Instead, he leans over and undoes the belt around my wrists. Then he steps away from the bed and reaches for his shirt on the floor.
I sit up, rubbing my wrists. They’re a little red around the edges, sore in a tingly, falling-asleep sort of way. My whole body is, actually. As if I were sleeping before and now I’ve awakened.
“What are you doing?” I ask, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice as he tugs his shirt back over his head.
He turns to face me, smirking again. “We had a one-hour session. Our time is up.” He nods toward the clock on the wall, and my face flushes with heat as I realize he’s right. I completely lost track of time.
I lost track of everything, really.
“Right,” I reply, shaking my head, trying to clear it.
“You’ll find the payment in your bank account already,” he adds. The site we used sets up payments automatically, direct deposits so that you know clients won’t skip out on the bill.
I just earned $1,000 in one hour. It’s a high-end site that really vets its escorts. Yet still, it seems almost unfair that he just paid me for the hottest hour of my life.
I sit up and his eyes dart straight to my body again. I realize I’m still naked, just in my thong now. Yet somehow, I don’t feel self-conscious the way I normally would. After what he just did to me… It feels natural to stand naked before him. To revel in the way his gaze eats up my body.
“I’m glad you were my first client, Giovanni,” I tell him. After all, he was honest with me before. He deserves the same in response. “I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction.”
His mouth curls into a wider smile. “I’m glad, Corbella.” He’s lingering at this point. Not anxious to get out the door, even though he’s already dressed. I wonder if I stepped closer to him right now, reached for him, what would happen… Would he forget about our boundaries, about the time and the money, and just fuck me like he so clearly wants to?
Somehow, I doubt it. He’s too in control–not just of me, but of himself, too. He doesn’t let go, he doesn’t ever lose command.
Besides, those boundaries are important. I need to maintain them. This is a professional relationship, a working one. He’s hiring me for the hour, nothing more.
So why is he still here, watching me with those hungry eyes?
I open my mouth, to say what exactly, I’m not sure. But he speaks first.
“I’d like to see you again.”
Another shiver races along my spine. “I’d like that, too.”
“But until I do, I don’t want you seeing anyone else.”
I hesitate, my eyes widening. Shit.
I don’t want to see anyone else either–not if every session with Giovanni could be like this one, mind numbing, paralyzing and hot as fuck all at once. But I can’t promise him that. I’m doing this for a reason.
My face falls, and his brow creases when he sees me frown. “I’m sorry, Giovanni. I can’t promise that.”
“I’ll pay you,” he counters, lifting an eyebrow. “Three thousand dollars a day, for the next three days. And then I’ll see you again.”
My mouth goes dry all of a sudden. I have other nibbles, other clients I’ve started talking to, but only a couple, and of those, I’m not sure they’ll come through. Even if I saw a client a day, I’d only be making one grand per day. And Giovanni’s offer is triple that.
But why? Why does he trust me so much, this woman he’s never met before? This… well, whore he hired off the internet?
“Why?” I ask, unable to help myself. “Why would you want to do that? You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” he counters, that single eyebrow still raised.
When I don’t reply because I’m not sure how to, he turns and reaches for the doorknob. “I’ll see you in three days, Corbella.”
It’s only once the door snaps shut behind him that I realize he never actually waited for my answer.
2
I lean against the counter of the coffee shop, barely propping myself upright. My fourth customer of the day places her order, glaring down her nose at me when I need to ask her to repeat which kind of artificial sweetener she’d like in her latte. I scribble it onto the cup, pass that down the line to Diana, and stifle a yawn as I accept the customer’s cash.
Fucking hell. I can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. It was bad enough that I didn’t make it home from the motel until nearly 2 in the morning, but then it was impossible to sleep, remembering Giovanni’s dark gaze and his sculpted body, his hot hands on my skin.
I masturbated twice just remembering the way he commanded me, but it wasn’t the same. It was just the usual quick stinging orgasm, not a full-body, all-encompassing one like he gave me.
I need to see him again. I need that feeling back. And, more than that, I need him to fuck me. Hard.
