12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Jacob
My head is killing me, and I am parched as hell.
Also, my cock is hard as fuck, and I need to piss.
I groan, not wanting to get up because I’m too comfortable here, in this warm bed.
I burrow into the warmth, feeling something tickle my skin.
My eyes flutter open, and when I see what it is, I swear my heart stops beating.
Because next to me is Aaron. Naked.
Holy shit.
I tense, trying to remember exactly what happened after my shift ended last night. I vaguely remember us drinking and dancing and socializing with strangers that I can’t recall the names of. All I remember is that we were having a good time, and…
“Well, Cinderella? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin, now?”
Aaron’s voice reverberates in my brain as the memory pushes forth. Of us on the docks. It’s then I realize I’m not at home. I’m…
I’m in a hotel room. Aaron’s hotel room.
Where the fuck is my phone? I glance around the room, looking for any sign of my phone or clothes.
I rub my eyes to clear my vision and the hotel room is a mess. Clothes are loitered everywhere, like breadcrumbs lining our path from the door to here, the bed.
My gaze travels over his body, lingering on the dried paths of cum along his stomach and abs. And his thighs too.
Fucking hell. I close my eyes as I try not to panic.
“Morning,” he grumbles, and I let out a heavy breath. I don’t remember how we got here. I don’t remember much except for his words and blinding pleasure.
Good boy.
My cock jumps, remembering those words, too.
I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s not that I didn’t want this—I look at Aaron, at his disheveled dark hair and his five-o clock shadow, at his broad shoulders and his golden, sun-kissed skin—I did, I just…
The fact I can’t remember everything is bothering me more than it should, and the fact I didn’t come home…
Noah must be worried. Especially if I didn’t text him ahead of time.
“Uh… yeah,” I say, shoving the panic aside as I force myself out of bed and head for the bathroom so I can piss and get my bearings.
I try to remember what happened, but everything is a puzzle. Bits and pieces.
I remember Aaron’s tongue caressing mine, remember his hand on my cock, stroking me.
No, stroking us. I let out a breath, remembering his words, his hot breath on my skin, and rubbing my ass lightly. Another memory hits of that other-wordly feeling of something hard hitting my prostate and making my cock weep.
Oh fuck. Did we—
I look down as I finish my piss and realize Aaron isn’t the only one covered in dried cum.
Shit. Shit, shit!
This is going to be so fucking awkward, and I hate awkward. Last night was so much fun and clearly I wasn’t thinking straight, and now this is going to be one awkward morning after.
Just rip off the Band-Aid, Jake. Get your money and go. Preserve your dignity while you can.
I finish up and wash my hands, taking a deep breath as I grab a robe off the back of the door and cover up as I walk out into the room.
The light shines through the windows, bathing the room in brightness, like a spotlight.
Aaron’s still in bed, but he’s at least in his underwear, so I don’t have to stare at his cock—which my memory latches onto at this moment if only to fire home how careless I’d been.
I know I don’t have to cover myself—after all, it’s clear he’s seen my cock and we’ve done…
things, but if I want to walk away from this without feeling like a guilty idiot, I need to put a wall up between me and Mr. Perfect, who I will never see again.
My heart and my cock ache with that thought. Last night was crazy, to say the least.
It was fun, too. Not just the date itself, but…
Brunch. Dinner. Drinks and dancing to Taylor Swift. I vaguely remember dancing with Aaron as my girl asked if I was ready for it, like some haunting premonition.
I thought I was. Clearly.
But now, in the light of day, when the fantasy is over… I’m not so sure. Because now comes the part that sucks.
“Hey,” I say, trying my best to remain calm and collected. Professional.
Aaron smiles up at me. “I had a great time last night.”
I casually collect my clothes, trying to be as cool as a cucumber even though I feel like I could jump out of my skin.
“Yeah, it was fun.”
I find my underwear and slide them on. Aaron doesn’t move from the bed, but I can feel his gaze on me.
“What I can remember, anyway.” The words are harsher than they should be. I look up to see his eyebrows furrow. I’m going to hate what I say next, but I need to know.
Even in the past when I slept with clients off the clock, I made it a point to not get too shitfaced because I needed to be in control of the situation.
Which is why if sex was something that was going to happen, I needed to be upfront with my clients about my boundaries and we needed to have a conversation about our sexual health.
My brother says I’m too controlling, that I overthink and just need to “live in the moment, “ but I would rather be safe than sorry. Working in the clubs, you learn quickly to cover your ass so you don’t end up with a shitty tip that lasts a lifetime.
The same goes for my personal relationships.
The fact I’m an ex-stripper-turned-professional date is already a red flag for a lot of people.
They usually assume I must’ve fucked each and every client I’ve ever had and that I’m riddled with STDs, and both are so far from the truth it’s not even funny.
I’ve been getting tested since I lost my virginity when I turned eighteen, and I can count on one hand how many men I’ve had sex with, professionally and personally. I’m an everyone-rides-free attraction like some people tend to think, just because of what I do for a living.
If anything, I’m more selective because of it. Which is why I feel so fucking guilty right now.
“Did we…” I suck in a breath, making a point to look at Aaron, though when I do, I regret it because he looks a little sad. Worried, even. Maybe he regrets what happened. I don’t, but… I do. It’s confusing. I feel like I fucked up, somehow.
“Did we… ?” I ask. There is a silence between us that feels almost deafening.
Aaron meets my gaze. “No.”
