Dirty Love Romance

Own Me by  Penny Wylder

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1

"Remember why you're doing this," I tell my reflection. The girl in the mirror looks doubtful. She's dressed for the part, in sky-high heels and a slinky lace babydoll lingerie top, not quite see-through but close enough. But despite her tousled hair and plumped-up lips, she doesn't look like an escort. She just looks like... well, me, playing dress-up.

I shift on my heels, trying out a different pose. One knee bent, hands on my hips, chest out...

Not working.

I turn the other direction and try again.

Sigh. Does it even matter? Are you supposed to try to look sexy for your clients, or do they not even care as long as you're warm and willing?

My nerves flare once more, and I pull out my cell to check the site again. Thank god I found this website, a way to advertise for myself, so I didn't have to get involved with any weirdos like the pimps you see in movies and TV shows. I've found myself watching way too many episodes of Law and Order SVU in preparation for this and it's freaking me out.

I stare at the profile of my first client. No photo on his account–but of course, who would want to put their profile on a site like this? You definitely don't want your mother finding out that you're hiring an escort.

My stomach does a little flip just thinking of that word.

This isn't exactly the life I imagined for myself. It's something I never would have considered even just a few weeks ago. Before...

Well. I clench my fists. Before my stepfather stepped in.

The girl in the mirror is grimacing now. Not a cute look. I force myself to think about something else–anything besides the staggering sum of money I owe my stepfather. The drama that drove me into this impossible decision.

I reread the last message from my client. Giovanni. I wonder if that's his real name or if he faked it to further hide his identity. Either way, his credit card verification went through, and from his emails, all crisply polite and businesslike, he sounds as non-creepy as possible.

But what kind of guys go to escorts? What kinds of guys need to buy sex? Broken men... dangerous men?

The knock on the door nearly sends me leaping out of my skin. My phone tumbles to the floor and I leap to my feet, smoothing down the babydoll lingerie one more time.

Here goes nothing. My first client. My first trip down the rabbit hole.

I just hope he doesn't turn out to be my last... episodes of Law and Order are flashing in my skull as I cross the room and undo the latch on the motel door.

I take one last deep breath to compose my face, hopefully hiding any misgivings or nervous expressions. Then I swing the door wide open and plaster on my best come-hither smile.

It immediately fails the moment the door opens.

Holy shit.

A ridiculously tall mountain of muscle stands in my doorway. Even through his T-shirt, I can trace the bulge of his pecs and abs, not to mention his biceps, which look delicious enough to sink my teeth into. And when I look up, my heart starts beating double-time in my chest.

He's rugged-hot, all tan skin, chiseled jawline and high cheekbones dusted with 3-day stubble. His dark hair falls across his even darker eyes, and those eyes are staring straight at me–through me.

I thought I felt naked before, standing around this motel room in a babydoll lace nightgown, but I didn't know the meaning of the word exposed until I found myself staring down this guy. Those eyes look right through me, into my core, and it feels like he's eating me alive.

I realize I'm staring. Stupidly. He realizes it too, because his sharp lips twist into a grin.

"Who were you expecting, the pizza man?" he asks, still smirking, and oh fuck, that voice. Deep and throaty and just the right amount of gravely. I bet he never needs to ask a girl twice for a favor.

Without thinking, I lick my lips, and his eyes drop to mine, that smirk widening. "You must be Giovanni," I finally say, finding my voice. "Come in."

"Thank you, Lilly," he replies as he steps into the room, and for a second I'm confused until I remember the screen name I made up a couple days ago while setting up my account.

As he walks past me, I catch the scent of his cologne, something subtle and pine-like, mingled with his own scent, heady and delicious. My hormones rage in my veins, and I realize I'm actually getting turned on. When he passes me, I catch a glimpse of a sleeve tattoo jutting out of his T-shirt, and I have to fight the urge to peel that shirt off of him to see the rest.

Are all my clients going to be like this?

If so, maybe I shouldn't have been so nervous about this escorting gig. Cause damn, I would fuck this guy for free if I met him in a club.

Luckily he doesn't know that because I still really need the cash.

"Thank you for coming," I say, then hesitate, since that sounds a little weird. Do you thank clients?

He's watching me again, those dark eyes of his seeing way too much. "I had to, after seeing your photos," he says, and my cheeks flush thinking of the series of boudoir shots I posted to the website. His eyes roam down the length of my body, lingering on my firm, if a little small, breasts, and again on my hips and my slim legs. "I must say, I'm not disappointed. You're even more gorgeous in person."

I have to clench my knees to stop them from quivering in anticipation. "You're not too shabby yourself," I reply, then almost immediately want to kick myself. Was that weird? Awkward?

But he just chuckles and steps over to the bed, one hand resting on his belt buckle. "Get on the bed, Lilly."

Here we go.

You can do this, I tell myself. But to be honest, the moment I saw Giovanni, I stopped needing a pep talk.

