Authors: Jayne Rylon
StarofChristmas
Star of Christmas
Star has seen it all as a sex worker in Amsterdam. She
harnesses her intense sexuality to bring her clients satisfaction—or whatever
else they desire. When one of her favorites, Rick, makes an unusual
proposition, she accepts the rare opportunity.
She finds herself onstage, the lead in a naughty Christmas
pageant, indulging in electrophilia where anyone can witness her
client-turned-costar give her a present she’ll never forget. The sparks between
them grow into something more, forcing them to decide if they’re strong enough
to seek more than simple pleasure together.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica
Publication
Star of Christmas
ISBN 9781419931765
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Star of Christmas Copyright © 2010 Jayne Rylon
Edited by Mary Moran
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication December 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of
Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home
Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Star of Christmas
Jayne Rylon
Dedication
This book is for all the people at Ellora’s Cave who have
encouraged, inspired and helped me along the way.
To oodles of EC authors for first introducing me to erotic
romance…
To my wonderful editor Mary Moran for never steering me
wrong…
To Raelene for taking a chance on an unconventional
manuscript…
To Kelli Collins for making me laugh while teaching me how
to be a better writer…
To the amazing support staff for slaving away behind the
scenes…
This one’s for you.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Louboutin: Christian Louboutin
Overture
Through my window, snow is falling. Unique flakes dazzle me
as they swarm and crash then disperse, earthbound, in the glow from my red
light. Gorgeous and yet a pain in the ass—like so many things in life.
Let me count the ways.
Customers stay indoors to avoid the chill or romp through
the rare weather, making for slow nights in Amsterdam’s infamous district.
Unless you factor in the men who seek alternative methods to keep toasty and
stranded passengers from Schipol taking advantage their airline delays.
Slut shoes plus treacherous icy cobblestones equal a
terrifying combination. I’m not the sort of woman who wears rubbers to work—at
least not the kind that protect my investment in my Louboutins—only to slip on
sumptuous six-inch stilettos at the last instant. My pride rebels. The mystique
generated by my stacked heels is part of who I am.
Which is why I cringe when Rick, a frequent customer, fills
me in on the news.
“Damn it, Star.” He pants as his orgasm weakens him. My
liquefied bones leave me unable to protest as he withdraws his softening cock
from my pussy and crashes to the mattress in my booth’s loft. The hint of
frustration in his tone has me squinting.
“You’re not satisfied?” A complaint would be a first for me.
Not that whores have the equivalent to a corporate comment box system, but my
popularity and the abundance of my repeat clients reassure me of my skill.
I sit up, crossing my legs, lifting his head to rest on my
thigh as I play with his hair. Dozens of shared sessions with him have taught
me I don’t have to hesitate to explore in the aftermath of our pleasure. I
figure he craves the interaction. After all, he purchased a full hour tonight
when he never requires more than a quarter of that to reach satisfaction in my
body, usually dragging me along with him.
Something about his honest craving for
me—
not just an
easy lay—affects me. The chemistry between us makes serving him a pleasure.
Sure, he hires other girls in the district from time to time. Then again, I
sometimes try a new ice cream flavor before indulging in Rocky Road for my
standard Saturday night treat.
“No. I mean, yes. I’m satisfied. More than.”
I massage Rick’s scalp until he rewards me with his content
relaxation. Before I can gloat to myself, he shakes his head, caressing me with
his thick mane. When he tilts his face to meet my curious stare, his nostrils
flare in response to the scent of the arousal he’s inspired.
He laughs. “I can’t think straight when I’m near you. What I
meant is, I didn’t come here for this.”
“You didn’t?” What else would he seek from me? I’m providing
his essentials.
Rapture.
Friendship.
Intimacy without responsibility.
“Not tonight.” He levers upright, granting me the opportunity
to admire his toned torso as he rests his shoulders on the wall beside me.
A far cry from baby’s-butt smooth or steroid-strong. A
natural ideal. Nice.
“Star, I have a proposition.” He links our fingers as though
he misses our contact as much as I do.
“I thought I already resolved your proposition.”
He rolls his eyes, soliciting a giggle. A reaction not every
customer can inspire.
“Not a request for myself. For Chloe.” He sighs as he rubs
the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, his scruffiness multiplying his
handsomeness.
I cup my breast with my free hand, remembering how his
whiskers applied the precise amount of roughness I prefer to my skin. So
different than the touch of a woman. “Chloe? The principal at Triple X?”
Rick works as a bouncer for a live sex show near my window.
When he nods, I wince. I hate to disappoint.
