So I told the Russian, "I'm not uninterested, Maxim. But I'm a very private person. The less I ask of you, the less you'll ask of me."
He got a stubborn look in his eyes. "I want to know something you've never told another client. Something that no one else knows. I won't let you go until you do."
What to say? I'm an only child of only children, and everyone's dead, so I have to look out for myself. For the last three years, a very sick man has been hunting me. He'll stop at nothing to kill me because I drew blood. So much blood . . .
Yet he'd drawn it first.
I opened my mouth to decline, but Sevastyan said, "Just one thing."
Was I so starved for interaction, so lonely, that I'd break a rule? Did I need it this badly? As long as I didn't reveal anything that could be used to track or identify me. Words were leaving my mouth. . . . "I'm obsessed with economics."
"Slang for money? I kind of figured that out."
"No, econ. As in, the study of. I read everything about it that I can get my hands on." I had since I'd taken my first course in the subject at nineteen. The professor had harped on incentives, making me wonder what had incentivized a rich, older, and sophisticated man like Edward to marry me.
My speaking Spanish gave him a headache. He wanted me to diet away my ass. He made fun of the freckles on my nose. He didn't even like sex with me, never responding to the moves that used to drive guys crazy. Though squeezing my ass had made more than one high school boy spontaneously come, Edward never touched me there.
Only one glaring answer could be supported. He was in it for the money.
Which meant he had none. Which meant he was a con artist.
Which meant my mother had been right about him. I'd discovered him and Julia together not two weeks later.
I faced Sevastyan. "One day I had this epiphany." My words came faster with my excitement. "I realized that economics are the building blocks of life."
"I thought that was DNA."
"Then you need to get more imaginative. On our two dates, you and I have played out several economic scenarios."
"Explain." When I hesitated, he said, "I want to hear this."
"You asked for it," I muttered, before saying, "By singling out tall, kinky blond escorts, you possess a complete preference, the ability of a consumer to fully identify his desires for services. Although I could argue--based on your reaction to me--that tall blondes are positional goods for you, sought only to increase cachet. When I showed up at your door, you experienced supply shock because an unexpected event changed the supply of a commodity, resulting in a sudden variation in its price. I might have employed profit maximization with you, because I had market power."
His lips parted.
"And Monday night, when you were wondering why I was still in your presence--though you were done fucking me--and giving me the same look you'd give a used condom, you'd reached satiation, a level of consumption where the consumer is fully satisfied in a given period of time."
His dumbstruck look deepened. He didn't reply, just stared at me.
So I twirled my hair like a bimbo, lisping, "And I like long walkth on the beath."
Nothing.
"I was joking about that satiation part. Almost mostly."
He muttered, "Blyad ." Another awkward silence followed. His relaxation was gone, and I didn't even know why.
"See, this is why we shouldn't talk. We do better with body language, no?"
He almost seemed . . . wary. "Do you have a degree?"
"No, I don't." This could get dicey.
"But you went to college?"
Bob. "It wasn't a prerequisite for my current employment." Weave.
He was about to ask me more, but Tiffani returned with the check, saving the day.
I told him, "I'll just go run to the ladies' room." I grabbed my purse and hurried off, the tassels of my skirt tickling the backs of my thighs.
When I passed the outdoor bar, guys gawked, knowing what I was. Or thinking they did.
In the bathroom, I stared into the mirror. Cat Marin, escort.
A far cry from my onetime goal: Lucia Martinez, tycoon. From an early age, I'd played with the idea of taking over the world, maybe going into politics like my late father. Even as I partied in high school, I'd gotten straight A's, earning tons of AP credits. I'd planned to graduate college at age twenty-one, with a 4.0 GPA.
Yet the harder I worked, the further I got from my dreams. Which wasn't exactly incentivizing! At least the GPA was still within reach. All I had to do was make an A on my last final.
Ever since I could remember, my mother had told me I wouldn't need a college degree because I would marry and have children. Once Edward had come into the picture, she'd suddenly gotten hip to the times: "Girls like you should be too busy in college to date! In this strange country, it's expected that you will have a career, and marry in your thirties. That's simply how it is here. Finish your degree."
She hadn't instilled much of her Catholicism in me, but I did get the concept of penance. School was mine. Each credit was like one of those medieval indulgences you could buy to wash away your sins.
With a sigh, I smoothed a curl behind my ear and tugged down the hem of my dress.
