A 21st Century Courtesan (27 page)

Shit.

I should call her. I know I should.

It makes me nervous, to even come close to my old life. But that's ridiculous. That was my life for over nine years. And Regan is my friend. An unusual friendship, but one of the few I actually have.

I take a breath, dial her number. She picks up on the first ring.

“Val! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine. I just got your messages.”

“Have you been out of town? You didn't say anything. God, never mind. I just want to know what's going on. Zayed wants us to go to Miami tomorrow, but The Broker says you're not going. She's sending Bella instead. You're not sick, are you?”

“No, not sick.” I take the phone and sit on the end of the bed. Joshua's bed. It's solid beneath me, a safe haven. “Regan, I… Look, I've quit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've quit the business.”

“Are you kidding me, Val?”

“No, I'm not.” I tug on my hair, twist a strand around my finger. “Regan, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I should have. But I've been … I have a lot to work out. Do you remember that guy I told you about? Joshua?”

“Jesus, Val. Don't tell me you're still seeing him.”

“It's not like that. I mean it is, but it's … more. I'm
with
him. And he knows about my life. I've told him what I am. What I was, because I've stopped. I'm never going back.”

“Jesus,” she says again. She's quiet a moment. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah. For me, too.”

“I just have to ask, Val… Are you sure about this?”

“I'm not sure about anything right now, except how I feel about him. And that I've given up the business. For good.”

My heart is pounding. But it feels good, too, to say it out loud, to know the truth of it deep down.

“I can't believe you told him. Wow.” She's quiet for several long moments. I can hear her breathing. Then, “I'm going to miss you, Val.”

“We'll still see each other. Don't worry about that.”

“Will we? And how will you introduce me to your new boyfriend?”

That point hits home, like a small knife in my chest.

Regan lets out a long, sighing breath over the phone. “I'm sorry. I am. God, I don't mean to be a bitch. I'm just… trying to figure out how this is going to work out for you.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

My fingers clench on the phone. My skin feels too tight, suddenly.

“Regan, I mean it. I want to see you and Rosalyn. I just have to figure this out… my life. This relationship. I need to come to some conclusions before I can do anything else. I just don't want you to take it personally that I've been out of touch. That I might be for a little longer while I get my head on straight.”

“I won't. But I'm worried about you. I'm worried about how you're going to feel about yourself, putting yourself into
this situation where someone who's important to you might be comparing you to some standard that doesn't even apply to people like us. I don't want you to do that to yourself. Can you tell me you're not doing that already?”

She's twisting the knife, and it hurts. But I have to consider what she's saying, because there's some truth in there.

“No. I can't tell you that's not happening. I don't mean him, I mean me.”

“It's all too easy for girls like us to lose our confidence, what self-esteem we're able to pull together from our weird lives. From nothing more than being wanted.”

She's getting emotional now; I can hear it in her voice. And this is something I've never really heard Regan do. It's affecting me; I can't help it.

“Just protect yourself, Val,” she tells me.

“I will. I'm trying. I understand the validity of what you're saying. But I have to do this.”

She's quiet again. “Val, call me any time, okay? If you want to talk … whatever. Okay?”

“Yes, sure.”

But I know I won't call any time soon. It's too much, talking to her, hearing these truths from her. Too much to face right now.

“I have to go, Val. I have to get packed for this trip. I wish you were coming with us.”

“I know.”

What else can I say? That I wish I were, too? That would be a lie. I can't stand the idea.

“Go, Regan. Have a good trip. Tell Rosalyn you spoke to me. Tell her I'll call her soon.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself. I mean that.”

“I will.”

We hang up and my gut is all twisted inside.

Did I think talking with her now would be easy? I don't know what I thought. My brain is full, overflowing. And everything in there is obscured by some sludgelike pool of murky water that I can't see through no matter how hard I try.

Except for one thing. The one thing I can see clearly is that I love this man.

I wish that were enough. But there is so much more, I don't even know where to begin.

I
HEAR JOSHUA COME
in the door and I pull him inside, start tearing his clothes off, and my own. I know I'm frantic. I don't care. I've had too many hours in which to think—to over-think, I know damn well—and now I just need to feel something good. To feel
him.

“Hey, baby,” he says with a smile, that beautiful, devastating smile, before I kiss him hard, still trying to get his pants off.

He's cooperative, kicking off his shoes, helping me with my bra before I sink to my knees before him, slide his boxer-briefs down over his muscular thighs.

His cock is hardening, beautiful, the shaft thick, the head glistening with one pearly drop of pre-come. I dart my tongue out, lick it off. He groans, his hands going into my hair.

“Ah, Valentine. Love that, baby. Love your mouth on me. Come on, take it in.”

I do, wrapping my lips around his flesh, sucking him deep into my throat. Oh, yes, that's a trick I learned long ago. But I don't want to think about that now. I don't want to think at all. No, just focus on the flavor of his skin, the scent of desire
coming off his body, the way every muscle clenches when I stroke his balls with my hand.

His hips are pumping now, an easy thrusting rhythm, his cock moving deeper into my throat. I want all of him, want to please him, want to give him the best head of his life. I want him to love me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know this is not why he will love me. Or why he won't. But this is all I have right now. This is what I know. I am vaguely aware of how desperate I'm feeling.

Still, his cock feels so good in my mouth. I've always loved giving head. I really do. I suck him harder, and he's groaning now. So damn sexy. My own body is already hot for him, wet. But I can wait for my own pleasure.

“I'm going to come,” he says, gasping.

I grasp his buttocks, pull his hips in, swallow him, right down to the base of his cock, sucking, sucking. There is nothing else for me at this moment but his cock in my mouth,
his
flesh. And my need to make him happy.

