Chapter 3
THREE
Vance
Idon’t often resort to using high-end escorts, but no matter how desperate I am, there’s no way I’m fucking Miranda, so an escort will have to suffice.
Miranda is in love with Tristan, and she thinks cozying up to me will get her closer to him.
I’m not letting her use me, especially knowing he’ll reject her anyway.
We like to share, but it must be a mutual thing, not one of us favored over the other.
Feelings are a no go too. It complicates things when they fall for one or both of us.
No, Miranda is now blacklisted. Pulling out my phone, I delete her number before shoving it back in my pocket. Shifting on the barstool, I sweep my gaze around the room.
This hotel always has the best quality escorts loitering in the bar, waiting to be picked up by some overworked, rich bastard needing an escape for the night.
After hearing Tristan on the phone this morning, I thought he’d want to come blow off some steam with me.
He’s always getting himself worked up, turning into a ticking time bomb that’ll go off at any moment.
This time of year is even worse as he closes himself off, which I hate. Christmas is everywhere. There’s no escaping it where we live. Next year, we should go find an excluded cabin somewhere—disappear until the new year.
Tristan has always hated the holidays. He grew up in foster homes after his dad fell asleep on Christmas Eve with a cigarette alight.
The asshole burned down the house, killing himself and Tristan’s mother, who was sleeping on the couch.
Tristan only survived because he’d been locked out of the house as a punishment. He’s never told me why.
My hand clenches around my empty glass, turning my knuckles white.
I hate thinking about his life before he finally made it to college on a scholarship.
That’s where we met, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
There’s something enchanting about Tristan, a determination and drive that’s rarely found in someone who had his start in life.
He was damaged by a lot of assholes, and so many authorities failed him before he got himself free.
I admired him then and still do now. We are a paradox, Tristan and I.
We had completely different upbringings, yet I’ve never met another person more like me than him.
I was raised in a privileged household where my parents meticulously planned my life, believing they had a clear vision of what was best for me.
From an early age, everything was calculated—a prestigious high school, college, career, and a wife to boot.
I met all of their goals except the wife, which I’d probably would have by now if I hadn’t met Tristan.
Growing up under my family’s expectations and control left me with a profound yearning to seek it in other areas of my life.
My need for control grew from a desire to a way of life that shaped my identity and my relationship with Tristan.
“Would you like another, sir?” I nod in confirmation for the bartender to pour the whiskey.
Straightening my spine, I bring my glass to my lips, the amber liquid sears my esophagus. I glance around my surroundings, bypassing the woman at the end of the bar who has been eye fucking me since I sat down. Too bad for her there’s someone else who has piqued my interest.
I run my gaze up the someone’s profile. She’s sitting at the bar, prodding at a cherry in her glass while repeatedly shaking her head and laughing under her breath like something comes to mind that she can’t quite believe.
The black coat she wears has slipped a little from her thigh, showcasing a bare expanse of toned, creamy skin, and damn, do I want a taste of that.
Escorts in this hotel are always of a higher caliber, but she is next level.
And if I don’t move quickly, someone else will snatch her up for the night.
I bet she tastes like candy. Women like her always do, and like candy, if you indulge in them too long, they eventually rot your teeth.
One night, that’s all I’ll take, and I’ll make it one she won’t forget for a while.
Pulling my spare room key card from my pocket, I walk over to her and slide it across the bar. Bright green eyes expand, beaming up at me like I’ve just given her the sun. “Really?” she asks, and I frown, unsure if she’s serious.
Does she think I can’t afford her?
Maybe it’s because I don’t look like her usual clients.
This place is full of old, bald, fat businessmen.
I’m not one to rub my own ego but I’m a good-looking man who works out and takes care of himself.
I don’t need to use hookers—I can go to any club and walk out with a woman—but it’s easier to fuck a professional…
There’s no mistaking what we’re doing, it’s a transaction, and I know it’s going to be a good fuck. Most of the time anyway.
“Really,” I assure her before turning to leave for my room. I haven’t been this excited in a long time, and damn, I want to paint that woman in cum until she’s drowning in it. I send a quick message to Tristan.