By the time I passed the bar again, the men were prepared. Three guys tried to press business cards into my palm. I held up my hand. "No, gracias."
The men were all wealthy-looking and fairly attractive, but I wouldn't call any of them. This career would begin--and end--with Sevastyan.
When I returned, he looked furious. "Whenever you're with me, you do not canvass for more business."
"I wasn't!" With a glare, I sat. "I was surprised by their cards."
"You wear a dress like that in a Miami hotel bar and are surprised when men want to pay you to fuck? They know what you are--you might as well wear a sign."
And that sign did not read: Tycoon Walking. Which pissed me off. I was buzzed enough to say, "Brilliant. I'll model my sign after a cabby's: Vacant, Off Duty, Taken."
"Tonight you're definitely taken." He cupped my nape, drawing me in for a kiss. His lips were so firm, and God, he knew how to use them.
Soon we were at each other's mouths, ravenous, kissing for everyone to see. My nipples hardened almost painfully against my halter.
I startled when I felt his palm on my inner thigh. His hand climbed higher. Higher. My dress would provide no barrier, the hem nearly reaching my thong.
Then . . . contact. Against my mouth, he growled the word: "Wet. You're practically vibrating for it."
I squirmed in my seat.
He drew back until our mouths were inches apart. "I'm going to pretend that you aren't like this with your other clients. That I alone make you feel this way." He slipped his forefinger past the silk to trace the seam of my damp lips. My thighs and pussy obediently parted for him. "Purr in your accent that it's true, and maybe I'll believe it."
I leaned forward. "I'll whisper it in your ear." When he tilted his head down, I nipped his earlobe, hard. "You make me this way, you arrogant pendejo."
"Little witch." He was grinning when he took my mouth. Sinking a finger inside me, he kissed and kissed me until I was riding his hand. I neared the point of no return when he broke away from me.
His eyes were hooded, his hair mussed from my hands.
I could only imagine what I looked like. Panting, I squeezed my thighs around his hand. "Why'd you stop?"
He gazed down at me with those penetrating blue eyes. The color of sunstruck ocean. "Do you need me inside you, Katya?" His voice was so husky it made me tremble.
For some reason, this felt like a turning-point moment. So again, I asked myself, Would I fuck him for free?
My answer: "Absolutely."
CHAPTER 10
In the elevator, Maxim maneuvered me against the wall, his body looming.
I turned to him, jutting my breasts and hard nipples for attention. His raised his hands, only to drop them, fists clenched. "Camera," h
e muttered, stepping back. Then he cast me a look of resentment, as if I were the cause of his current discomfort.
As if I wasn't just as bad off as he was. If I didn't feel him inside me soon, I was going to climb the walls!
He stormed from the elevator. In the lobby, he yanked me to him. When I hopped up to lock my legs around his waist, he caught me, growling his approval, his hot hands gripping my ass.
Between kisses, he said, "I've thought about you ever since you left. Couldn't concentrate on business, on anything, for two fucking days."
I moaned, absorbing his words. Was it bullshit? Hazily, I realized he had no incentive to bullshit me. He was guaranteed to have sex with me. For all he knew, I owned absolutely nothing.
How . . . freeing. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either, Maxim."
"I love it when you call me that."
"I'd rather have a mouthful of you than of your name."
He groaned. "I vowed to myself I wouldn't book you. I told myself there could be no such thing as a body like yours."
Against his lips, I said, "I vowed to myself I'd hate you forever."
Balancing me, he managed the front door, closing it behind us. Then he set back in to our kiss. Soon it was burning out of control, our bodies moving and thrusting together. When he broke away, I hungrily followed his lips, panting for more.
"Still! I'm losing control. You do this thing with your mouth--"
I leaned in and did that thing with my mouth. With another groan, he used his free hand to rip the top of my dress, and I didn't care. I wanted him to bare my body, anything to get his lips back on me. He fondled my tits until my nails dug into his shoulders.
But then he drew back, giving his head a hard shake. "Wait, dushen'ka. We're going to relax and take this slowly. I have a matter to discuss with you."
I barely listened to him. My nipples were rubbing across the material of his shirt, driving me crazy. "Discuss after you're inside me." I tightened my legs around him.
"I'm not going to fuck you on the couch again."
"Then fuck me against the wall! Please, please, please."
"Damn it, Katya," he grated, digging in his pocket to snag another condom. "I don't want you to hurt."
"I won't. It'll be good." I leaned forward, teasing his mouth, sucking on his tongue.