Chapter One
I’m sure the squeak of the bed and the geriatric pants of Mr. Wilson can be heard from the hallway of the Aria.
I open my eyes and scan the bedroom.
Scattered on the hardwood floor lies an open bottle of Viagra that must have slipped out of the pocket of Mr. Wilson’s slacks. His once crisp shirt is thrown on the floor along with his wrinkled tie.
My clothes are neatly folded on the TV stand—a blood-red dress and lace panties. The color and fabric were specifically requested by Mr. Wilson in honor of Valentine’s Day.
My compact purse rests against my high heels—the second request made by my suitor.
While Mr. Wilson will take several minutes to get himself together, I’ll be able to leave in a rush if I need to.
I learned my lesson early on in myapprenticeshipwhen an old suitor, Mr. Hawkins, suggested we try something new.
At the sight of the whips and chains laid out on the bed, I refused profoundly. Displeased by my rejection, Mr. Hawkins insisted with force. I tried to fight him off, but it only resulted in him slapping me hard across the face, leaving behind a black eye and a mild concussion that cost me an entire month’s paycheck.
Sexually satisfied by his sickening power-play, he hopped into the shower, and that was when I made my escape.
With my clothes scattered across the floor, I couldn’t find them all in time. In desperation and panic, I ran out of the door in only my panties.
Fortunately for me, Luke was there.
He removed his jacket, wrapped it around my indecent body, and handed me the keys to the car that was waiting for us outside.
The last thing I saw before the elevator closed was Luke stepping inside the hotel room.
He returned ten minutes later with scathed knuckles.
I didn’t feel the urge to ask him what he’d done to Mr. Hawkins because I knew what he went in there to do.
After that night, I kept my belongings neatly tucked in a place where I could quickly access them.
I stare out into the city, thankful Mr. Wilson doesn’t have the strength he once had to support the weight of his own body.
I enjoy the nights when I’m on top.
It gives me a sense of power over the men who buy me.
The only downside is that it leaves me to do all the work, but when my dates rent the penthouse suite with breathtaking views of the Strip, riding them isn’t much of a nuisance.
This high off the ground, I can focus on the shimmering Eiffel Tower and the magenta glow of the High Roller rather than the man beneath me. I’m able to remind myself that there is life beyond the one I’m living and an opportunity to create a better one for myself and Ben.
“Oh, yeah, baby. You’re so fucking sexy, Belle,” Mr. Wilson moans, attempting to slap my ass but tragically failing.
I refrain from the impulse to roll my eyes and instead plaster my most lust-filled smile as I peer down at his creased face.
His nostrils flare in a natural response to loss of oxygen, and his eyes roll to the back of his head in pure, orgasmic bliss. A bead of sweat collects near his receding hairline.
I remember a time when I cared.
A time when I would have cleaned the sweat with my bare hands. A time when I would’ve felt pity for the men who, although had a mountain of money, had no one to share it with.
But time and time again, every date came with the same story, just a different face.
The sympathy I once showed was never reciprocated.
I was a measly sex toy, simply there for their amusement to be moved and fucked however they pleased.
They show up horny and discard me lonely.
These men were fed with silver spoons as children, and everything they have has been given to them simply because of their surname.
They didn’t have to break a sweat or sell their bodies to get to where they are.
A flash of their checkbook or mention of Zelle is their measure of a woman’s worth. They don’t even need to woo her to get her into bed. Imagine the effort in such an attempt.God forbid.
Under all the Gucci and Italian moccasins, there lies an insecure man beneath me whose money couldn’t buy him love.
His self-doubt runs so deeply throughout his blood that he easily feeds into everything I tell him.
I say he’s an excellent dancer, and he’d dislocate a hip dancing the night away.
I tell him he’s a great kisser—the best I’ve ever had, and his cheeks blush bashfully.
Where he traps me with his money, I fool him with my words.
I moan my reply and contract my inner muscles, squeezing him further inside me in an attempt to make the process go faster. I rotate my hips and spread my hands on his hairy chest.
“Please, I’m so close.”
His eyes quickly become hooded as he prepares to climax.
He grasps onto my waist as he gives his all in the final moment before he explodes inside me.
The comedown from his orgasm is immediate.
His body goes slack as he lets out a guttural groan, and I collapse next to him. If it wasn’t for his stomach moving up and down with his patchy breathing, I’d be checking for a pulse.
“That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” he manages to squeeze out through heavy pants.
“Same.”
Not.
I’ve actually never orgasmed before. You know what Ihavedone before?
Faked it.
More times than I’ve orgasmed.
Crazy, I know.
But these dates aren’t for me.
They’re for them.
It’s about them. It willalwaysbe about them.
Faking it, along with praise, I learned early on, gets them off faster.
It feeds their ego.
The little boy inside them seeks daddy’s approval and mommy’s unconditional love.
I place a hand on Mr. Wilson’s wrinkled pec and prop myself on an elbow as I peck his lips with mine. “Too bad I have to leave soon.”
“Can’t you stay for a quick shower? It won’t go down for another hour.” He raises a brow and directs his gaze at his penis.
“Oh, I wish, but I don’t want to get on Andrews’ bad side. I must leave soon, but—” I draw circles around his small nipple with the tip of my nail “—if you’d like another date, all you have to do is request me again.”
He grabs my wrist harshly, using a strength he hadn’t shown before, and places my hand on his erection. “I’m still hard, sweetheart.”
See, they’re all the same.
I narrow my eyes and widen my smile as I get back in position and prepare for round two.
