19. Hailee
Chapter nineteen
Hailee
“A hh, fuuuck…” I cry out, my voice echoing through the quiet office.
“Look at you, taking my cock like a good little whore.” Dameon’s voice fills the room as he pounds into me from behind. The sound of his hips slapping against my ass cracks in the air like a whip. “This gorgeous ass is mine, isn’t it?” He spreads my cheeks apart, spitting on my puckered hole before thrusting his thumb inside to the knuckle. The sudden intrusion makes me gasp before I relax into it, enjoying the fullness. His dirty words only stoke the fire within me.
“You were made for my cock,” he gasps, each thrust diving deeper. Searing pleasure rips through me, tearing me to shreds, leaving me breathless and hungry for more. With a low growl, he releases inside me, filling me up completely before pulling out, leaving a trail of cum dripping down my thighs. I make no move to clean it up, knowing he prefers me to wear his seed proudly. He adjusts my black satin gown before I sink to my knees before him, my tongue lapping him clean. When I’m finished, I tuck him back into his suit pants and rise to my feet.
“Feel better?”
“Much,” he sighs.
There’s something about being back at Eden that has made him feral. Maybe it’s the charged atmosphere, the way the sexual tension simmers in the air, or perhaps it’s as simple as seeing me in my goddess gown again. If I hadn’t quickly taken control of the situation and led him back to my office, he would have succumbed to his impulses and bent me over the bar, ravishing me in front of everyone. While I wouldn’t have minded, it goes against the rules. And the last thing I want is for him to be kicked out or have his membership canceled.
A knock at the door interrupts us. “Go have fun, I’ve got work to do,” I whisper, trying to usher him out the door.
He chuckles softly. “Hold on.” He bunches my gown in one hand and inserts two fingers inside me, gathering his seed. Then he presents his fingers to me, slick with our shared essence, and smears them across my lips. “Open.”
I dutifully part my lips to receive his offering. As his fingers enter my mouth, I eagerly wrap my tongue around them, moaning at our combined taste.
“Don’t wipe it off.” His voice is low and possessive. “I want every man in this building to know that while you may be serving them, your sexy ass belongs to me.” I rub my lips together to spread his essence, the scent lingering just under my nose, marking me as his and ensuring there’s no chance of forgetting who owns me.
“Good girl.” He slides a hand into my hair, drawing me into a burning kiss. His tongue artfully massages mine, savoring our mingled taste, before he pulls back and playfully nips at my swollen lower lip. With a wink at my dazed expression, he strides out of my office, revealing Violet waiting on the other side.
“Hey, Violet. Sorry for the wait, come on in.” I gesture for her to take a seat at my desk, the same one I was just bent over. “What’s going on?” I settle into my seat across from her, noticing her pale complexion and teary eyes.
“I need to leave; I can’t be in Le Jardin tonight. I’m sorry to do this to you at the last minute,” she sniffs.
“It’s fine, but what happened?”
“I saw someone I know, and he can’t see me naked on stage or know that I work here.” Desperation lingers in her words. On occasion, a goddesses’ real life intersects with her work at Eden when someone they know unexpectedly appears. Sometimes it’s an ex-boyfriend, other times a work colleague or boss, or even a father, as was the case one time, which still makes me cringe. Regardless of who it is, it’s always a shock for the goddess. It’s not a pleasant experience when their two worlds collide.
“I completely understand. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
“No problem at all,” I reassure her. While it does disrupt the numbers for Le Jardin tonight, offering a complimentary month on their membership should help smooth things over with the disappointed gentleman. The ten men booked into Le Jardin are assigned a random number when they register to indicate the order in which they will select their goddess. The women present themselves on stage, naked and in a traditional submissive pose, allowing the clients to view and make their selection. Unfortunately, it’s too late to find a replacement goddess for tonight, so whoever was assigned number ten will have to be cut.
“Here,” I say, retrieving a business card from my desk drawer and handing it to Violet. “This is the number of a therapist. She’s excellent at what she does and she’s sex worker-friendly. I recommend that every sex worker see a counselor. It’s a lot to process when clients emotionally unload on you. Plus, she can help with your personal relationships.” Violet nods, eyes glued to the card. “Seeing someone from your real life in a setting like this can be unsettling and having a professional to talk to will make a difference. Of course, my door is always open, but I’m not a trained therapist. I can’t provide the same level of help as she can.”
She offers me a small smile, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Any opportunity I have to suggest someone see a therapist, whether they’re a sex worker or not, I take it. Everyone has demons to face and traumas to work through, regardless of their past. Some are just more complex than others.
“I’ll give her a call, thank you.”
“See you next week?”
“Yes, I’ll be here,” she breathes out. “Thank you, Hailee. I really do appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Violet slips out and I quickly look up unlucky number ten on my computer, the gentleman who unfortunately misses out tonight. My eyebrows shoot up when I see the name. At least it will make him easy to spot.
Heading into the main lounge, I scan the crowd for Carter Ashford, the lead singer of Pulse. The place is alive and pumping: every seat at the bar is taken and the plush red couches are occupied with well-dressed patrons. Soft lighting casts an intimate glow across the black, gold and deep red décor.
I spot Madame Sophia gracefully making her rounds, talking and flirting with the clientele. My eyes instinctively seek out Dameon and find him sitting at the bar, casually sipping his whiskey. His eyes heat when they land on mine, and I unconsciously lick my lips, the lingering taste of our encounter exploding across my tongue. A rush of desire floods my veins, causing my core to clench and the remnants of his release to slowly drip out of me. I rub my thighs together, spreading the wetness as I search for Carter amid the crowd.
Fortunately, I spot him sitting alone. I half expected him to be surrounded by his entourage, or at least his band members. On my way across the room, I pass Chloe, who’s perched on a client’s lap, her eyes closed and lips slightly parted. The man’s hand is buried under her dress, moving slowly back and forth. Suppressing a grin, I continue on my way. One of the rules is that no sexual activity should occur in the lounge, but I’m certainly not going to stop them. He’s hot, and she seems to be enjoying herself. Good for her.
As I approach Mr. Ashford, I instantly understand why women are drawn to him; he has an undeniable magnetism. Of course, being insanely good-looking doesn’t hurt either. After introducing myself and explaining that one of our goddesses has gone home sick, I offer a complimentary month on his membership for the inconvenience. He takes it in his stride and graciously accepts. Given his fame, I’m a little surprised he didn’t cause more of a scene. I call over Blaire, another goddess, to serve him for the evening, informing her that everything is on the house tonight. As Blaire kneels before him to serve, his eyes light up.
With the crisis averted, I check in with the operations manager and realize it’s time for the announcement.
Stepping onto the stage, my gaze once again drifts to Dameon. I take hold of the microphone, ready to kick off the proceedings. “Welcome to Le Jardin, gentlemen. If you’re participating tonight, you’ve already received your number. We’ve kept you waiting long enough; it’s time to commence your selection.”