“Sorry, Rick. I’m not attracted to her. If you hire me so
you can watch me with another woman, or arrange a threesome, I could suggest—”
“Holy shit. Stop. Right there.” He gulps in breaths until he
resembles my goldfish Goldy. “Or I’ll need another fuck before I can finish our
business.”
“It could be fun to ride you and chat at the same time.” Why
do I hunger to please him—and myself in the process—again so soon? The night is
young. There will be plenty of other customers to share with. “Now, oral sex
and conversation, that’s trickier. But I
am
a professional, you know. I
could probably handle it.”
“Maybe you should put some clothes on.” Rick grumbles then
tugs my satin sheet over his better-than-average form.
Disappointment suffuses me. It’s quickly replaced with
concern. I usually have no trouble becoming exactly what my customer needs,
whatever they may desire. He’s certainly never turned away from me before.
What am I missing?
“Am I annoying you?” I can’t quite catch my balance tonight.
“No, Star.” He gathers me to his side, the damn fabric
separating us even as the barrier heats with our joint radiance. Somehow the
temperature seems to spike when we’re near. “You could never do that. I’m
trying to tell you Chloe had an accident.”
“Oh shit. Is she all right? Are you?” I raise my head to
weigh his reaction. His compassion for his charges is legendary—something I’ve
always admired.
“I’m fine. She will be too, but she fractured her hip. Damn
boots with gargantuan heels were not made for these conditions.” He grunted.
“She was running late, as usual. Rushing.”
“Wearing her thigh-highs? Red leather? Buckles up the
sides?”
He nods.
“They were designed to make her legs look ten miles long. And
they do.” Chloe may not have my heart racing. Her boots…they’re another matter.
The sleek material oozes sexuality no human can ignore.
Mmm. I rub my pussy against Rick’s sheathed hip.
He grips my waist, refraining from acting on the arousal
stiffening his cock once more. I force my fingers to stay where they’ve landed
on his taut abdomen instead of drifting lower to stroke the bulge tenting the
silky material.
At least for the moment.
Rick’s powers of concentration degrade at an alarming rate.
I’d love to indulge in another round of mattress gymnastics, except he’s
incited my curiosity. I sense he wouldn’t appreciate my intervention, so I
nudge him back on track.
After all, I’m here to serve. Whatever he needs.
“Wasn’t Chloe the lead in the Kinkmas pageant?” Dozens of
fliers for the adult spectacular have decorated windows, littered the ground
and been passed from tourist to tourist in the past month.
Hell, if I didn’t have to work, I might have checked it out
myself. Christmas Eve—all holidays for that matter—are popular nights for
average Joes to slake their loneliness. Like a waiter at a fancy restaurant
hosting company parties or a harried department store clerk, I capitalize on
the season.
No rest for the wicked.
“Yeah. Not possible now. She can’t even spread her legs,
never mind take all they had scripted.”
“Who’s her understudy?”
“This isn’t Broadway, Star!” Rick tousles my hair as he
cracks up, goading me to smack his impressive biceps. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just
picturing the playbill for Kinkmas. Priceless. Maybe I should suggest it to
Tommy as a souvenir.”
Triple X’s owner has earned a reputation for ruthless
pursuit of profit, though never at the expense of his performers. I settle
against Rick once more, enjoying the warmth he lends me. “He won’t go for it.
Too many of the performers are incognito. No pictures. No proof.”
“You’re right. Still, the Kinkmas pageant is why I came to
you tonight.” He draws a breath deep enough to raise me several inches as I
ride his inflating chest. “Tommy’s looking for someone to step in. Tomorrow
night. Someone who can live up to all the hype he’s set in motion. Someone
breathtaking.”
I can’t help myself. I peer into his glittering blue eyes. I
think I discern respect, tenderness and admiration swirling in them. Maybe I’m
imagining it.
“And you thought of
me
?” In a city full of
prostitutes and women willing to use their assets to the fullest advantage, it
wouldn’t take five minutes for Tommy to assemble a line a mile long—brimming
with women who’d claw each other’s eyes out—to audition for a gig with that
kind of exposure. That kind of incentive.
“Yeah.”
I’d be lying if I said the opportunity didn’t intrigue me.
Not for the glory. Not for the money, but for the chance to experiment. “I’ve
never fucked onstage before.”
“Only you would make the perfect Star of Kinkmas. Will you
come with me? Talk to him?”
Well, shit, how can I say no when something in my gut is
doing flip-flops at the compliment. “Yes. But on one condition…”
“What’s that?” He cups my cheek in his hand as he smiles. I
think he might grant me all sorts of favors to earn my compliance.
“Let me thank you right.”