“Bullshit!” I shout, throwing up my hands. “You were giving me the fuck-meeyes the entire time. And don’t think I didn’t catch you moan my name.”
She looks down at the floor to hide her forlorn expression. “Nice to see you were paying attention. You make me feel like I’m invisible to you.”
I rub the back of my neck in frustration, before going to kneel in front of her. Erin may be confident and fearless, but she is still a woman. She still needs to feel desired. “Of course you’re not invisible to me, Erin. I see you. Shit, I was touching you…talking to you in ways I shouldn’t have been. For a minute, I forgot where I was.”
She lifts her eyes and hope floods her face. “You wanted me, didn’t you? You wanted to be inside me, right?”
I swallow, pushing down the instinctive Yesin my throat. “I’d be fucking crazy not to want you, Erin. You’re a beautiful woman. But you know I can’t cross that line with you. Not now, not ever.”
“But…but before we did-”
I shake my head, knowing exactly where this is going. “That was then, Erin. And that will never happen again. I told you that. Now if you can’t handle this arrangement, I can find someone who can.”
Tears well in her eyes and she shakes her head. “No. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just…”
I kiss her on the forehead and climb to my feet. “Good girl.”
For once, I’m actually not trying to be the villain. I like Erin, but not in the way that she wants. A few years back, I approached her in a Chicago bar, on her last dime, looking for any rich bastard to buy her a drink and hopefully be her sponsor. Despite being incredibly gorgeous, she reeked of desperation. I had to help her. It was my civic duty to do so before she got caught up with the wrong crowd.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked her, sliding onto the barstool beside her.
“Amy,” she answered, smiling too brightly.
“Amy, huh? What’s your real name?”
Her face fell, and she stared at the gin and tonic she had been nursing for the past hour. “Erin.”
Without a word, I slid her a business card. No name. No information. Just a phone number. Then I slapped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and turned and walked away.
Five minutes later, Erin was ringing my cell phone.
“There’s a diner on Michigan Avenue,” I answered without preamble.
“Which one?” she asked into the receiver.
“Whichever one you find me at.” End.
Half an hour later, Erin slid into the booth I was stationed at, flustered and irritated. I picked up my cup of coffee and casually took a sip before sliding her a menu.
“I’m not here to eat,” she said, pushing it back towards me.
“Order. You’re hungry. And don’t lie and say that you’re not. What we won’t do is lie to each other. Understand?”
Her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t argue. She was perfect for me. I knew she would be. I didn’t have the time or patience to break in someone who didn’t know how to submit.
I sipped my coffee while Erin devoured a large platter of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns and toast. When she had eaten every morsel, I decided it was time to get down to business.
“Tell me your story.”
Without much coaxing, Erin revealed that she was a first year med student with no family and no means to support herself. She had lost her tiny, ramshackle apartment, and her small scholarship didn’t cover much beyond the first year, let alone housing. She was stuck– either drop out and go back home to Idaho, or find other, less-appealing ways to support herself. That day, she had decided that maybe her dreams of becoming a doctor just weren’t going to come true.
“I have a proposition for you,” I told her.
“I’m not a prostitute,” she quickly interjected.
I smiled at her amusingly. “I would certainly hope not.”
I showed her my hand, explaining to her what I wanted and how I would compensate her for it. There, in a small diner in downtown Chicago, I asked about her sexual history (Two guys: an old boyfriend from Idaho and a one-hit wonder in undergrad), her level of inhibition (she considered herself a try-sexuaclass="underline" she’d try anything once), and her health background (squeaky clean: no glove, no love), all of which I had hardcopy proof of already. Then I paid the tab and took her back to my hotel room to sign all the necessary documents and begin the first phase of her training.
“Now, sweetheart, I need to know how far you’ll go. You’re not obligated to do anything you don’t want to, but there are places that I will touch you that will arouse you. That will arouse me. And I will want to fuck you. Hell, I want to fuck you right now.”
She sat on the bed, long, smooth legs crossed and eyes hooded. “I want that too.”
I touched her in places she never even knew were erogenous zones. I kissed her tight body until my lips burned. Then I fucked her long, deep and hard until she soaked the sheets with her wetness.
As she looked at me lazily, her vision shrouded in afterglow, she smiled with delirious delight. “Oh my God. I don’t even know your name.”
I looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her tender gaze. “I’m Justice Drake.”
“Mmmm, Justice Drake. I like that.”
I could already hear her trying out the name preluded by a Mrs. I shut it down quick.
“Yes. And that was for pleasure. However, anytime I touch you from here on out will be strictly business. Understand?”
Without so much as a kiss on the cheek, I left Erin alone in that hotel suite, sore and satisfied, with a few bills and instructions for the following week.
I KNEW I should’ve sent Erin on her merry way the moment she started in with the waterworks. But truth be told, I’m not a complete bastard. I just sometimes like to let my inner asshole shine. He’s much better at evading social nuances than I am.
So I let her dry her tears and even made her a cup of tea. Then I insisted that she pack up those perky tits and get on the first thing smokin’ back to Chicago. But as luck would have it, I was quite possibly a day late and a dollar short.
“Call me when you land at O’Hare,” I say, opening the front door for her to exit. I had been throwing hints all evening, and was about to resort to air traffic control signals.
“Ok. Thanks again, Justice. You’re always so good to me. I’d be lost without you.” She stretches on her tiptoes and kisses me on the corner of my mouth. I’m just about to chastise her for crossing the boundaries, when all coherent thought and sense of speech are stolen from me.
Standing at my door, fire licking her shoulders in the cool, early autumn breeze, is Allison, her hand still raised as if she were preparing to knock.
“Ally…uh…hey.” See, this is the part where the cheating husband shrieks out “It’s not what it looks like! I can explain!”while his pants are around his ankles and his dick is still rock hard.
But I’m not anyone’s husband. And I can’t cheat on someone that isn’t mine. So…why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?
“Oh, my apologies,” she smiles tightly, stifling her discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you had company. I’ll come back later, Mr. Drake.”
“No, no. Erin was just leaving,” I refute, holding the door open wider and nearly shoving Erin out of the way. “Please, come in.”
“That’s not necessary. I should’ve made other arrangements. I’m terribly sorry.”
Allison turns to walk away, and I catch her elbow before she can take another step. She turns to me, animated eyes reduced to questioning slits, but she doesn’t pull away. Fuck it. I’m screwed anyway. “Stay. Please. Stay, Ally.”
She nods slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. I hear the muted rustle of silk and an irritated huff beside me. Dammit. Erin.