Chapter 4
He rolls off me, breathless, and moves to sit on the edge of the bed.
His forearms rest on his knees, and the dim hotel lighting reflects off the muscled ridges of his back as he breathes heavily.
Even though I’m still catching my breath and collecting my thoughts from two earth-shattering orgasms, the sight of this man’s bare back alone injects a swell of fresh desire deep in my core.
Which, might I add, has ever happened to me in my life.
One orgasm from my husband was usually enough to satiate me for at least a week.
One orgasm from this man and it’s like feeding a starving person a single Twistie. I feel ravenous for him.
My heartbeat slows from the galloping sprint it was moments ago. The icy touch of the hotel-room air makes me reach down for the sheet and pull it up over my bare chest.
That confirms it, then. Absolutely nothing wrong with him in that department.
In fact, I would say he was very well above average.
Ten gold stars, at least. Truly, I cannot figure out how he just paid me for that experience.
Most of the sex I’ve had in my life up until this point has felt like a chore or an obligation, but this was something entirely different.
If my sexuality has been dormant for the years of my marriage, I can confidently say it has now re-awoken with a vengeance.
The thought sobers me somewhat from my sex-induced haze.
I just slept with a stranger, and I feel…
good. Great, even. Dare I say… liberated.
Beyond the man’s silhouette are the twinkling lights of the city, framed by the window that expands the length of the hotel room. But I can’t draw my eyes away from his naked back.
“What would you have done?”
The deep timbre of his voice breaks the silence and interrupts my wanton thoughts.
“Sorry?” I prop myself up on my forearm, my black hair pooling beneath me on the white sheets like an ink stain. When he sighs and runs a hand through his hair a blush creeps across my cheeks. I know what those soft strands feel like as they tickle the inside of my thighs.
“If I walked in looking like Hugh Hefner. What would you have done?”
The question hits me heavy in my chest, possibly because we just had the most intense sex of my life and he doesn’t exactly sound happy.
All of a sudden I feel overly exposed and vulnerable, and he still hasn’t even turned to face me.
He drops his head forward between his shoulders as the truth falls easily from my lips.
“My overnight bag is near the door. I was ready to leave if some old guy walked in.” Or pretty much any guy that wasn’t you.
His head cocks to the side as he glimpses my bag. Muscles tense beneath his skin.
“What about the money?” He asks. I detect more than a hint of curiosity behind his words.
It’s then I realise my mistake. I should have lied.
As far as he knows I’m a prostitute, so it shouldn’t have mattered who came through the door.
I should have been willing either way. I was paid for a service, and I was here to provide it.
Why is he asking me this? Why is he even assuming I would have done anything differently if he was someone else?
Not only have I given too much away, but his words are a harsh dose of reality. I just had sex with a stranger.
It’s my turn to start avoiding questions.
“What’s your name?” I ask suddenly. I can’t believe I’ve slept with someone and I don’t even know his name.
He lets out an unamused huff, but allows the redirection.
“Don’t you usually ask that before you fuck someone?”
His words, completely unexpected, are colder and more bitter than an arctic wind, as if they intended to hurt me. It’s a slap to the face and I’m suddenly glad he isn’t facing me to see the stain of red that burns across my cheeks.
“Sorry that I’m not familiar with proper escort etiquette,” I spit, making sure to inject venom into every word as my new found feelings of liberation fly out the window.
“As someone who has to pay a woman to touch him, maybe you can enlighten me?” I sit up straighter and tighten the bed sheet around me, trying to ward off the cold that’s creeping into my chest. “Am I supposed to take you for dinner first? Wine and dine you and ask your whole life story? If that’s the case you should have stipulated that when you booked. I would have said no, then.”
The words taste sour as they leave my mouth, but the shame and humiliation that’s started bubbling around in my stomach need an out.
If he’s going to insult me, I’ll throw it straight back at him ten times worse.
One thing I promised myself when I left Daniel was that I would never lie down and let someone walk all over me again, no matter how attractive they are.
He chuckles darkly, anger radiating off him in waves as I struggle to keep up with what’s happening. How did I go from riding the highest of highs just moments ago to now sitting here feeling angry and confused?
“Don’t pretend you were ever saying no to fifty grand. Apparently everyone has a price, and I found yours.”
The guy must be a fucking sadist. Who goes around paying escorts to have sex with them and then throws it back in their face?
The real kicker is that the money didn’t influence my decision to sleep with him anyway.
Now I wish it did, that I had an excuse to fall back on for letting this asshole inside my body.
“Trust me, you couldn’t pay me enough to repeat the experience.”
My words seem to bounce off his tanned back as he rolls his shoulders and stands, still not bothering to throw even a glance in my direction. It’s as if I hadn’t even spoken. “Order what you want from room service. I’m going to clean up.”
