Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I gazed into his intent blue eyes. His sadistic blue eyes.
“What’s the reality?” I asked. “The way you hate on me when we have sex—”
“I don’t hate on you.”
“Or this now, this kindness and sweetness? What’s the reality between us?”
“There’s no reality between us. You know that.”
I turned away from him in a huff. He turned me back to him and this time he didn’t look sweet.
“Okay, here’s the reality,” he said. “You excite me. You push the right buttons for me. But you need to remember something, starshine: you work for me. I don’t want to deal with any of your girly, emotional shit. Do you like me or do you hate me? Who the fuck cares? I pay you so I don’t have to deal with that.”
“By ‘girly, emotional shit,’ do you mean crying when you’re anally raping me?”
He leaned his head on his hand, like I was so misguided and unreasonable, and had to be set straight. “You weren’t crying from the assfucking,” he said. “You were crying because you dressed up for me, and I didn’t care. Because I don’t want you to dress up for me. That’s not our dynamic. I’m not your lover or your boyfriend or your best pal or anything like that, and I never will be. Please remember all this, so we don’t have to go over it again.”
Oh, I was going to remember every word. I was going to remember that he was a megalomaniac and an asshole, and that I shouldn’t have warm and fuzzy feelings for him. Maybe I’d read a little too much into his kindness at the end of our last session. He was probably just being nice so I wouldn’t call the police.
“I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit,” I said coolly. “I was a prostitute for a good decade before you came along, and I’ll still be turning tricks when you’re no longer my client. You don’t mean as much to me as you think. I dressed up to please you as a client. I’m friendly and conversational because most clients like that. Please remember all this, so we don’t have to go over it again.”
Ha. I mentally dropped the mic, but he didn’t react to my sassy comeback. He was staring at my lips.
“I’m paying you a lot of money for your exclusive service. I want oral without condoms,” he said.
“I can’t. That’s against company policy.”
“So is exclusivity. Anything can be bought.” His head was still propped on one hand. The other hand traced lazy trails up and down my thigh, occasionally meandering over a sensitive welt. “What do you want in exchange for full access to your warm, wet mouth?”
“Your name,” I said. “Your real name.”
Irritation twisted his features. He gave me a look.
I shrugged. “I’d need an STD test, and that would have your name on it.”
“You don’t need an STD test. For fuck’s sake, I’m as concerned about protection as you are. I’m clean.”
“If you’re so concerned about protection, why do you want to have oral without condoms?”
“Because I know you’re clean, and I’m clean.”
I glared at him. It was the principle of the thing.
“Okay, fine,” he said in exasperation. “I’ll show you a clean test, but it’s not going to have my information on it. Your pimp promised me privacy.”
“Weekly tests, if you want to keep doing it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Chere. I’m only sleeping with you at the moment.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“Because I’m too self-centered to bother with lies.” His fingers moved up my side and caught my right nipple, and pinched it. “That’s all you want? A clean bill of health? What kind of whore are you? Name a price,” he prompted. “Something reasonable.”
It felt unbearably icky to haggle with him, to talk about money and what I would do for him for money. I felt like a scrabbling stripper again, willing to gyrate my ass as hard as necessary to make the next rent check.
He waited. I waited. I wasn’t going to name a number and he wasn’t either. The truth was, he was already paying me too much.
“Bring me some test results,” I finally said. “And we can go without.”
“Swallowing too, right? No spitting, or I’ll lose my fucking shit with you.”
“And how would that be different from any other session?” I blinked at him, once, twice. “If you want me to swallow your cum, then you’ll just have to force me to do it, won’t you?”
He pinched my nipple again, so hard I pushed him away, which only resulted in a grasping struggle. Of course I lost. He laid over me, still pinching me, still hurting me. “You little flirt.”
I wasn’t the flirt. He was. He was stroking me, kissing me, flirting with me when he was the one who’d just lectured me about client-escort boundaries.