offers me his hand.

  "Wanderlust is a real thing," James says as we make our way outside to the parked Rolls Royce.

  I didn't see him pay the check, so I assume he has a tab. Wouldn't surprise me.

  "I'm always ready and willing to hop on a plane and leave." He hesitates. "Though life doesn't always allot for that, and it took me a while before I could make that happen."

  "Tell me about it," I respond.

  I can't help but feel like he's trapped inside something he has no way of escaping. Something deeper, like emotionally, because the way he talks with longing and aspiration nudges something in my gut.

  James looks at his watch then back at me. The city never sleeps, even under the pitch-black sky and large moon.

  "Don't take the subway or a taxi. Let my driver know where you need to go and he'll take you home."

  I nod and don't tell him I'll be switching cars anyway. I don't want to risk my residence being found out.

  James steps closer. "Thank you for today, Valentina. It ended up being more perfect than anything I've had in a while."

  "It was perfectly imperfect," I say, smiling. "And why are you thanking me?" I pat his chest. "I should be thanking you for today. I got to mouth off to an attorney, drink expensive alcohol in an underground swanky restaurant, and make out with a hot-as-fuck man who happens to be old enough to be my dad. What's better than that?"

  James barks out a laugh. "You just had to go there, didn't you?" He's positively radiating, and it warms my body.

  "I say it like it is," I respond through a toothy grin. James pulls me close so I'm flush against his chest, and his head dips on an angle. I react automatically and lift my lips to meet his.

  There's no breaking any seams. Our tongues automatically seek each other's and we both hum in unison when they caress like lovers tangled between bed sheets. His body is strong, warm, and I grip the lapels of his jacket as he hugs me tighter, deepening the kiss with so much passion and intensity it leaves me breathless.

  James doesn't seem to be the kind of man who does anything half-assed, and I briefly wonder if he fucks the same way he kisses.

  My heart is pounding against my ribs and for a moment I forget we're standing by the curb with people walking past us in the middle of Manhattan as we carry on like two lovers who only care about each other.

  Twenty-Five

  I don't focus on when my next job might be, or when Christine will message me. If James was unhappy with me, then I would've heard about it by now, which I haven’t. Instead, I lose myself in schoolwork the next couple of days and start on the twenty-page paper due before winter break on the consequences of socioeconomic disadvantage across three generations.

  There's a two-hour gap between my classes, so I go to my favorite little coffee shop again a couple of blocks away and order a hot coffee. The temperature has dropped considerably and I'm in need of something to warm me up. I'm sitting at a small, round table scribbling notes when a shadow is cast over me. I glance up and recognition dawns in my eyes.

  "Hey, you," I say,
and smile, pleasantly surprised. I don't actually know his name. "I wondered if I'd ever see you again."

  He gestures to the open seat across from me in silent question and I nod.

  "I've been here a few times but just figured I missed you." He pauses. "I'm Daniel."

  "Ah, a name to go with my coffee aficionado. I’m Aubrey," I say. "Thank you, again, for that cup. You really didn't have to, you know, but thank you."

  He shrugs subtly and it's cute. "It's just coffee," he says. "But I did hope you would come back here more often."

  I laugh and take in his scrubs under his coat. "I take it you work around here?"

  "I'm a doctor over at Mount Sinai. I just got off a thirty-hour shift."

  My brows rise. Impressive. "You're a doctor."

  He nods. "A cardiologist."

  "That's incredible. How admirable of you. How are you even standing right now?"

  "Why do you think I'm here? I'm getting coffee then going home to crash until tomorrow. Someone called out, which would've been fine, but we had a trauma come in and a dozen patients were admitted and prepped for surgery."

  My mouth turns downward. "Wow. That's a long day."

  Daniel's name is called, and he stands to grab his drink off the counter, then comes back to me.

  "Let me take you out some time." He doesn't even ask, just states it, and I like that.

  Even still, I smile up at him regrettably. I really need to say no, given my new line of work. It's not something I’d imagine he'd be okay with.

  He reads my indecision. "You can't say no. What are the chances that we ran into each other again?" he says.

  But what if the right one comes along… Say you meet someone in a coffee shop… James’s words filter through my head. I'm not one to believe in fate, but it does seem serendipitous that out of the 1.7 million people in Manhattan, we’re able to run into each other again.

  "Come on. Give me one date. Just one. Let's see where it goes."

  I purse my lips together and concede. "Fine. One date, Daniel." I give him my cell phone number. "And by the way, I don't put out on the first date, so don't try and get frisky."