Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Chloe
Past
Some nights, I’m a goddess, dripping in honey and gold. Other nights? I’m an extra in a zombie flick—dry chin, congested pores, one ill-timed sneeze away from my period, and bloated like a Macy’s parade float.
“Guess who’s here again?”
Madame Anna appears in the mirror behind me, her tone sly as she props herself against the vanity. I squeeze the tube of Paw Paw ointment onto my finger, dabbing it onto my chapped lips to make them extra soft.
“Who?” I play dumb, smacking them together.
I know who. Well, I think I do. But I refuse to say it aloud and be the clichéd sex worker who wets her panties over a client.
She lifts a brow, waiting.
I huff. “Fine. I know who.” My grin is halfhearted, betraying the excitement bubbling under my skin.
She holds my gaze, unblinking.
“What?” I shrug, forcing nonchalance. “I like him. He’s… easy to be around.” I break eye contact, heat creeping up my neck. “It doesn’t feel like work with him.”
So much for keeping it all inside. It is easy and natural with Z—too easy. And that scares the shit out of me.
“So, you’d be happy to see him again for another private session instead of working the bar tonight?”
“If I must.” I sigh dramatically. “Someone’s got to take one for the team, right?”
“I can always ask another goddess to step in, if you’d prefer…”
“Fuck off,” I shoot back, grinning.
She laughs, shaking her head. “That’s what I thought.” Pushing off the vanity, she walks behind me, her reflection in the mirror a calm motherly force. “Boundaries, Chloe. Strong, clear lines.”
“I know, I know.” I do. My heart just… doesn’t want to listen this time.
She pauses, her expression hardening into something more clinical. “He’s requested no condom. You okay with that?”
I nod, too quickly.
“You’re on the shot, yes?”
“Yep, I’m covered.”
I want everything between us to be real, no barriers. If living out his kink means giving him all of me, I’m not just willing—I need it too.
Madame Anna doesn’t press further—she trusts me to know my own limits—but her gaze lingers. She’s looking out for me. That’s the thing about Eden. It’s a job, but it’s also like a family, protective.
“You remember what I said in our interview?”
I nod. “The moment you start blurring the lines between the job and real life is the moment you should quit. This job isn’t sustainable long-term. Get in, make money, and get out intact.”
She looks at me now the same way she did back then—like I’m nineteen and desperate to take back control. She saw through me in seconds.
I still remember the first time I walked through Eden’s doors. My hands were sweating so badly that I had to wipe them on my jeans before I rang the bell.
Madame Anna opened it herself. She didn’t look the way I’d expected—no severe dominatrix in heels, or sultry bombshell adorned with diamonds. She was elegance personified.
“You’re younger than you sounded in your email,” she’d said, eyeing me up and down.
“I’m nineteen,” I had replied, lifting my chin. “Legal. Eager. And smarter than most of your girls.”
She’d blinked once, unimpressed. “Virgin?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t cruel. It was clinical.
I nodded.
“You have no idea what this job requires,” she said, already turning to close the door.
But I caught it with my hand. “I’m not here because I’m stupid or reckless.
I’m here because I want this. I’ve done the research.
I’ve read every contract, every boundary clause, every screening protocol.
I don’t want flowers and a boyfriend and whatever bullshit romantic comedies shove down our throats.
I want control over my body. Over my pleasure. This is my choice.”
She’d stared at me that day. Long enough to make me squirm. Then, without a word, she let me inside.
“You were all nerve and theory,” she recalls, pulling me back to the present. “But you sat across from me and told me exactly what you wanted. I respected that. I still do.”
I smile faintly. “You didn’t make it easy.”
“Wouldn’t have been worth it if I had,” she replies. Then softer, “You were determined to choose your first.”
“I wanted to choose it on my terms.”
I remember the way she sat beside me that night, a guardian angel dressed in black silk, flipping through client profiles while I deliberated, using instincts I didn’t know I could trust.
“Why this one?” she’d asked when I chose a silver fox with patient eyes and a teacher’s smile.
“He looks like he’d ask permission.”
She nodded once. “He will. He’s gentle. Experienced. And respectful.” Then she handed me a glass of water. “No alcohol tonight. You need to feel everything. Keep your head.”
That first room smelled like lavender and leather.
I remember how detached I felt—like I was observing myself from above.
He touched my arm, just once, and asked if I wanted to stop.