It’s one solid word. A statement.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Oh. Okay. Good.”
I realize the moment I say it, it’s the wrong thing to say, and I sound like an asshole.
Fuck!
“I mean—”
He walks over to the couch, where his jacket is strewn haphazardly over the arm.
“I just don’t usually fuck my clients, period. And seeing as we’re both covered in cum and naked, I just—”
Aaron lets out a sigh.
“No, I get it,” he says calmly. “Trust me, you don’t have to explain.”
My heart breaks a little at the bitterness in his tone. Because the way he says it is like it’s certainly not the first time.
“You don’t know me, so you don’t know I take my health pretty seriously, and I don’t fuck strangers.”
His words are harsh and cut deeper than they should. Because he’s right. I don’t know him. He is, in all reality, a stranger.
A man I barely know. A client, nothing more.
So why does that word sting so much?
“Right,” I say defensively. “Well, good thing I’m just doing my job then, stranger.” I force a smile, and I note his eyebrows furrow.
“Right. Your… job,” he says.
There is a tension between us that is thick and irrefutable. Gone is the fun, the whimsy—the warmth.
I hate morning after’s, especially ones with clients who regret sleeping with me, and it’s clear, despite the energy and the attraction between us, Aaron regrets this.
I shouldn’t be mad or upset, really. I shouldn't feel guilty, considering he paid for my company in more ways than one. So I need to focus on that.
“Yes, which is now complete, so…” I clear my throat, my blood moving so slow I think it’s frozen. “Now would be the part where you pay me and we can go our separate ways.”
My heart thuds so loud in my chest I think it’s echoing in the room, but then I realize that’s just in my head. No one can hear my rapid heartbeat or my vicious thoughts but me.
“Three thousand was the agreed upon rate for three hours. Seven to ten pm.” Realistically I could charge him for the overtime, but I run the risk of him saying something to Foxy about what happened, and since that’s against her rules, I don’t want to risk him telling her about it.
I could charge him a private rate, like my brother does sometimes for clients, but the thought of charging Aaron for what happened between us just feels… wrong.
It makes me feel like a stripper all over again, and I don’t like it. Because I get the feeling this wasn’t really part of his plan, either.
Neither of us meant for this to happen, clearly. We made the mistake together. So maybe we can just chock it up to drinking and having fun, and just leave it at what it is.
I hold his gaze for a moment, and I think he’s going to protest, maybe even haggle me down on price.
It wouldn’t be the first time a client decided after the fact I was too expensive, though usually a mention of reporting them to Foxy and contacting a lawyer solves that problem.
I hope I won’t have to go that route with Aaron.
“How does five thousand sound?” he asks calmly, as if he’s asking to pass the salt.
Of course, to him, five thousand is probably nothing. Given his dad is the owner of one of the most popular hotel chains in existence.
Hot, rich, and sexy as hell. God must really fucking hate me.
“Sounds great,” I say as I take my robe off and get into my pants.
I pull my shirt on while he pulls out a checkbook and writes me a check.
The air between us is stale and bitter and I hate it.
I knew this would happen. I can’t believe I let myself believe, even for the fraction of a second, that Aaron Everett actually liked me.
It was just a job. I was just providing him a service, like his employees.
And I fell for his charms and gave him exactly what he wanted and now I feel like shit. How could I have been so dumb?
Aaron walks over to me and holds the check out. I take it gingerly.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Everett,” I say, my voice softer than it should be given the circumstances. I feel like I can’t speak. Like I can’t breathe.
“Pleasure was all mine, Cinderella,” he says swiftly, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I’ll call you a ride,” he says but I stop him.
“No, it’s fine. I, uh… I have to call my brother, since… I didn’t come home last night and he’s probably worried.”
Shit, I didn’t mean to ramble. Why did I say that?
Aaron’s eyebrows furrow.
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
I dig my phone out. It’s on five percent and there are a dozen missed calls and texts from Noah.
I smirk at the one sent at one thirty am.
Noah: You better be getting some good ass right now, or I will fucking kill you if you are tied up in someone’s basement.
I shake my head, reading the ones that get progressively more concerned. The last one was sent just an hour ago.
Noah: Call me when you wake up.
“Yeah. Twin,” I say as I tap out a text.
Me: Long night. Can you pick me up?
It doesn’t take long for Noah to text me back.
Noah: He has risen!
Noah: Fuck yes, I’ll pick u up from your walk of shame, you little slut.
He taps out a bunch of eggplant emojis and winky faces, and I can’t help but smile half-heartedly at his humor even though I feel like crap right now.
Noah: And don’t think you’re getting out of telling me everything! I want details!
Aaron clears his throat.
“You good?”
I nod. “Yup.” I drop my location to Noah, who texts me with a thumbs up and tells me he’ll be here in twenty.
“Good luck with everything,” I say, offering Aaron my hand, even though it kills me. This is part of my job, too. Keeping things smooth and kosher.
Happy clients leave good reviews and tell their friends. And seeing as this was a favor for Bella, I want to keep everything as positive as I can despite feeling like a complete failure on the inside.
Aaron shakes my hand, his palm warm against mine. The memory of his palm on my ass, gliding across my skin makes my cock twitch and my stomach flip, but I shove it away. That’s obviously not happening again anytime soon. At all, probably.
I don’t wait for him to speak, because I can’t. I turn around and head out the door, towards the elevator.
“Time to go back home to reality,” I say as the doors open and I step inside.