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Authors: Lily Harlem

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BOOK: DangeroustoKnow
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The whole look was the opposite of vain. He didn’t care,
just wore his skin in a way that suggested he had confidence in his ability to
take care of himself, no matter what. I guessed it was that self-assured magnetism
that had attracted me to him from six floors up. It was dangerously strong and
scarily appealing to my depraved antennae.

“You look so cheap,” he said as I approached.

I shrugged and gnawed on my gum. “Yeah, but it’s up to me to
name the price.”

He laughed and the sound almost held humor. “We’ll see. Come
on, this way.”

For the second time he tucked his hand into the small of my
back and urged me forward. We walked out of the park and past the entrance to
the alley we’d been down previously.

My nerves were scattering all over the place, but in a good
way. Did I look like his whore? Would passersby know I was going off with this
dodgy-looking man to have sex for money? What if I saw someone I knew? Would
they stop and speak, ask if I was okay and be shocked by my attire?

It was another risk I was willing to take. The end result
was too exhilarating to be missed.

I was living my whore dream.

He’d been right when he said he lived around the corner. But
it wasn’t an apartment block, it was a shop. An electrical shop with heavily
grilled windows and a fat, sweaty guy sitting at the register. I didn’t need to
look to know he would have a gun beneath his counter and a length of lead pipe
within reach.

Jovica nodded at him and directed me deeper into the shop.
At the very back, through a small storeroom with a grubby-looking kettle and
cracked mugs was a staircase. It was hidden behind a metal door, and as soon as
the door was opened the first step was immediately there.

“Up,” Jovica said in his gratingly commanding voice.

Gripping a smooth wooden handrail, I navigated the narrow
spiral staircase. A rush of adrenaline besieged me. This was like climbing to
my own sick version of a depraved heaven. The amber carpet was threadbare and
the dingy mint-green walls marked black with years of greasy handprints. I was
acutely aware of Jovica close behind me. His body heat radiated onto my bare
legs and his hand was not far behind mine, sliding up the rail.

Eventually I reached another door. He leaned forward,
pressed his chest into my back and shoved a key into the lock. It turned with a
heavy clank just as I was inhaling his deeply masculine smell that reminded me
of the taste of his cock. Involuntarily my mouth watered and I licked my lips.
I hoped I would get to suck on him again.

He flattened his palm on the door and pushed it open. It
swung wide revealing a medium-sized room with one large window facing a red
brick wall. The left pane had a lightning-shaped crack in it.

Stepping in, I glanced around. It was sparse as far as
furniture was concerned. A big bed with a khaki duvet twisted in the center,
dented pillows and a rumpled bottom sheet. A low burgundy couch faced a small
boxy TV and a scattering of DVDs lay on a coffee table. Some of them were porn,
the others appeared to be war movies.

To the right was a counter serving as a kitchen. There was a
fridge, a kettle and toaster. One lone, chipped Formica cupboard hung on the
wall above a sink and the drainer was heaped with dishes. A half-open door
opposite revealed a tiny, dark bathroom, to the left of it was a stack of metal
boxes, long and deep. Dented and strapped with thick cord.

I breathed in. The whole place smelled stale and heavy, as
though it needed a good airing, but what struck me most was the lack of personal
possessions. There was nothing that gave a hint to his personality or his
lifestyle. I already knew he smoked and liked sex, so porn and several
overflowing ashtrays were of little use information-wise.

I shrugged out of my denim jacket, dropped it on the end of
the sofa and turned to him. I was about to say something about his oddly
anonymous room but then remembered it was not my place to comment on his home.

He stared down at me, a hint of amusement on his face. I
remembered his accurate description of me sprawled touching myself on my sofa,
surrounded by pretty soft furnishings. He was aware of how different his space
was from mine.

But that fact made the situation all the sexier. The dingy
scent, the unappealing grubbiness and the lack of homey touches made it
suitable for a low-class whore like myself to come and provide services.

Spitting my gum into my palm, I walked to an orange bag
hanging on a white plastic hook. As I suspected, it was a make-do garbage can
and I dropped the gum into it, spun and placed my hand on my jauntily jutting
hip. “So time is money. What do you want?”