I shook my head. I was shaking all over.
But I didn’t stop. I breathed through it.
I let it happen. I asked for what I wanted.
And when it was over, I let the tears fall. Because I had taken something back.
“I think about that night sometimes,” I tell Anna now. “How weirdly empowering it was. To decide what was going to happen. To say yes.”
She nods. “That’s why I let you stay. Because you were ready and you knew why you wanted it.”
“And now?” I whisper. “You think I’m forgetting that?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
I look away. I can feel her watching me, trying to will me back into alignment with myself. It’s a fantasy, that’s what I need to remember. It’s not real.
She squeezes my shoulder. “Room eight.”
I blink. “Already?”
“Already,” she repeats, gliding away to check on another goddess’s costume.
Fuck.
My heart immediately launches into a sprint. He came back like he said he would. I try to tell myself it doesn’t mean anything—that I’m just a familiar body in a luxury wrapper. But part of me secretly loves that he kept his word.
Of course he’s here early. And I’m a hormonal bitch with a face to match.
I hustle over to Edward, our resident stylist, because if I’m going to face Z looking like I crawled out of a crypt, I’m at least going to be wearing something that’ll blow his mind.
He’s definitely a lingerie man—the kind who likes to take his time unwrapping his present.
The way he looked at me the other night when he discovered I was wearing a thong? Yeah, I never got that back.
“Ed, I need something show-stopping.”
He grins. “Got just the thing.” He hands me a hot-pink lace set—bra, panties, suspender belt, and sheer stockings so fine they catch the light. “Honey Birdette’s latest,” he says. “A mind-melter on that body of yours.”
“Perfect,” I breathe.
He tosses in a pink silk robe and a pair of nude Louboutin pumps. “Knock him dead.”
I grin. “You’re a lifesaver.” I’ve thought about “borrowing” Edward’s Loubs before, but I’m not ready to die a violent death.
“You know it, baby.” He flicks his non-existent hair over his shoulder and does a sassy pivot. Bald head shining, thick Tom Ford glasses perched on his nose—he should be dressing the Kardashians, not Eden’s goddesses.
I slip into the lace, adjusting the stockings so the seams are arrow-straight, my reflection practically dripping seduction. Much better. I need this illusion to be airtight. He sees only Gigi—the fantasy, the confidence, not Chloe underneath.
Of course, the universe never lets me have anything too easy—my stomach cramps, hard. Not now, dammit. I chase two painkillers with water, muttering a silent prayer to Artemis, the menstruation goddess herself, to give me a few hours of mercy.
Standing outside room eight, my heart is doing its best impression of a trapped hummingbird. I take a breath, push the door open, and let the robe slide off my shoulders, striking a dramatic pose.
“You rang?” I purr, twirling with enough flair to make any Vegas showgirl proud.
Z bursts out laughing. “Holy shit. You look incredible.”
I sashay over, hips swaying like I’ve just stepped off a catwalk. No idea if I’m pulling it off, but he doesn’t need to know that.
His eyes drag over me in a slow caress, worshipful. That look alone has me wetter than any word ever could.
I settle on his lap, legs draped across him, cuddling into his chest and shoulder. He tips my chin up with his fingers, his touch gentle.
“Was this for me?”
I almost quip that it was for the last client, but I bite my tongue—no need to ruin the mood. “You bet your sexy ass it was.”
“Stunning,” he sighs, brushing his lips against mine. The kiss is soft, tender, and when I lean into it, I melt—our first real kiss, and it’s everything I hoped it would be.
He pulls away, and his thumb slides across my bottom lip. I can’t resist—I suck him in, my eyes fluttering shut.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
When I reopen them, I grin, running my fingers through the gray at his temples. “You know what might be my favorite thing about you? Your hair. The soft grays coming in at the sides.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not even a little. It’s sexy. Total silver-fox energy.”
His dark eyes narrow playfully. “No, I mean the age difference.”
I smirk, shifting my hips. “I wouldn’t be here, half-naked in your lap, if I gave a shit about that. Does it bother you?”
His fingers skim the edge of my thong, his voice low. “Well, I wouldn’t be here, hard as steel, with your sweet ass in my lap, if it did. The only things keeping me from being inside you right now is this flimsy lace and my jeans.”
I rock against him, drawing out a low groan from his chest. I’m not pretending to be the seductress anymore. The lines between Gigi and Chloe have completely blurred.