A sharp elbow juts into my side, and I startle, jumping away from the counter. But it’s just Diana, smirking at me. “What’s got you so deep in thought, huh?”
Diana is my best friend–my only saving grace right now. Not only did she find me this part-time coffee shop gig just two days after I got fired, but she also offered her couch to me, letting me crash with her while I sublet the room in my old apartment, the one I could no longer afford.
My stomach clenches at the memory of that day. The day I fucked up everything. The day I ruined my own life and everyone’s around me.
“Nothing,” I tell her. It’s not exactly my most convincing lie.
Diana rolls her eyes. “You’re the worst liar on the planet, you know. Are you daydreaming about whatever sexy hunk of a man you were out all night with?” She wiggles her eyebrows, smirking, and I feel a sudden rush of heat flood my face.
Shit.
I don’t want to explain this to her–there’s no way I’m going to go into the whole story. Diana might be my bestie, but there are some secrets even besties don’t share. Like the desperate depths to which they’ll sink when they owe their stepfather an insane amount of money.
“I wasn’t with a guy,” I protest, but she’s already cackling.
“See! Worst liar ever. How hot is he? Do you have a photo? What does he do for a living?”
Extremely; no, because I met him through an escort site; and actually, no idea, we just fucked for an hour. I shake my head and push her away. The shop door tinkles with the arrival of another customer, thank god, and I speed to the register to take his order.
In the background, Diana twirls a coffee stirrer and eyes me suspiciously. “Fine, don’t spill about your secret boyfriend, then. I’ll just have to beat the truth out of you later,” she warns with a laughing smirk.
Even that makes me blush, because while I know she’s joking, beating the truth out of me reminds me of Giovanni’s hands on my body, coaxing my real name from me, fingering me until I told him anything and everything he wanted to know.
Fuck. Everything reminds me of him.
I am so screwed.
After an exhausting, agonizing nine-hour shift, which started at an ungodly hour this morning, I dump out the till and start to count the cash. The tip jar is lower than ever today, as if my customers were able to see right through me somehow. Don’t tip her; she’s making plenty of money selling her body already.
I wonder if it’s branded on me somehow, invisibly, yet detectable to all the goodie-two-shoes coming into this shop.
$5.22 in tips. For a full shift.
I grimace and slide it into my pocket. At this point, every penny counts, I guess. But all I can think about is how much more money I’d be making at my other job. Not to mention how much more fun…
My mind strays, as it’s been doing all damn day, straight back to Giovanni. I’m daydreaming about his abs, running my hands over them, unbuckling his belt, dropping to my knees to finally taste him, when the bell above the shop door tinkles again.
“We’re closed,” I call out, still counting the register.
“I know,” comes the reply, and that’s when I look up, startled, disbelieving.
Impossible.
Yet there he stands, in the doorway of the coffee shop, looking every inch as tanned, muscular and sexy as ever, arms crossed as he watches me, smirking. For a second, I blink just to make sure I’m not daydreaming. After all, I’m pretty exhausted, and I was just thinking about him. Now here he is, as if he stepped straight from my imagination.
There’s a crash and a clatter as Diana stomps out of the back room with a stack full of trays. She glances past me at him, not noticing the look we’re exchanging, thank god. “Sorry, we just closed,” she’s saying, but I break in.
“I can make a coffee real quick, if you don’t want anything fancy.” I’m not sure why I say it. Just to keep him around, I guess. Or to figure out what the hell he’s doing here; how he found me.
“I don’t do fancy,” he replies, smirking slightly. “Black is fine.”
Now Diana seems to notice something, glancing back and forth between us, but I avoid her gaze and slip around her to pour the coffee from a carafe.
“What’s your name?” he asks, when I return to the register and pass him the cup.
I narrow my eyes in a warning glare as I hand him the coffee. “Corbella.”
“Corbella. Beautiful name. Kind of unusual, too. Does it have a meaning?”
“Did you stop for a coffee or just to flirt?” I ask.
There’s a deafening crash as Diana drops one of the blenders she’s cleaning into the sink. Probably in shock because I’m never this forward.