Rubbing his hand over his stubbled jawline, he moved to the
couch and sank his long frame into it. His knees came up higher than the end of
the cushions. He considered me with his flashing dark gaze. “What do I want?”
he repeated. “Why, whore, I think I already told you what I wanted.”

Chapter Three

 

Oh fuck, surely not that speech about fucking my cunt and
then my ass. “I don’t think you could afford that,” I answered sassily, both
thrilled and appalled at the suggestion. No one had ever fucked my ass before.

“I think you’ll find I can.” He plucked his wallet from his
pocket and flashed a thick wad of notes my way. “I think you’ll find I can
afford anything you have to offer.”

I tried to hide a visible gulp. My cunt was creaming, my
whole pelvis contracting as lust, need and fear tangled in a confusing soup of
emotions.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

Shaking my head, I said, “No, not until we strike the deal.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ah yes, the deal. Okay, I’ll tell you
the deal, but there’s no point arguing. I deal for a living.”

“What do you do, Jovica?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, you know my name, clever little
whore.”

“I heard you, when you answered your phone.” I studied my
scarlet fingernails, feigning boredom with the whole conversation.

“And do you like my name?” he asked.

“Yes, it suits you.”

“Mmm, I am rather partial to that one, it has a nice ring to
it, reminds me of home.”

That one?

“Where’s home?”

He wagged his finger at me and stood. “Oh no, too many
questions.”

“You know so much about me.”

He huffed. “I know your slutty fantasies make you put
yourself in danger, that you give great head and have a shiny, bare pussy.
Other than that I know nothing, but feel free to go ahead and tell me.”

I tilted my chin and kept my lips clamped. I was a whore,
his whore, that was our game. I wasn’t Karen the superefficient receptionist
with the chintzy apartment and the little black book full of nice, all-American
men to call on for dates. I was a dirty, low-moraled whore who would do
anything for a buck no matter how degrading.

“You see,” he said, stepping close, crooking his knuckle
beneath my chin and tilting my head, “you don’t want to spoil the fantasy by
telling me anything about your life and I’m not going to tell you anything
about mine…” He leaned low so his lips were only a whisper from mine and his
ruggedly handsome face filled my vision. “’Cause knowing any shit about me,
quite honestly, is just too damn dangerous.”

I trembled beneath his touch. I’d never been so turned-on.
There was something about Jovica that checked all the nasty boxes of my
salacious desires. He was bad, his voice oozed mysterious menace, and he was
right, I knew nothing about him. The risk of being here with him alone, in this
room, where no one would ever think to look for me was huge. It was forcing
adrenaline into my system. But far from flight or fight, it just made me
desperate for the action to begin.

“One hundred,” he said, smoothing his hand gently over my
cheek and slotting his fingers into the hair above my ear. “One hundred for one
hour.”

“Two.”

“I told you, I’m not bargaining. One hundred for one hour of
fucking. That’s the only deal there is.”

Perfect.

The touch of his calloused palm was electric. My nipples
tensed and my whole scalp tingled.

“Okay, one hundred. But condoms, you have to wear a condom.”

“You really think I’d go bareback into your fetid cunt?” he
asked softly, sweetly, as though he’d just offered me a hot chocolate with
marshmallows and sugar sprinkles.

I pursed my lips, thrilling at the way his crude but gently
spoken words cheapened me so much further than if he’d barked them at me.

He twitched his mouth as if he knew he’d said the right
thing the right way. Then he let go of my cheek and swiped his thick, pink
tongue over the pads of both his thumbs. “Close your eyes.”

I did as instructed. There was a sudden damp pressure on my
lids and his knuckles brushed my cheeks. He tugged at my eyelashes, spreading
and smearing my abundant black mascara down my face. I looked up at him when
he’d finished, knowing I must look like a panda. He cupped the back of my skull
with one hand and with the other dragged a thumb over my scarlet lips, pulling
them uncomfortably and smearing the sticky, glossy lipstick over my skin.

Next he ran his fingers into my hair and mussed it up,
yanking and teasing the hair-sprayed curls. Nibbling at his bottom lip, he took
hold of the thin shoulder straps of my vest top. One in each fist.

Next thing I knew, I was jostled hard and staggering to
maintain my footing.

“Hey,” I said, as he ripped the thin cotton down over my
sternum, revealing my modest, creamy breasts.