“Fuck,” he groans, “you gotta stop or I’m gonna blow before I get in your tight pussy.”
“Then stop talking.”
His hand tightens on my hip, steadying me. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something first.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head, intrigued.
He leans back, mischief flickering in his eyes. “I’m heading out on a friend’s yacht next weekend. I want you with me. No Eden. Just… you and me.”
“Yes,” I blurt. No hesitation. “I’d love that.” My answer is too fast, too eager, but I don’t care. The idea of being with him outside of Eden… it’s dangerous in the best way.
His smile softens. “Good. Hey, I’ve got a gift for you.”
“I love surprises!” I clap my hands and wiggle my hips in his lap, teasing on purpose.
He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a handful of delicate clamps. “These are for you,” he offers, tugging down one cup of my bra. “Your tits were made for these.”
He flicks my nipple with his nail, and a tiny spark shoots heat straight to my core. I arch into him, desperate for more. He sucks the tip into his mouth, biting down gently before letting it go with a pop. Then he fastens the clamp, and I shudder. The pinch is pleasant. But I want more.
The second nipple gets the same attention, the diamonds on the clamp winking against my skin.
“They’re beautiful,” I gasp, breathless. “Thank you.”
I’m dizzy with it—the way he looks at me like I’m precious. And I’m devouring it, craving more than I should.
“Your nipples were made to be pierced, made for jewelry.” He pulls on them, and I suck in a ragged breath. Exquisite.
He chuckles, dark and deep. “You’d look perfect with them permanently pierced. Diamonds everywhere—your throat, your ears, your nipples, your clit.”
Fuck.
I’m soaked, grinding against his thigh mindlessly. If he doesn’t shut that dirty mouth of his, I’m going to grind myself to completion on his lap.
He lifts me, setting me on the couch. His knees hit the carpet, and he pushes the lace of my thong aside, his mouth finding me in one long, possessive swipe.
He’s merciless on my bundle of nerves, and my hips buck in a reflexive protest before I force myself to go still, to give in and let him take me apart.
My thighs quake, a gasp tears from my throat as he keeps going.
He’s relentless. Devouring me with a single-minded hunger that’s almost too much.
Sucking harder, over and over, until it’s not only pleasure—it’s a raw, searing ache, pushing me to the edge.
My legs want to wrap around him, but I force them to stay open—offering everything.
Then he pulls back, breath hot against my skin, my clit swollen and straining for more. His fingers find the last clamp and snap it on. The bite is so sharp I gasp and see stars—white pinpricks that burst behind my eyes. Every nerve ending is alive, sparking for him.
He stands, tugging his jeans down to free that thick, glorious cock.
His hand wraps around it, pumping once, twice.
He shifts closer, bracing one hand on the back of the couch for balance.
As he leans over me, the heat of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne envelop me.
I’m caged in, surrounded by him, exactly where I want to be.
His other hand fists his cock, guiding the head up and down my slick slit. My heart is in my throat—I’ve waited for this stretch, waited to feel his warmth—as he bends over me, pinning me down with that possessive look in his eyes.
Knock knock.
We both freeze, breath caught in our lungs. Our eyes meet, then dart to the door.
What the fuck?
He curses, head thrown back. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
In all my years working as a goddess at Eden, no one has ever knocked on the door.
He pulls the tip out, hissing, and tucks himself away. My legs are still spread, the air cool on my wet flesh as he walks to the door.
Madame Anna’s voice drifts in, muffled but insistent. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. You have an urgent call.”
“Fuck,” he grits out. He closes the door and crosses back to me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, sitting up and pulling my legs together.
“I have to go.” Apology creases his face.
“I’m really sorry to do this again.” He reaches out and unclamps my nipples at the same time—pleasure blooms sharply; I gasp.
Then he kneels between my legs, his fingers working the last clamp off my clit.
The flood of sensation makes me shudder, a mini orgasm that leaves me breathless.
“Attagirl,” he praises softly, lips quirking up.
He draws me into a kiss, deep and hungry, then he’s gone. Out the door before I can even catch my breath.
I sit there, dazed. Aching for him. Almost feral with it.
I wanted to feel him inside me. To fill me so deep I’d leak when I moved.
But at least I got my kiss this time.
And there’s still something to look forward to: next weekend, his friend’s yacht.
Unless the universe cockblocks us again.
Which, let’s be real… it probably will.