Chapter 4
Chapter four
Chloe
Past
The Eden dressing room always smells faintly of perfume, body oil, and a touch of disinfectant. The holy trinity of sex work, basically.
I shimmy into my long black silk gown and adjust the straps in the mirror.
The fabric falls just right, hugging my body but allowing enough room to move freely.
Beneath it, I’m wearing a thong for extra coverage.
It’s tiny—barely there—but still technically against house rules.
I don’t make a habit of breaking rules—but this one?
Worth it. And it’s not like anyone will know.
Beside me, Hailee’s perched in front of the vanity, sweeping highlighter across her collarbone.
“You on bar tonight or Le Jardin?” Hailee asks. “I forget what rotation you’re on.”
“Bar. Is it busy out there?”
“Packed. Vibes are high tonight for some reason.” She caps the highlighter and leans toward me, brushing a stray piece of lint from my dress. In here, details matter. Smoothing the silk and perfecting the winged liner are the little ways in which we prepare to become someone else for a few hours.
Hailee eyes me sideways. “You seen Blaire yet?”
“No. Why?”
“She’s in a mood.”
“When is she not?”
She snorts under her breath. “I heard she complained to Madame Anna about Le Jardin last weekend. Apparently you stole her client.”
I scoff. “I didn’t steal anyone. He chose me in the lineup. I’d never spoken to the man before last Saturday.”
“You know how she is.”
The dressing room door swings open, and speak of the devil—Blaire struts in, wearing the same silk gown as the rest of us.
She clocks me in the mirror, lips curling. That faux-polite smile cuts her face in two.
“Chloe. Didn’t know you were working tonight.” Her smooth tone is laced with artificial sweetness.
I press a diamond stud into my earlobe. “Why? Worried I’m going to steal your client again?”
Her smile stays fixed, but her nostrils flare enough to betray the sting.
She eyes me from head to toe. “How’s school going? Still pretending to be a med student while you play fantasy Barbie at night?”
“Still projecting?” I reply sweetly. “Your insecurity’s showing.”
Hailee raises both brows and mutters, “I need popcorn.”
Blaire’s gaze sharpens, but she turns away, heading for her locker. I’ve won this round, but the thing about Blaire is, she never forgets. This little spark will turn into a blaze later, probably in front of Madame Anna.
I grin at that. Madame Anna knows me well; she’ll see through the bullshit. She trusts me.
I lean toward Hailee, whispering, “She’s got that high school prom-queen energy. You know, peaked at seventeen and is still pissed the rest of us grew up.”
She grins. “You’re not wrong.”
I take one last look in the mirror and fluff up my hair.
“Ready?” Hailee asks.
“Always.” I exhale. “And if I’m not, I fake it better than most.”
She nudges me on the way out. “If Blaire tries anything, I’ll throat-punch her. Discreetly.”
“I appreciate the solidarity.”
We step out of the dressing room and into Eden—velvet curtains, moody jazz pouring from hidden speakers.
It’s just another night of making someone’s fantasy come true.
But for me, Eden isn’t only a fantasy factory—it’s the place that gave me something I was starving for.
A place to put theory into practice, to learn what my body wanted and how far I could take it.
I step behind the bar, my gaze tracing the chandeliers overhead, the claret furnishings and plush couches. There’s always an air of anticipation in here; some nights it’s more intense than others. And tonight? Hailee is right… it’s electric.
I found Eden when I was nineteen—too young for this world, but too stubborn to stay away. Would I want my own daughter here at nineteen? Hell no. But for me, back then, it was a lifeline.
Madame Anna never took girls my age. But I was determined.
Eden doesn’t just need pretty faces—it needs goddesses who can carry someone’s secrets like gospel.
Who can shoulder the weight of the emotional baggage clients unload without flinching.
I wasn’t naive, but I was inexperienced.
A virgin, untouched, but my head was stuffed full of theories.
I could rattle off every kink like a dictionary, but I’d never lived any of it.
I snicker, remembering the day I demanded an interview. Madame Anna shut me down at first—too young, she said. But I didn’t budge. By the time I walked out of her office, I had the job. She’s never regretted it, and neither have I.
“Hey, can you cover me for a sec?” Violet bustles up with her tray balanced precariously. “I need a bathroom break.”
“Sure thing. Who am I serving?”
She glances across the crowded room. “Gray suit, black tie, white hair—back corner. And the three on the couch… oh, and the built guy by the stage.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, exhaling. “I already put the orders in.”