“Too fucking perfect,” he muttered, gripping a breast in
each hand.

He began to knead, and again I was aware of the roughness of
his calluses. I sucked in a breath. Being handled with no tenderness or finesse
was exquisite. We weren’t lovers or even two people indulging in a one-night
stand. This was business. He was paying to touch me. To grope my breasts.

He stooped and suckled my right nipple. My taut bud strained
for more, and instinctively I reached for his head and arched into him. His
short haircut was silky smooth when I ran my palm down over it, though dragging
up it was cactus sharp.

Holding back a groan of pleasure, because that just didn’t
seem a whore thing to do, I watched him move across my chest to lick and suck
on the other nipple. The stubble on his chin scratched my skin deliciously and
left a heated trail.

Suddenly there was pain, hard, nasty pain on the rise of my
breast. He’d created suction with his mouth, a deep and profound pull that
would leave a bruising mark. He moved along an inch, repeated the action amidst
small sucking noises, and drew on my tender flesh again. Pulling me deep into
his hot, wet mouth.

Whimpering, I tried to move away, but he clamped his arms
around me and pinned me close so I stayed there, taking what my client gave me.
Surrendering to the discomfort even as it moved to my other breast and up to my
collarbone.

“Much better,” he said, straightening.

His lips were shiny and wet and his eyes glistened as he
looked down at my chest. I followed his gaze. My nipples were rosy, taut peaks
and my skin had flushed red from his chin. There were several big mauve
blotches where he’d drawn the blood to the surface. I would be branded for days
to come—by him.

“You looked too damn clean and perfect.”

Swallowing tightly, I slipped the torn vest down my arms and
let it land on the floor.

“And the rest,” he said, nodding at my skirt.

I kicked off my sandals and wriggled down the skirt. Looped
my tiny black panties over my feet and added them to the meager pile. I stood
before him, totally, trashily naked and ridiculously hyped up for the sex that
was coming.

“Go put some porn on,” he said, unhooking his belt.
“Something really filthy.”

Not what I’d expected. I thought I was the star of the show.
But I did as he asked and moved to the low table. The first DVD my hands fell
on was titled
Up Hill
. I shoved it into the player next to the TV and
hit play.

Turning, I watched Jovica undress. His pants landed on the
floor near me, as did his t-shirt. His boots slid off with two quiet
bangs
,
then he shucked off navy boxer briefs to reveal his semi-hard cock.

For a long moment we shared delicious eye contact. The
anticipation of what we were going to do actually simmered in the air between
us. Then he looked down, took his cock in his hand and began to pump. My
attention drifted over his body. He was like a warrior, the muscles I’d
surmised were lean were also sculpted and bronzed. A haze of dark hair covered
the angles of his pecs and faded to sparseness over his defined, flat abdomen.
His physical perfection was magnificent and a sharp contrast to the rankness of
his home. There was only one flaw on his body, as far as I could see—a shiny
silvery scar on his right thigh. It was about three inches long, clear of hair
and slightly raised. Briefly I wondered what caused it.

“Come here,” he said as he sat on the edge of the couch and glanced
between me and the TV.

I walked over to him and he tugged my wrists until my bare
butt touched the table in front of him. I sat obediently, knowing that the
wetness of my pussy would be smearing on the wood, and watched him jerking his
cock. The head was thick and swollen now, the veins on the shaft bulging.

Suddenly he released his dick and it bobbed from his tangle
of black pubic hair, reaching right up to his navel. He scooped a pen from
amongst the DVDs and smiled at me. It wasn’t a kind smile, or a fond one. It
was lecherous, knowing. There was something definitely dangerous about it.

“You’re such a horny little bitch,” he said in the sultry,
quiet voice that went straight to my clit. “A real sleazy fucking whore. I
could invite a whole fucking squadron around here and you’d let them all fuck
you, wouldn’t you? Take them in every fucking hole until you were so full of
their cum that it poured from you whenever you moved for weeks afterwards.”

The vulgar, humiliating words were like oysters and strawberries
to me. An aphrodisiac made rank and disgusting. How he knew his arrogant,
debasing conversation would have my clit twitching and swelling I didn’t know.
But one thing was for sure, I wasn’t complaining.

