Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I can’t wait to see what a hot fucking chick you are in the flesh.
Show me what you can do, girl. I’ll leave the specifics in your scarlet nailed hands.
One hundred fucking grand!
Jesus Christ, this one is going to be a hell of a stormer in my bank account, and no doubt one in the bedroom.
“I’m nervous,” I say to Josh as I get ready to leave.
“It’s easier when the client selects from the menu themselves, isn’t it?
Especially when they’re paying such an absolute fortune for it.
I mean, what does he want? Shall I go in there and beg for bondage?
For him to whip me senseless? Does he want me to do that in reverse?
Does he want me to plug myself up with a traffic cone?
Urgh.” I laugh, hitching my tits in my black latex dress.
“It’s like going for an exam when you haven’t been given the revision guide.
And it’s a mega one, with that kind of cash on the table. That’s founders’ level.”
“That doesn’t matter for shit. You’ll rock it, baby,” Josh says. “You don’t need a revision guide. You’re a professional. A hardcorer with a rating that speaks for itself.”
“Guess we’ll find out what grade I hit when the review comes in.”
“You’ll hit a five starrer. I know it.”
“No pressure, then.”
“Never any pressure, Ells.” Josh hugs me tight. “Just enjoy the ride.”
“I will.” I grin at him, smoothing down his tie.
He’s with a regular duo tonight. A couple who like sharing him in a filthy sandwich. He likes them. His eyes have the mischievous look he gets when he’s excited.
“You have a good one, too.” I laugh. “Though that’s a given.”
“Have faith, baby. I can’t wait to see your grin when you get home.”
Despite my nerves, I’m already buzzing at the prospect of this kind of unknown.
It doesn’t matter that this proposal puts the game cards in my hand, I’m a bundle of excitement in the cab as I head over to the destination, my freshly painted scarlet nails tapping a beat against my thighs.
I’m heading to a mega manor on the outskirts of the city, over in Hertfordshire.
No surprise that User 2813 is paying a hundred fucking grand for this. He must be absolutely loaded.
Maybe I should have brought some nettles and needle and thread? I should get myself an emergency entertainer kit. A toy for every occasion. I laugh to myself. That damn suitcase would be far too big to carry.
Oh my fucking God, his manor is beyond my wildest expectations.
It looks Georgian, with big white pillars at the front and huge windows across both wings.
But that isn’t what knocks me senseless.
I’m used to grand places, but not where the pillars are lit up in neon.
It looks like the main stage at a festival.
The pillars are glowing with huge purple lights, beaming up from the bases, and as I walk up the drive towards the huge, black doored entrance, I see the array of sculptures.
Huge stone masterpieces in the grounds. One of them is lit up in bright green, a guitar made of stone.
Another is lit up in red, a roaring lion ready to pounce, mouth open wide.
So is mine as I look at it.
You could fit two people on the back of that, riding rodeo style.
These statues alone must have cost thousands, and there are more. I see the lights in the distance, a circle of huge shapes that I wish I had more time to check out before my proposal, but the clock is ticking.
Arrived I click on the app.
Come on in. Let’s get the party started.
I wonder for a moment if I read the proposal wrong, and it’s the kind of gig where I’ll be a performer for the masses, but his proposal was one on one.
I’m overthinking, so I take a moment to chill, breathing in the cold night air before I climb the stone steps. I give a token knock with the brass lion head knocker before turning the handle.
The foyer inside is less neon than the grounds.
It has a sparkling gold chandelier that hangs low, and a staircase with oak bannisters that ascends to a massive balcony.
There are mirrors on every wall, gold framed and baroque, and twisting ivy shaped lamps between them, only heightening the effect.
It’s a house of mirrors. A masterpiece of interior décor.
I can see myself from every angle as my stilettos click against the black tiled floor. I start as a figure appears in one of the mirrors, spinning as I try to navigate myself and work out where he is coming from.
My mouth drops open for real when the guy appears in full view, leaning against a door frame.
He’s wearing leather trousers fitted tight to a looming physique, and he’s already shirtless, his sleeve tattoos dark and striking against his pale skin.
He runs his fingers through his messy dark hair, wet and tousled, and takes a swig of whisky straight from the bottle.
He’s got a grin that I recognise in a heartbeat.
Fuck me.
The guitar and lion make perfect sense now.
This is Vinnie Hampton. The lead singer of Red Roar. For real. It’s the lead singer of Red Roar, one of the biggest metal bands in the world.