“Jesus, Valentine! Jesus, Jesus … Ah …”

He comes, bucking, his seed sweet and salty going down my throat. I swallow it all, wanting that from him, like some sort of gift. I need it. His hands are tight in my hair, possessive. His grip loosens as his body calms, but I hold his cock in my mouth, loath to let go even as he softens.

“Come on, baby. Come here.”

Pulling me to my feet, he holds me against him for a moment. I can feel him shivering the tiniest bit, just beneath his skin. He half-lifts me, lays me back on the sofa, kneels on the floor, and slips my panties off. His face is soft, his features loose with the aftermath of his orgasm, his mouth lush and
full. I reach up, trace my fingers over his lips, over that small scar which only makes him more beautifully masculine. Grabbing my hand, he holds it as he pulls my fingers into his mouth and begins to suck.

Oh, this is lovely, this warm, wet sensation. And his gaze intent on mine. Fucking amazing. My sex is swelling, needing him. I push my fingers a little deeper into his mouth, and he takes them, his tongue swirling against my fingertips. I'm squirming, barely able to hold still.

“Joshua, that's so good. I need more …”

He takes my fingers from his mouth. “Shh, baby. I'll take care of you.”

He pulls them in once more, soft and hot. And I almost feel like his mouth is on my hungry sex. But I wait.

Excruciating.

Lovely.

While I watch, and with his green-and-gold eyes on mine, he slips my fingers from his mouth, uses one hand to part my thighs, and takes my hand, my own slippery fingers, and guides them between my legs.

A shock of lust goes through me. Even better when he presses my damp fingers to my aching cleft, uses his free hand to spread my pussy lips, guides my fingers so that they are on either side of my swollen clit. Then he moves my hand with his, rubbing, rubbing. Pleasure, like a hot current, moves through my body. And the whole time, his gaze on mine, so intense I can barely stand to look at him. But I can't look away.

“Do you want to be fucked, Valentine?” he asks, his voice quiet. His eyes are hot with desire again. Burning.

“Oh, yes.”

He picks up my hand, slides it into his mouth once more,
leaving my fingers wetter than ever. Then he does the same with his own fingers. I am nearly dying from anticipation.

He moves my hand between my thighs once more, finding my clitoris, holds my hand and begins to rub, circling, pressing. It feels so damn good, better than my own hand should. And then he slides his fingers inside me, into that wet, needy hole, and begins to pump. And God, I am ready to come almost instantly. His fingers moving inside me, my own sliding across my hard little clit, and most of all, his gaze on mine, as though he can see inside me.

I moan, pant, and watch his dark pupils expand. His gaze bores into me, burrows deep, as deeply as his hand in my body, pumping, pulling pleasure from me in long, lovely strands.

“God, Joshua … Yes, fuck me, baby, please …”

He moves deeper, faster. And I no longer know if I am moving my fingers over my clit or if it's him. And everything is so slippery, so burning hot. And I am poised on that keen edge, waiting to fall.

“I love you, baby. Love you, love you,” he whispers.

And I tumble over, stars behind my eyes, exploding in my head, like a million points of diamond-bright light, expanding into an entire universe in which nothing exists but he and I.

It's much later when I wake up from a deep sleep. He is lying next to me on the sofa, his long body stretched out against my side, one arm thrown over my waist.

It's dark outside, the dim moonlight coming through the windows, but filtered by the fog, as it often is here at the beach. It's peaceful. So quiet that I can hear the faint sound of the ocean, that soothing white noise I have come to love these past days.

I have come to love everything about this place. But mostly that it's his.

I want to be here. I don't even want to go home. And that scares the hell out of me.

A hard thump in my chest.

This place is not yours.

No. I have been pretending. I'm good at that. This is not news.

How can I be so happy and so bitter at the same time?

He stirs a little, his hand wandering over my side, caressing my breast. I look at his face and I see his eyes are open, two dark orbs in the pale light of the moon.

“Hi, baby,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Are you hungry? We didn't have dinner. Again.”

“No. I'm not. What about you?”

“It can wait. I don't want to get up yet. This is too good.”

I run my fingers through his hair, touch his cheek, needing to know he's real. He is as solid beneath my hand as anything has been in my life.

“It is,” I tell him. “Too good. That's it exactly.”

I really did not mean to say that out loud.

He raises his head. “Valentine? You okay?”

“Yes. Sure.” But I have to look away. I can't look him in the eye and lie.

He takes my chin, forcing me to face him. “No. Tell me.”

I shake my head. Why can't I keep my mouth shut? I don't want to ruin the evening. But it's too late. He sees right through me.

“Come on. Talk to me.”

He pushes himself up on the pillows, taking me with him. I'm shivering a little in the night air; he pulls a throw blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over both of us. It would be a warm, sweet cocoon if we didn't have to talk right now. But we do.

“Joshua … I'm sorry. I've been thinking a lot today. Well, I've been thinking a lot in general.”

“And?”

I can hear the tension in his voice. I don't blame him.

“There's a lot going on in my head. A lot of… thoughts, ideas. A lot of … doubts.”

“About me?”

“Mostly about me.”

“Mostly. But not all.”

I'm quiet for a moment, tugging on a bit of fringe on the edge of the blanket, twisting it between my fingers. “I have to wonder, Joshua … I can't help but think about how things are going to go between us. I don't claim to know much about relationships, but I do know they're never easy. And we have this extra thing to deal with. My past. You can't deny it's a huge issue. I don't know how you'll handle it long term. I don't even know how I'll handle it. It's just so damn hard.”