Sizzle (6 page)

The puffy lips that wrapped around my cock ten minutes ago are too much to resist, and I cross another line. I dip my head and capture her mouth. She sighs and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. That’s what she is—sweet. It fits her. Pure, sweet, innocence with the mouth of a succubus. I can feel her stealing every bit of energy I have.

There isn’t a question that I’m going to fuck her. I tear my mouth away and release her. I have a single emergency condom in my wallet that’s in the inside pocket of my suit coat. It’s hung up in the small closet by the front door along with my gun and holster.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t fucking move.” The words are harsh, but I would hate to break down the bathroom door to get to her. I stride from the room with purpose and dig the condom from my wallet. She most likely has some. Madison would have made sure of it. I don’t want her moving from the bed, though. I walk back into the bedroom and she’s staring at me with her huge blue eyes.

I sink one knee into the mattress and roll her to her stomach. I cover her back by lying full length on top of her with my face buried in her hair for about thirty seconds. I rise up to my knees and bring her up with me. I’ve craved feeling the softness of her breasts since I saw them. They fit perfectly in my hands. I add enough pressure so she sucks in a quick breath of air. I place small kisses on the long column of her throat where it meets her collarbone. “Spread your knees,” I say huskily against her skin. I widen mine so she can do as I say.

I press forward with my body so she goes to her hands. I release one breast and reach to the side table where I left the condom. I use my teeth to open it and hurriedly slide it over my cock. I just want to be… fucking… inside… her.

I position myself so the tip of my cock is at the heat of her pussy, and I take her breasts again so I have leverage as I glide home. Her skin might be cool, but her fucking pussy is the hottest thing to ever slide over my cock. Her nipples are little pebbles that grow tighter the more I play with them. These are the things I don’t do with a professional. I let them get themselves off. It’s pure selfishness on my part because I love to watch a woman please herself.

I rarely touch them and if I do, it’s usually only their hair.

I never kiss escorts.

I definitely don’t fuck their pussies.

And I’m never gentle. Meeting Celina has abolished all the rules. I graze my fingers down to her hips and hold her still as I slide my cock in and out. One, two, three slow strokes and my balls are ready to explode again. Fucking her is unraveling me. She squeezes her internal muscles around my cock and I almost explode.

“Fuck, you’re killing me, Celina.” She laughs and I lean down and bite her neck hard enough to leave a bruise. Her laughter dies and a low moan takes its place. “Touch your clit or you won’t get off before I’m done.”

You would think I was a teenager. Hell, I’ve gone hours with my cock in a woman’s mouth and managed to control myself. My last steady relationship, which was over about a year ago, was like that every time. After Kat and all her bullshit, I decided that escorts were much lower maintenance. When all was said and done, they cost less too.

Celina’s delectable muscles tighten again and her hips buck as she massages her clit. The next time she’s here, I’m fucking eating her, and I’ll control the action her clit gets. I keep breathing and somehow manage to hold back my impending orgasm. The tempo of her breathing increases and I know she needs me to pick up the pace.

My last thread of control shatters and my thrusts become savage pounding as my cock rams inside her again and again. She cries out. I want to hear my name. I stop all movement even though it almost kills me. “Say my fucking name, Celina.”

She doesn’t make me wait. “Alex.” It becomes a litany as I continue fucking her with everything I have. I clamp my teeth into her shoulder as my balls unload. I’m half lifting her ass up as I press the front of her down against the pillows. She screams and it’s my name that rings through the room and it’s her name that explodes from my lips.

“Celina!”

Celina

MY HANDS SHAKE AS
I remove three grand in folded one-hundred dollar bills from my pocket. The agency will pay me each Friday morning for the previous week. I’ll pay taxes on that money and they’ll already be subtracted when I receive the check. This money, which I can’t take my eyes from, is all mine and will go toward rescuing my niece. My only problem…. I haven’t considered how to hide cash in my dingy motel room. For now, I place it in the drawer next to the bed. I’ll find a hiding place before I go out again.

I cover my warm cheeks with my cool hands. I survived.

The client didn’t kill me and it’s not like having sex with Alex was a hardship. Being paid to fuck a client must get easier. I know what to expect now. I can do it. Nervously, I remove my personal cell phone from my other pocket and call the clubhouse. Loud music is blaring in the background when a woman answers.

“This is Celina Thomas. May I speak to Fox?”

“Yea, bitch, hold on.” I don’t take the name personally. The same woman has answered before and she said the same thing.

Fox is the president of the Desert Crow outlaw motorcycle gang. My half-brother, Lee, was a full member. Lee died when hit by a stray bullet during a drug buy, or at least that’s what his drugged out girlfriend, Pauline, told me when she called about his death. The myth is that clubs like the DC take care of their own. That’s not the first lie I’ve uncovered since the beginning of this nightmare.

I knew absolutely nothing about Pauline before the phone call. She told me my brother was dead and she wanted to know what I would do about the brat he left behind.
Brat
was her word. Lee never said anything about a child.

My niece, Kiley, is the spitting image of my brother at that age and has a head full of his red hair. Not that it was easy to see through the grime. It was her blue eyes that stood out and made me look closer. My brother and I have the same eyes and inherited them from our father.

The first and only time I saw Kiley, I slowly washed her face with a wet wipe I had in my bag. I uncovered the same face I’d seen in countless pictures my mother took of my brother when he was a toddler. Sadly, Kiley stood frozen and quiet while I cleaned her up. It was as if she wasn’t there. No emotion passed over her delicate features. But then, I looked into her eyes and saw the scared rabbit. I swear my heart stopped beating.