I love their music! Their hit Roar to the Rage is one of my absolute favourites, and I even had a poster of him on the wall at my parents’ place. He was an icon to me in my teenage years.
My legs turn to jelly, but I manage to keep myself in position. Just about.
He takes another swig of whisky before letting out a laugh.
“Guess from the look on your pretty face that you recognise me.”
My mouth flaps in schoolgirl crush mode until I laugh in return, shaking my head in pure disbelief. I never thought I’d hear his American drawl in the flesh. I’ve heard interviews as well as his screaming, beat heavy tracks.
“Is there anyone in the entire universe who wouldn’t?!”
I focus on my breathing. He’s a client. He’s a client. He’s a client.
There’s a glorious smirk on his rockstar face. “Maybe your grandma. Unless she’s a hard rock fan. Maybe she is. Who knows with a chick like you.”
“Gran, no, but my mum knows the beat to Roar to the Rage by heart. She had to put up with it bellowing through the floorboards for years.”
I love his laugh, my skin prickling as he crouches in his onstage stance and let’s rip with the first line of the track, his thunder of a voice booming through the foyer.
You gotta roar in the silence, baby. You got to let the world know it’s your own!
I clap and cheer, flying high in the world of dreams.
“Feeling’s mutual anyway,” he says as he approaches. “I had to go through five Agencies to track you down. Five of the deepest hidden ones on the web, you elusive minx.”
“Me?! You were trying to find me?!”
He holds his arms out like I’m a trophy.
“The great Ella Edwards, from the city of London. How could I resist? I had to get myself a try-out with the rep you’ve got.”
I shiver at that. Fuck my life. He knows who I am. Vinnie Hampton knows who I am!
“I hung out with Connor for a bit,” he says. “What a joy. No wonder everyone’s sacking off his bloated wannabe ass. A couple of TikTok virals and the guy thinks he’s hit the hall of fame for good. It was obvious from day one he’s a clown who wants to be a god.”
“You met Connor?!”
He nods. “We did Rock Rave Fest together a few months back. Whenever he wasn’t busy getting his dick out and gloating about his soul filled talent, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you.”
“I didn’t cheat on him,” I tell Vinnie, like I’m a criminal on trial. “That’s just rubbish he made up, I swear.”
“Gathered that, not that I’d have blamed you if you did. I also gathered that you’d make one hell of a play girl. He wouldn’t shut up about your pussy.”
“For real?” I laugh in disbelief, because this is crazy. It’s absolutely insane. “You heard I was a hot hooker from Connor and chased me down? Are you kidding me?”
He looks at me like I’m the mad one, crossing the grand foyer to step up close. He smells of expensive cologne and Scotch, towering over me like the lord he is on stage.
“Saw the pics of you and they drove me mad. Connor was passing his cell around when he was wasted, showing off your dirty talents.”
My head is spinning so bad I feel unsteady. Rock Rave is huge, with some of the biggest stars around, and they were looking at me.
“A fair few of us were out to get a piece after that,” Vinnie says. “I always like to be the one to win the race. Give it some time though and the others will be catching up.”
I can’t let myself dwell on that thought, because it’ll send me into a fangirl frenzy. I want to ask him who, what, why… so many questions. But now isn’t the time for it. He’s my client.
MY FUCKING CLIENT!!
“Am I allowed to call you Ella?” he asks. “Holly suits you, but it’s bullshit. I live with facades around me every day. I don’t want them in the bedroom.”
“Sure, yeah, um, you can call me whatever the hell you like.”
He steps up close and breathes me in, giving me flutters on top of flutters. He brushes some of my long, freshly waved hair behind my ear, then tips my chin up.
“How about slut? Whore? Dirty little bitch? Can I call you them?”
My breaths are so shallow, I could hyperventilate.
“I love all of them.”
“Yeah?” He runs his hand up the latex of my dress. “Kinky, filthy fuck-doll?”
“That’s a good one.” My fingers are shaking as they glide down his neck. “Not only can you call me anything, you can do anything. Anything you like. I’m all yours.”
“Sure thing. I read your naughty list. I know every box you’ve got checked.”
“You must know which ones you like, then.” I lick my lips. “Come on, won’t you at least give me a clue? Which are your favourites? Help a kinky little fuck-doll out when she wants to earn six figures in one night.”
He laughs. “Nah. That’s not the point. Connor told me what a kinky bitch you are. I want the authentic experience. I want Ella, not Holly.”