But at the same time, I’m happy and incredibly satisfied now because I needed last night. Given my recent work schedule, giving it up to the twins was an incredible respite from the usual toil of my life. Then again, it was more than just a “respite.” If anything, Casper and Clay ruined me by pummeling me every which way until I was screaming and breathless. I sigh, staring up blankly at the white surface of the bathroom ceiling. Will I ever be the same? I think not.
Of course, the real question is: how have I lasted this long without experiencing two men at once? How does anyone go back to regular and ordinary after experiencing the sheer ecstasy of being double pounded? Will I be able to be satisfied by just one man going forward?
Then again, there’s a good chance I’ll never see Clay and Casper again, and the realization makes my heart sink. Damn. After all, they were clients and I provided a service, so our interaction is over now. The thought makes me sad and I heave a disappointed sigh. I know I shouldn’t feel like this seeing that it was a job, but still. It’s depressing.
Maybe we should have exchanged contact information. It’s not like it’s against City Girls’ rules, but I’ve actually never asked a client for their contact info before. Instead, I usually pull a disappearing act, and this morning was no different. After a quick cat nap, I slipped out of Clay and Casper’s bed and hurriedly shimmied into my dress before taking the subway back to my apartment. It’s a little embarrassing doing the walk of shame, but I’m used to it. After all, men don’t pay for me to be there the sun rises. Instead, they want the mystique and memories of Sexy Mara, and not Bedhead-With-Bad-Breath Mara.
My phone rings from its place on the side of the tub. I sigh. If I could just get rid of this thing, I would, but that hardly seems possible. Reluctantly, I stare at the screen, expecting it to be a call from the law firm. They’re shameless about working people to death, and they probably want me to come in this afternoon despite the fact that it’s Sunday.
But instead of a senior attorney’s name on the screen, it’s Clarissa requesting a video call. I answer it with a rueful smile.
“You’ve caught me in the bath again.”
The middle-aged woman laughs. As always, she has a crimson smile and idly, I wonder if her lips have been tattooed. After all, who wears red lipstick so early in the day?
But Clarissa mere smiles and remarks, “Maybe you’re in the bath too much, Mara. Your skin must constantly be pruney.”
I hold up my hand to inspect it. “Nope, I’m still good.”
She nods. “Well, I’m glad. By the way, I have good news: Clay and Casper Richmond had an amazing time with you last night and have been singing your praises,” she burbles.
My brows go up.
“Really? I have a hard time imagining these alpha males singing praises over anything,” I say. “It hardly seems like their M.O.”
Clarissa shushes me.
“You need to be more positive, Mara! You know that men hate Debbie Downers because who wants to be with a pessimist? So just take the compliment, honey, because you’ve earned it. Besides, Clay and Casper have requested you again for tonight, actually. Are you up for it? It could be worth your while.”
This is where something seems off, and I shoot Clarissa a puzzled look.
“I mean, I’m free, but I’m confused. After all, have you seen pictures of these men? Clay and Casper are gorgeous, full stop, not to mention generous and rich. So why do they even need an escort? They could easily get any woman off the street to go out with them. Hell, they could just crook their little fingers and they’d have pussy lining up for penetration.”
I know my words are rude and shocking, but Clarissa doesn’t look fazed. Instead, she just shrugs.
“Yes, but why do any of our clients use City Girls? You know our clientele consists of handsome, influential men of all stripes. They don’t use City Girls because they can’t get dates but rather because City Girls provides a quality product without the hard work. Who wants to sift through billions of profiles on-line? Who wants to go on ten million blind dates, of which nine million and ninety-nine are going to flop? No, our clients want access to the best product, along with a promise of discretion. That’s you, sweetheart.”
I flinch a little.
“I’ve never thought of myself as a product,” I say in a dry tone. “I suppose that’s one way to put things.”
But Clarissa merely continues.
“In our business, ‘product’ is what you are and you’re kidding yourself if you think the law firm sees things any differently, Mara. You’re product to both of your employers.”