VANCE: Don’t wait up. You’re going to regret not coming out to play tonight.
I picture the grunt of disinterest my text will evoke in him.
He’s probably fucking his fist to thoughts of his assistant again.
It’s the only thing he seems capable of concentrating on lately.
She must be something real special to have him so obsessed.
I’ve never seen him want a woman this much before.
His reply comes as the elevator doors open, tugging a grin to my lips.
TRISTAN: I never wait up, unless you tell me to.
Pushing open the door to the penthouse suite, I kick off my shoes and loosen my tie.
I lose my jacket then uncuff the buttons on my sleeves, pushing them up my arms while heading straight for the bar and pouring myself a couple of digits of whisky.
Five minutes later, the door opens, and the woman hovers at the threshold, her vibrant jade eyes springing wide, her plump pillowy lips parting as her jaw drops.
I hold up a finger. “Don’t speak a fucking word.” Closing my hand over her wrist, I urge her farther into the penthouse, closing the door behind her. She puts a few steps between us, her head swiveling around to take in the space.
The penthouse exudes luxury, with marble floors and counters, jeweled chandeliers, velvet rugs, and grand mirrors.
The best part is the floor-to-ceiling windows that wrap around the entire building, revealing an unobstructed view of the city that’s currently lit by the soft glow of the moonlight.
It’s impressive. However, that’s not why we’re here.
“I’m going to use you tonight like the naughty little slut you are, do you understand? ” I ask, feeling her out.
Her expression is one of surprise before her features soften, making my dick thicken. She hasn’t been doing this job long, if the vulnerable doe eyes are any indication. And boy, is she going to earn her money tonight. “Take off your coat but leave the shoes on.” I love a heel, and so does Tristan.
He really is missing out tonight. Her pretty, fat lips part, then she begins to speak. “I don’t think—”
“Good,” I snap, halting her words. “I don’t want you to think.” I move over to her and yank at the belt keeping her coat closed, making her gulp at my rough handling. “I want you to be a good little whore for me tonight. Tomorrow you can go back to thinking.”
Fucking hell, she’s wearing red lace underwear and nothing else beneath her coat. My eyes skim her luscious curves, my tongue gluing itself to the roof of my mouth as I take in the ivory skin dipping down the valley of her tits.
She wrings her hands and shuffles from foot to foot, unsure of herself, and I like the submissive, innocent vibe she’s giving.
It’s a hot contradiction I’m going to exploit and get every drop of pleasure from.
She opens her mouth again to speak, but I stop her by swiping my thumb across her thick bottom lip.
My cock aches when her tongue darts out to swipe across the pad.
“You get to use only four words tonight.” My voice is dripping with lust, eager to get this started.
“The first one is, please.” I drop my gaze, looking down into her radiant green orbs.
“The second and third are yes and sir.” She waits silently for the fourth, and I smile.
She’s going to be such a good girl. “The fourth is your safe word. Do you already have one?”
She’s trembling, a pink blush tinting her skin from the tip of her nose, expanding down her cheeks and neck before creeping over her chest like spilled ink.
Fucking hell, I’m going to come before I even get inside her.
I’m not sure if her coyness is an act or real, but it doesn’t matter because I want to be inside her while she quivers.
“Do I need one?” she eventually asks, roaming her gaze over me.
She sounds sweet, inexperienced. “Yes.” I grasp her face, lowering my head to take her mouth.
Sweeping my tongue inside to taste her, she moans, leaning into me and grappling at my shirt like a starving woman.
Pre-cum weeps from the tip of my cock. Damn, she tastes incredible, like liquor, cherries, and vanilla ice cream.
Although I don’t make a habit of paying for sex, I’ve been with a few escorts to know this feels different. Most put on a show—fake bravado, feigning horniness—but not this girl. She’s vibrating with need that’s getting under my damn skin.
Pulling back, I try to catch my breath as my eyes drop to her lips, red, and puffy from my mouth. “Safe word,” I urge her. “You say it, and we stop. Okay?”
Her head moves up and down. “Yes.”
“What is your safe word?”