“Four grand and that’s a bargain.” Again, I say this without flinching.
He laughs out loud. “You are pulling numbers out of the air, you know that, beautiful Rose? Okay, so how about I pull a number out of the air. How about I give you six thousand dollars to entertain me as long as I am in town? Is that fair?” His steely blue eyes twinkle; a contented expression spreads across his face and he waits for my quick response this time.
“Well, Mr. C, that depends on how long you’re in town,” I counter.
He pulls me close, the edge of his nose traces across my cheek, his lips close to my ear, he pulls and pins my arms behind my back. “Don’t ever call me that,” he demands. The heat of his breath tumbles down my neck.
I gasp, my heart thunders in my chest. “What should I call you then? I don’t even know your name.” The muscles in my shoulders pull with an ache. I whimper as he tightens his grip. The small injured girl deep within me climbs into the closet, curls up into a ball and tries to protect herself; but the woman I am, the one I became, the one who sells her body for money and grabs life by the balls finds this wickedly sexy. Something about him, the richness he has, the respect he commands, pulls at my gut. Soaking, I don’t care what he wants me to call him I just need him to fuck me.
“Do you like that?” he whispers. The dusting of his five o’clock shadow drags slowly against my face. His grayish blue eyes constrict, speaking volumes of who he wants me to be when I’m in his territory. I whimper again and nod slightly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I huff. Every nerve begging him to caress my skin, touch me like I’ve never been touched before.
He, the man who doesn’t tell me his name, let’s go of my arms and pulls my hands up behind my head. I weave my fingers together, he pushes my hands against the back of my neck. He slowly drags his fingers down across my cheek, pulling them across my mouth until my bottom lip rolls out. The muscles in his neck tighten as he swallows. I roll the tip of my tongue across my lips, tasting the desire I have to consume what he is willing to give me.
“Keep your hands there. Don’t move.” He inches his fingers between my waist and the top button of my daisy dukes. Shivers rush down my spine collecting in the swell of my pussy.
He reaches into my pocket, grabs my phone and tosses it on the table behind me.
“Anything else?” He breathes his words against my flesh as he leans in and presses his plump lips to the pulse slamming against the side of my neck.
“Yeah, eight grand and I will stay with you as long you’re in town.” I pull in a sharp breath. I go rigid when I feel his fingers unsnap and drag the zipper down on my shorts. His breathing focuses; his hard cock is wedged firm in his dress pants.
“Eight thousand and you will be mine and only mine? Whatever I want you to do, you’ll do? Whatever I need from you, you’ll give me? I call bullshit my beautiful Rose.” He slips his fingers across my hip bones, under my shorts and forces them down into a pile around the sexiest pair of red stilettos I own.
Without flinching, without thrusting my hands down between my legs to cover up, I stand there naked from the waist down, and I watch him take me in inch by slow inch. First my ankles, then my calves, across my knees his eyes drink every thirst-quenching cell. He caresses his fingers to my thigh, I don’t move. I’m determined to win this game. Whether he thinks it’s a game or not, I’m not going to give in. Eight thousand bones is more than a reasonable fee when he’s pulling me away from my regular dates. Granted, eight grand is something I would make in three very, very, good months. But he doesn’t need to know that.
His fingers dance across to the inside of my thigh.
“Step out of your shorts, keep the heels on.”
I do what he asks, all while my hands are still tucked against the back of my neck. My elbows are getting tight. He kneels down and moves my Daisy Dukes to the side. His nose is sharp against the inside of my leg, his fingertips skim up the outsides of my thighs, he stands up twisting his hands in the edges of my wooly sweater and thin black tank top. Our eyes tangle in a silent conversation, one where I think I understand what he’s asking before he speaks. I’m standing there for a moment frozen by his silence. Do I drop my hands to pull off my tank top and sweater, or do I stand here, unmoved until he tells me what to do?
“I want to see every inch of your body react to my touch.”
I nod and pull my hands from the worn out position behind my neck and start to drag my fingers around the thin edges of my black tank top.
“What are you doing? Did I say to move?”
“No, but you want my shirt off right, Mister.”
“Just put your hands in the air.”