Then he stands and walks his gloriously bare ass into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
As soon as I hear the shower turn on, I act on impulse, flying out of bed and gathering my clothes from where they’ve been discarded on the floor.
If he thinks I’m going to hang around and screw him again after what he said, he’s delusional.
Despite what he obviously thinks, no amount of money would ever be worth that for me.
I throw my dress over my head, leaving my bra off in my haste to leave. The water still streams behind the closed door, but I don’t want to risk the awkwardness of him catching me on the way out. I grab my coat from where it hangs over a beige chaise and chuck it on to cover my unsupported chest.
The water shuts off just as I snatch my overnight bag and shoes and reach the door.
I have to swallow down panic as I wrench the door open as quickly and quietly as possible.
When I pass through, I hold my breath as it closes behind me with an almost inaudible click.
Then I sprint bare-foot down the hallway and press the call button for the elevator in a frenzy.
I must hit the little square at least a dozen times before, after what feels like a lifetime, the lift arrives.
I step into the well-lit carriage and force a smile towards an elderly couple holding hands in the far corner.
They smile politely at me as I press the button to shut the doors, all the while my heart slams against my ribcage like a jackhammer.
Honestly, the way sweat clings to my neck, anyone would think I was running away from an axe murderer.
When the doors finally glide shut without the appearance of an angry, dripping wet, greek-god looking adonis making a grab for me, I release an internal sigh, slip my shoes on to my shaky feet and turn to face the couple.
“Sorry. I’m running late,” I lie, swallowing down my nerves. “Dinner plans.”
They nod politely and smile wider, even though I’m sure my returning smile looks more like a grimace at this point.
I don’t even know what the time is. Was I in that room with him for one hour or three?
Time slipped away in his presence, until he insulted me, and then I felt every shameful second as it passed.
The remnants of adrenaline still light my veins but I know I won’t relax until I’ve escaped the hotel completely, so when the lift doors open, I spill out into the lobby, walking as fast as I can towards the exit while simultaneously avoiding the scrutiny of the receptionist as I pass.
I swear she knew what I was up to when I checked in, and my tangled, mussed up hair probably only confirms her suspicions.
A relieved breath slips from my throat when I finally push through the glass doors into the frigid outside air. I dial Angela as I start down the restaurant-lined street, grateful that it’s a busy Friday night and I’m not walking the streets alone. Angela answers on the first ring.
“Gianna! You didn’t text me and I’ve been worried!”
I pull the phone away from my ear and check the time.
“Angela, it’s been an hour and a half with no contact from me. I could have been murdered ten times over and you wouldn’t have even known.” So much for client safety.
“I was just about to send someone over,” she replies sheepishly. “But you’re fine. Thanks for checking in. Now go rock your client’s world.”
The air is so cold it seeps through my dress, and I pull my coat closed across my chest. When I finally lose view of the hotel, I slow my pace, no longer feeling like I’m about to be caught red-handed sneaking out.
The smell of cigarette smoke and beer invades my nostrils as I pass a particularly loud group of men standing outside a sports bar.
The familiar red and yellow that adorns the scarves around their necks leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth. Daniel would have been playing tonight.
“Wait, why does it sound like you’re in the middle of a mosh pit?” Angela questions slowly, and I know I’m about to massively piss her off.
“I didn’t go through with it. Sorry.” It’s my turn to sound sheepish. I feel bad for wasting Angela’s time, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m taking that man’s money. My mind briefly flicks back to the hotel room, and I wonder how he reacted when he came out to find me gone.
Angela surprises me by not biting my head off. Instead, she lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“It’s fine, Gianna.” She sounds resigned more than anything.
“Some people just aren’t built for this kind of work.
I’m only sorry I have to return the money,” she admits, and I feel the loss of her ten percent cut.
“What was he like as a client? Maybe I can persuade him to take someone else.” Hope sparks in her voice, and I try not to envision him staring at some other woman like she’s the only woman on Earth while my skin still burns with the heat of his gaze.
He may have insulted me, but minus the last two minutes of our time together, he was an incredible lover.
“He was fine,” I say vaguely, omitting the fact he looks like a fallen angel and fucks like the devil. “Just not my type.”
The rowdy bunch of men clocks me as I pass them, and I barely hear Angela over the top of their ensuing wolf-whistles and drunken howls. I ignore them and press the phone into my ear to catch the end of Angela’s question.
“-take you off the list then?”
“Yes,” I agree, biting my lower lip between my teeth. “Thanks for everything. And sorry it didn’t work out.”
“It’s fine. Take care, Gianna.”
A thought pops into my head before she rings off.
“Angela, wait! Why did you tell this client my name?”
There’s a brief pause before Angela answers, confused.
“I didn’t.”