“No rush,” I reply, grabbing her tray from the bar and loading up the drinks. “I’ll take these out.”
I move through the crowd, balancing the tray on my palm. Eden’s busy, but it’s controlled chaos.
I drop off a beer to the silver-haired gentleman, kneeling with my head down until he dismisses me. Then to the guy near the stage, and finally, I make my way back to the bar.
Some nights, clients keep you kneeling, wanting to chat for hours while your legs go numb. But tonight, no one’s in the mood to talk.
And that’s when I see him.
He’s here.
He’s back.
I almost walk right past him, but I stop dead, a bright smile stretching across my face.
“You’re back,” I breathe.
“I am,” he says, his American accent threading through the words. He’s more relaxed tonight, a small smile curving his lips that’s simply… devastating.
“Would you like a drink, sir?” My eyes drop, but this time, I almost don’t want to. I want to keep staring into those warm brown eyes flecked with honey and see everything they’re not saying.
“A CC and dry, please.”
“Coming right up.” I smile as I head for the bar, grabbing drinks for the men camped out on the couch and waiting for his. I risk a glance over my shoulder—he’s watching. My smile widens. He winks.
Jesus. This man is lethal.
I reach the group of guys sprawled across the couch and sink to my knees, offering drinks one by one. They’re too engrossed in some debate to notice me. It’s a relief. Some nights, the quiet is a gift. A chance to disappear inside my head for a bit without small talk, just me and my thoughts.
Several minutes drag on. Still no dismissal. They’re too wrapped up in their Dubai sheik story to notice me, kneeling like a prop.
I shift my weight, hoping to catch their eye—no dice. I glance sideways. Daddy’s watching, and he’s definitely amused. His fingers brush his mouth, hiding a grin. A soft laugh escapes me, and that’s all it takes. One of the guys finally notices.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You can go.”
Thank fuck.
I rise quickly and head over to him. He’s watching me with that half-lidded stare, and my heart jumps.
He looks sinfully good tonight. Reclined in his chair, legs spread, rolled-up shirt sleeves. I swallow hard.
“Sorry about the wait,” I say, kneeling beside him. He picks up his drink and I place the tray on a table nearby.
“Another minute and I was coming to get it myself,” he says with a grin. He spreads his legs wider and motions between them with his chin. “Come closer. I want you here—between my legs.”
My breath snags, but I crawl forward, face inches from his lap. The scent of him—soap, cologne, and spice—wraps around me. My whole body softens. My skin tingles.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I lift my head. “That’s better,” he praises gently. “I need these beautiful eyes on me. No more looking at the floor.”
I nod, a soft smile parting my lips. Every detail—every line, every crinkle around his eyes—feels like something I should commit to memory. Like my mind’s a camera, and he’s the only frame that matters.
He pauses, then says, “I know it’s against the rules, but I have to ask.”
Of course.
Every client has some version of “how did you end up here?” or “why do you do this?” It’s their way of soothing their conscience. So they can feel okay about using us to chase their fantasies. Some of them want to save us. Some of them just want permission.
“Let me guess,” I reply, lips curling. “You’re going to ask why I’m here. Or if I like what I do.”
He winces, chuckling. “Guilty.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, waving him off. “My answer’s predictable, too.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Student, paying off school?”
“Ding, ding, ding.”
His laugh is a low rumble and my pussy perks up at the sound. She likes that sound. A lot. His groin is so near, I have a sudden urge to close the gap and nuzzle him like a needy bitch in heat, breathing his scent in.
“I’m the cliché.” I shrug. “Didn’t want to leech off my parents. Needed something that worked around my classes and paid enough to live on. Eden ticked all the boxes.”
My gaze drops back to his lap—fuck, I can’t help it. I lean in, pressing my face to his groin, inhaling. The scent of him fills my head. A soft sigh escapes me. This is what I needed.
He doesn’t stop me; instead, his hand slides to the back of my head, fingers firm and warm, and I come undone. My skin lights up. It’s a jolt of pure, electric want. He’s anchoring me to him, and I don’t want him to let go.
I nestle into the thick ridge of him, cheek pressed against the heat straining through his pants.
There’s something grounding about it—comfort and filth braided tightly together; I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
The scent of him curls into my lungs, and I want to sink deeper, disappear into him.
My thong is soaked, slick with need, clinging to me like a second skin.
My clit throbs in perfect time with the rhythm of his fingers stroking possessively through my hair.