I cross the room and climb onto the bed on my knees, watching him, awaiting my next instruction.

His eyes are doing that studying thing again. "Have you done this before, Lilly?"

I hesitate. Only for a second, but I watch him catch it, and curse myself. "Of course," I blurt, to cover for my hesitation. "Plenty of times. I'm very experienced."

Not entirely sure that was convincing, but he doesn't ask me again. Just watches me in silence for a moment, before he grasps the hem of his shirt and peels it off over his head in one smooth motion.

Fuck yes.

I don't bother to hide my desire as I ogle his body–those perfectly defined muscles, highlighted here and there by the tattoos that scrawl across his body. They're all blackline tattoos, tasteful, geometric shapes and abstract pieces mingling with a couple symbols, like the thorns across his chest and the sailor anchor on his shoulder.

I may or may not be drooling by the time my gaze reaches his waistline and the perfect V-cut of muscle that points straight to his groin like an arrow guiding me home.

While I'm ogling, he's busy undressing. He whips his belt off with a loud snap, the leather cracking like a whip. I jump, and he steps closer to the bed, the belt still in his hand.

"Tell me your rules," he says, a challenge in his gaze. "If you're experienced, then you know what you are and are not willing to do."

My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. Should I have told him the truth? That this is my first time? But what if he wants someone experienced; what if he gets mad I didn't mention that in my profile? I swallow hard. I've gone this far with it.

Rules, though. What does he mean...?

"Tell me yours first," I reply, raising my chin. "What kind of an experience are you looking for, exactly?"

He laughs softly. There's something dangerous about that laugh. Something that pushes me to the edge between desire and nerves once more. “My rules are simple, Lilly. You do whatever I say.” He leans over me, reaches out to let his fingertips graze my shoulder, gently, almost reverently. But his eyes, still locked on mine, are all fire. “I enjoy being in control.”

If I wasn’t wet before, I definitely am now, my whole body trembling in anticipation. I’ve messed around with toys in the bedroom before, even had a couple of exes who tied me up, but they were jokey about it, goofing around. It was hot, but not… like this. He’s dead serious right now–he wants to be in control.

And I am getting turned on as hell by the thought.

“Your turn.” He tightens his hand on my shoulder. Uses it to spin me around until I’m facing the bed. Then he bends me over, slowly, until I’m kneeling in front of him on all fours. I feel the bed shift as he climbs onto it behind me, his hand trailing from my shoulder to the back of my neck, making every hair rise as he trails his fingertip over my skin.

Unable to help it, a soft moan escapes me, as he traces the ridges of my spine down my back to the edge of my lacey top.

“Tell me your rules, Lilly.” His voice is low, almost a purr, but still commanding.

My belly clenches. I can’t think straight with him touching me. All I want to do right now is surrender to him. But I have to focus–I need to seem like I know what I’m doing right now. “I…” I swallow thickly. “I don’t have any,” I finally whisper.

His hand curls, nails digging into my back. I can feel his thighs against mine, his muscles clenching, and I hear him sigh softly. “God, you are perfect,” he murmurs. It startles me because I didn’t realize how close he was. Bending over me so his breath tickles my ear. Yet he’s still being gentle. I didn’t expect this. His soft touches, light caresses.

“If I go too far, Lilly, just say ‘when.’ Do you understand?”

Numbly, I can feel myself nodding. Whatever he says. I just want him to fuck me already. I’ve never been this turned on before.

Without warning, he clenches my jaw hard and turns my face to the side, until I’m staring straight into his eyes. I tense, startled. He looks angry now. Glaring at me. “Not good enough,” he says. “I need to know that you understand. What do you say if I go too far, if you need me to stop?”

I blink, trying to think through the fog of the ache between my thighs. “When?” I ask, tentative.

He releases my jaw but doesn’t stop staring. “That’s right. I need you to remember that, Lilly. Because I’m going to push you to your limits. I’m going to lead you right up to your breaking point, and I need you to know that you can stop this at any time, if–no, when we get there.”

I swallow again but it’s dry. My whole mouth has gone dry, and my arms have started trembling. I can’t tell if it’s nerves or just how hot and bothered he’s making me. Probably both. “I’ll remember,” I promise him.

He smiles, and some of the anger leaves his gaze now. “Good.” He sits up, and rests a hand between my shoulder blades. Pushes. “Now lay down.”

Obediently, I slide down onto my stomach. His hands travel down my back, exploring my skin. He slides them under the babydoll top, works his thick, rough fingertips over every inch of me, as if he’s memorizing me. He starts to press harder, massaging, but roughly, enough that I gasp when he hits a sore spot. He grins and works at that spot for a moment, forcing the tension out of my body, physically forcing me to relax.

And I do. I sink into the bed, sighing, half in relief and half in surprise. I didn’t expect this. Any of this.