That’s when the hammer fell. Fifty thousand dollars or Fox will sell her to the highest bidder. I almost died. She’s three years old, but the hurt of a thousand lifetimes was reflected in her gaze. I saw it all—fear, desolation, abuse. She didn’t move when Pauline’s hand rose. The slap happened before I could stop it. “Smile at your aunt,” Pauline said. The words alone would have broken my heart. But slapping her? Three fucking years old and she’s hit so she’ll smile. Not a tear slipped down her palm-reddened cheek. A small forced smile is what I got. I couldn’t even pretend to hide my horror. Kiley was removed from the room and I wanted to stomp on my brother’s dead body and scream. How could he? We weren’t raised this way. Hell, how could any human being do this to a child?

Lee was a bad seed from early on. His mother died when he was a baby and my dad remarried. My brother hated me from the moment I was born and told me so every chance he got. He was so damn good at fooling our parents. At least until he reached high school and the trouble he stalked began catching up to him.

He was sentenced to several stints in juvenile detention before he turned eighteen. It broke my parents’ hearts. My mother had done her best to love him, but my brother made it hard. He hit her several times and eventually our father kicked him out. Lee was a few months past eighteen when he left for the last time. After that, he contacted me if he needed money. I gave him what little I could scrape together so he wouldn’t burden our parents. My father was laid off his job shortly after he turned fifty-nine. His first stroke followed soon after. He’s in a nursing home now and my mom sits with him each day. She suffered a fractured hip a year ago while helping him to his wheelchair. She had no choice but to stop resisting the idea of putting him in a home.

All of this is piled high on my shoulders along with equal parts guilt. I could have pursued a college degree that would have allowed me to at least make decent money. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life when I graduated high school. The tests I took showed a high aptitude for political science and made the decision for me. Now, I have a mountain of college debt, a father whose Social Security doesn’t cover his nursing home expenses, and a mother who works part-time at a twenty-four hour convenience store just to make ends meet. Add selling my body to this mix and my life is shit.

I have no idea what I’ll even do once I have my niece, and I refuse to think of the possibility that I won’t get her. Her eyes haunt me. It doesn’t matter that I never wanted children. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t enjoy playing with dolls or anything girly when I was young. I was a nerd who enjoyed reading science fiction novels. Not a super smart nerd, either. I didn’t excel in computers or science. Funny that analysis was on my probability chart for careers. It worked for me because I wanted a job to motivate me and hoped to get behind politicians who would do just that. My heart clenched when Alex asked me about my degree. My choice was stupid and he reminded me of that.

Thinking about Alex makes me hot, and I squirm while waiting for Fox to take my call. Alex is seriously too gorgeous for his own good. I never expected to enjoy the sexual aspect of becoming an escort. Maybe if I think of Alex while attending to my next client, I can get through it.

“Fox,” barks in my ear.

“This is Celina Thomas.”

“I know who the fuck you are. Do you have the money for the kid?” His nastiness bleeds into the phone.

He can’t possibly be serious. I don’t think I’ve ever truly hated anyone. But. I. Hate. Him. “No, I don’t have the money. You gave me until July 31
st
.” I squeeze a section of the ugly green motel comforter into my fist and try to keep my voice calm.

“Then why the fuck you calling me?”

God, if he were here and I had a gun. “How is she?” I ask instead of screaming my thoughts aloud.

“This ain’t a fucking daycare, lady. You call when you got my money. Until then, don’t fuck with me.” The call drops.

My fingers tremble and rage makes it difficult to hold back the screams. I need a long shower even if the shower here is disgusting. In my other life, my roommate, who slept with my fiancé, left me with an apartment I couldn’t afford. The minimum wage bookstore job I held gave me barely enough money to pay my half of the bills. Hell, my roommate and I together could scarcely afford the rent. I was the one screwed because the lease was in my name. Now my credit is trash and I can’t find another place that will take me without a huge down payment. I look toward the bathroom and then back at the phone in my hand. One more call and I’ll hit the shower.

I press my mom’s name on my phone.

“Hi, dear,” she whispers. Her exhaustion is evident even though she tries to hide it.

My dad has been unresponsive for months, but she converses softly like he’s only sleeping. I love her so much and want nothing more than to unburden myself with everything going on. She’d never forgive me for selling my body. I also can’t add more sorrow to what she already bears.

I do my best to sound cheerful. “Hi, Mom. How’s Daddy?”

“Let me walk out of the room, dear.”

She won’t talk in front of him if it’s something bad. My heart constricts while I wait. I don’t think I can handle anything piled onto the mountain of shit I’m standing on.

“Okay, sorry for the delay,” she begins. “The doctor came by today and they want to call in… hospice.”

I hear the catch in her voice and I know she’s silently crying. She speaks to my father each day and tells him everything that’s going on in her life. I’ve been there while she talks about her horrible job, my opinion, and the people she meets. I know she isn’t treated well at work, but she never says a bad thing about her life. “I love you, Mom,” is what I tell her. I also can’t help thinking that my dad died months ago. At least their small home in north Phoenix is paid off. When my father passes, just maybe my mother can give up her job and live off the social security that the nursing home eats up. The only solution I see for the future is her taking care of Kiley while I work.