“I’m not a prostitute,” she quickly interjected.
I smiled at her amusingly. “I would certainly hope not.”
I showed her my hand, explaining to her what I wanted and how I would compensate her for it. There, in a small diner in downtown Chicago, I asked about her sexual history (Two guys: an old boyfriend from Idaho and a one-hit wonder in undergrad), her level of inhibition (she considered herself a try-sexual: she’d try anything once), and her health background (squeaky clean: no glove, no love), all of which I had hardcopy proof of already. Then I paid the tab and took her back to my hotel room to sign all the necessary documents and begin the first phase of her training.
“Now, sweetheart, I need to know how far you’ll go. You’re not obligated to do anything you don’t want to, but there are places that I will touch you that will arouse you. That will arouse me. And I will want to f*ck
you. Hell, I want to f*ck
you right now.”
She sat on the bed, long, smooth legs crossed and eyes hooded. “I want that too.”
I touched her in places she never even knew were erogenous zones. I kissed her tight body until my lips burned. Then I f*ck
ed her long, deep and hard until she soaked the sheets with her wetness.
As she looked at me lazily, her vision shrouded in afterglow, she smiled with delirious delight. “Oh my God. I don’t even know your name.”
I looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her tender gaze. “I’m Justice Drake.”
“Mmmm, Justice Drake. I like that.”
I could already hear her trying out the name preluded by a Mrs. I shut it down quick.
“Yes. And that was for pleasure. However, anytime I touch you from here on out will be strictly business. Understand?”
Without so much as a kiss on the cheek, I left Erin alone in that hotel suite, sore and satisfied, with a few bills and instructions for the following week.
I KNEW I should’ve sent Erin on her merry way the moment she started in with the waterworks. But truth be told, I’m not a complete bastard. I just sometimes like to let my inner ass*ole
shine. He’s much better at evading social nuances than I am.
So I let her dry her tears and even made her a cup of tea. Then I insisted that she pack up those perky tits and get on the first thing smokin’ back to Chicago. But as luck would have it, I was quite possibly a day late and a dollar short.
“Call me when you land at O’Hare,” I say, opening the front door for her to exit. I had been throwing hints all evening, and was about to resort to air traffic control signals.
“Ok. Thanks again, Justice. You’re always so good to me. I’d be lost without you.” She stretches on her tiptoes and kisses me on the corner of my mouth. I’m just about to chastise her for crossing the boundaries, when all coherent thought and sense of speech are stolen from me.
Standing at my door, fire licking her shoulders in the cool, early autumn breeze, is Allison, her hand still raised as if she were preparing to knock.
“Ally…uh…hey.” See, this is the part where the cheating husband shrieks out “It’s not what it looks like! I can explain!” while his pants are around his ankles and his dick is still rock hard.
But I’m not anyone’s husband. And I can’t cheat on someone that isn’t mine. So…why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?
“Oh, my apologies,” she smiles tightly, stifling her discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you had company. I’ll come back later, Mr. Drake.”
“No, no. Erin was just leaving,” I refute, holding the door open wider and nearly shoving Erin out of the way. “Please, come in.”
“That’s not necessary. I should’ve made other arrangements. I’m terribly sorry.”
Allison turns to walk away, and I catch her elbow before she can take another step. She turns to me, animated eyes reduced to questioning slits, but she doesn’t pull away. f*ck
it. I’m screwed anyway. “Stay. Please. Stay, Ally.”
She nods slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. I hear the muted rustle of silk and an irritated huff beside me. Dammit. Erin.
“So…I guess I’ll leave now.” She brushes past us brusquely, and makes a beeline for the main house to collect her things.
“Let me know you got in safely,” I call out after her.
“Yeah, yeah,” she waves without looking back. I know I should go after her and at least attempt to smooth things over, before her wild imagination begins to cook up all kinds of rumor-inducing theories, but what would I say? And how could I even force myself to walk away, now that I hold this precious angel in the palm of my hand?
Erin will have to wait. Logic, morals, obligations will all have to wait.
“Come in,” I murmur, holding my breath, as Ally crosses the threshold. She follows me to the kitchen, where I retrieve our half-eaten carton of ice cream and two spoons.