He tugged off the lid of the pen with his teeth and leaned
forward. The soft black tip touched between the notches of my collarbones, just
below the hollow of my throat. Carefully he wrote the letter “W”. The ink was
thick and smelled strong. Beneath it he wrote “H” then “O”, “R”, “E”.

I had a nasty feeling that it was ink of the
staying-on-skin-for-some-time kind. But that didn’t bother me. The thrill of
seeing the word “WHORE” scrawled down my already used and abused chest, from my
throat to my stomach was divine and stole the moment.

“Whore,” he said, tossing the pen and lid to one side. “Suck
my fucking cock, now.”

He leaned back and hastily I dropped to all fours between
his spread thighs, grateful that the real action had begun. Hungrily I lunged
for his cock and took the head into my mouth. Again his flavor thrilled me,
salty and earthy and so damn male.

He made an approving groan and pushed my head down into his
lap, forcing me to take him to the back of my throat. I willed my gag reflex
under control and was thankful when he let me set up a rhythm of my own,
sucking up and sliding down his shaft using my tongue to hug him and my lips to
create a tight band of pressure. It meant I could breathe.

As the people in the porno movie began to moan and pant
behind me, I arched my spine and thrust my bare butt high, offering him a good
view of my whore’s ass. I figured he’d like that as well as the fucking on TV.

I bobbed my head, steadily taking his glans deeper and
deeper into my throat. My cheeks bulged and his warm breaths washing over my
back increased in depth and speed. A drip of pre-cum seeped from his slit. My
pussy was sopping, my clit swollen and needy. I thought about fretting myself
off while I gave my client head but resisted. This wasn’t about my pleasure. It
was about Jovica’s. He was a paying customer.

“Ah shit,” he said, suddenly shoving me forward.

I was forced to release his cock, and he fisted it with one
hand as he scooped me up and threw me down onto the sofa. I landed on my back,
one foot on the floor, one on the cushions, the wind knocked from my lungs.

He aimed his cock at my chest, pumping it hard and fast.
Suddenly he stilled, his body taut and tense. Then jets of warm, white semen
slapped down onto the black writing on my sternum. More and more came, and I
lifted up off the sofa to meet each delicious arc of cum.

“Ah fuck, yes,” he muttered. Then his voice changed. It
became a little deeper, and he said something in a language I’d never heard
before. In that moment I would have given anything to know what the softly
lilting words meant. He could have said anything, anything at all, for I knew
how sugary sweet he could utter the vilest of endearments.

As his cock softened, he stared at my seriously messed-up
chest. I flattened my palm and rubbed the sticky cum over my breasts, swirling
it around each hard nipple, into the hickies and over
that
word. The
letters smudged slightly, and the ink leaked over my skin the way I was sure my
mascara and lipstick had.

He watched my movements as if mesmerized.

My pussy was thrumming. I could take no more. God only knew
how long it would be ‘til he got it up again. I slid my other hand over my
belly, slipped fingers through my naked, velvety-soft vulva, and sought out my
clit.

“No,” he said, dropping over me and snatching my wrist away.

He shimmied down my body, shoving at my thighs and burying
his head in my pussy. I opened my mouth to call out but no sound emerged. The
pressure and sensation were instant as he lapped wetly, flicking his tongue
around and over my clit.

“Oh yes,” I groaned as the first wave of orgasm approached.
I’d been hovering for so long—hours, days, weeks, forever for this. It gripped
me, flew me up on a plane of bliss, and at that precise moment of ecstasy he
shoved two, maybe three fingers into my squelching pussy, filling me
wonderfully.

My entire spine bowed off the sofa as wild spasms consumed
me. I clenched his fingers as I delighted in becoming a panting, gasping wreck
for several exquisite seconds.

As my breaths came back under control, he lifted up over me.
We were face-to-face. But he didn’t move his fingers, he kept them lodged high
inside me, allowing me to gently spasm around them as I came down from my high.

I placed my hands on his cheeks, and the next thing I knew
he was kissing me, filling me up with my own musky flavor along with tobacco
and his earthy, meaty tang. His tongue was wide and pliant as it swept over my
teeth and into my mouth. His lips were soft and expert as they caressed mine
and his breaths were gentle on my cheek.

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