I snap my head around to look at him. “Why?”
“I’m trying to get to know you, before I take you to my place.” He smirks. I wonder if this guy takes anything in life seriously.
“I have three,” I admit, although reluctantly.
I don’t share with Ryan that his friend, Brady was number four, but he stopped coming to see me after running out on me, leaving me slightly devastated. I had a difficult time getting over him.
“And the rest are a bunch of non-regulars?” he assumes.
“No, I don’t work the floor, only the stage. Anyone who’s not a regular, I have to approve, which never happens.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, revealing that smug grin of his. I take in a breath, mentally preparing for the sarcastic comment about how much I obviously want him, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he asks, “Why is that?”
He’s so damn pushy. As much as I want to tell him my life is off limits, I don’t. Maybe I feel like if I’m honest with him, he’ll see me as more than a hooker. Right, like we’re going to his house to cuddle up and watch a movie.
“My reasons are personal.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
He’s not about to let it go until I answer. I decide to play things as nonchalant as possible, like what I do is typical.
“When I first started at the club, I tried the open floor for a while, but it wasn’t for me. I have more control with my regulars and between them and what I make on stage, it’s enough that I don’t have to be on the floor.”
Actually, I don’t earn nearly enough, but if I’d stayed on the floor, I would’ve ended up on drugs to get through it, like most of the girls at the club, and I refused to let that happen. Ryan doesn’t ask any more questions, and I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t ask.
His loft is gorgeous, rustic and masculine. The walls are muted grey, the fixtures brushed nickel. Several fans hang from the vaulted ceiling. The furniture is sleek, dark leather and teak woods. The walls are covered in black and white landscape photography. By the looks of it, Ryan isn’t hurting for money. It’s mind-boggling why a rich, handsome guy would bring a hooker home with him. He’s every woman’s dream guy. My guess is he could have any woman he set his sights on.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” I stare into his brown eyes, noticing how long his lashes are. He’s handsome and younger than I initially thought. I avert my eyes and ask, “Why am I here?”
He grips my face and pulls my head until I have to look at him. The gleam in his eyes answers before he does.
“I told you. I want to fuck.”
I swallow hard and remove his hand. “You’re a young, successful guy. If you just want to fuck, I’ll bet there are women lined up who would be more than willing to accommodate you.”
His eyes stay on me as his arms wind around my waist. He slips his hands into the butt pockets of my jeans and walks me backward through a door. He keeps going until the backs of my legs hit a bed. My stomach knots up. I can’t look at him, knowing what we’re about to do will mean absolutely nothing to him. He pushes me down on the bed and climbs up my body. Braced above me, he stares down at me, his eyes gloomy and distant. This guy’s heart has been broken, which makes him all the more off limits.
“I don’t want to fuck any woman. I want to fuck you.”
He lowers his head. His lips graze slowly over mine.
“No lips,” I say, breathless.
“You mean no kissing,” he whispers against my cheek.
“No … no lips anywhere. It’s too intimate. I have to be able to forget you when this is over.”
He pulls back and grins. “Oh, sweet girl. I love a challenge.”
I haven’t cried when I’ve been with a client since the first month I was at the club, but I feel the painful sting in my eyes as tears form. As I turn my head to the side, my cheek presses into the brushed-cotton sheet, and the tears come. “Just fuck me so I can get out of here.”
My intention is to fuck Maria until I get her out of my head, but as I stare down at her, tears stream from her eyes in a continuous flow, and for the first time since I was with Tori, I realize what a colossal prick I am.
I lift myself off her and slide up the bed. She doesn’t move, but I hear the sobs she’s struggling to hold in. This girl has been through some tragic shit. She’s a hooker, for Chrissakes. What in the hell am I doing? I have no idea, but I know I like her and she deserves better than the life she currently lives. Even though she sells her body for a living, there’s a purity in her that shines through the hard exterior she tries to project.
She wipes her face and sits up. My arm slips around her lower