“Payment is upfront. Leave the money on the vanity and for only one hundred you can come inside me right now.”
Uttering a raw sound, he unbuckles his belt and tears down his zipper. “Damn you, Violet. You better brace yourself.”
If he thinks I’m scared of pain, he doesn’t understand a thing about me. Right now, I’m blissfully free of fear. I’m free of any feelings.
“Money first,” I say when he frees his cock with angry urgency and fists the root.
“You’ll get your money when I’m ready,” he says through clenched teeth, pinning me against the wall with one hand on my hip and the other around my neck.
The head of his cock nudges my opening. My body reacts automatically, preparing for him by turning slick.
“You’re wet,” he grunts against my lips, tightening his fingers around my neck.
I battle to speak with the constriction on my throat, but it doesn’t prevent me from smiling. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m a slut.”
His jaw bunches. He breathes hard through his nose as he lets go of my hip to grab his cock. Positioning the head at my entrance, he penetrates me without warning, taking all of me in a single thrust. His movements aren’t mechanical and well-rehearsed. He’s not concentrating on his skill or using his experience to fulfill my fantasies. He’s consuming me with a need that doesn’t allow him to slow down or be gentle. He fucks me while holding me with the most possessive of touches in place, and this time, he’s not reading my facial expressions as he slams into me. He’s looking at the initials on my thigh, the letters that spell his name.
Not even ten seconds later, his body goes taut. He grunts, punching his hips one last time before stilling. I don’t know if I came. Maybe I did. My body hums and my skin tingles everywhere. My head is spinning, and a delicious dizziness threatens to claim me.
He drops his head, his chest heaving as he presses our foreheads together. He doesn’t let go of my neck, but he eases his hold enough to let me breathe as hard as he does.
I sag against the wall, letting it carry my weight. Unable to hold the tension in my hip any longer, I finally did what he asked and close my legs, trapping him between them.
He leans away, his gaze playing over my face. I don’t care what he sees. There’s nothing to hide. There’s nothing. Point.
Just exhaustion.
Just routine, dictating that I should shower and get eight hours of sleep.
He pulls out. No kisses. No frills.
I get it. I get why this is easier. You don’t expect a cuddle when you’ve charged money.
He pays. I deliver.
Clean, bland, and straightforward, not messy and colorful.
If anything, I’m relieved. No more expectations. No more hurting. Just merciful nothingness.
He doesn’t adjust himself or zip up. He leaves his softening cock hanging through his fly, looking perversely sexed up in his power suit and expensive shoes. My foot is still posed on the edge of the tub. When I make to put it down, he catches my ankle, preventing me. His intention registers when he slides his palm up my leg to cup my knee before pushing it sideways. The position opens me like earlier, showing him what he’s bought. He studies it unabashedly, his eyes darkening to black pools as his release runs down the insides of my legs.
He drags his fingers through the wetness on my thigh, coating his fingers before tracing a slow path to my slit. Like I did on the first night he brought me here, he works his release into my body, using the slickness to ease two fingers inside.
My inner muscles clench around the intrusion. I gasp when he rolls a thumb over my clit. It’s like an electric shock. My body’s intense reaction tells me I didn’t come. This time, he doesn’t watch the initials covered with a layer of clingwrap and cum as he pumps his fingers inside me, using his release as lubrication. He reads my face. What he’ll see there is ecstasy, purely physical. He’s paying. He doesn’t have to make me come, but it’s a nice bonus. His whores—sorry, sex workers—must love him.
“Come,” he says.
So demanding, but I do. I come around his fingers with his seed in my body, my dizzy head exploding with colorless stars.
He keeps on pumping, making me ride it out to the end. When my thighs are shaking from being spread open so wide, he finally leaves me empty. Gently, he grips my ankle and lowers my foot to the floor.
The transaction is over, the deed done. I can finally have my shower. As I reach for the door, he grabs my hand.
“Don’t move,” he says.
I still because I have nothing more to prove.
He undresses in silence, leaving his clothes where they fall on the floor. He puts out towels and lets the water run warm before he rinses me, making quick work of washing my thighs. After toweling me dry, he carefully peels away the clingwrap, applies ointment on the tattoo, and carries me to bed.
Oblivion is a wonderful thing. I’m already drifting off when he settles next to me in bed. My eyes are droopy, my eyelids heavy, but the last thing I see before I close them is the blue box on the nightstand. The last thing I register is that he didn’t leave the money.