Yours for the Night (6 page)

“And? And?” He sounded like a member of his audience listening to his funny stories and begging for the next line.

“He put my hand on the front of his pants.” She eased a fraction from him and, never taking her eyes off his, glided her hand down between them, fitting his erection to her palm. His lids dropped to half-mast. A burst of laughter drifted 36

The Girlfriend Experience

down the terrace. Neither of them looked. This was what he wanted. Her hand on him when all someone had to do was turn to see.

“He told me to undo his zipper.” She slid down the tongue of his, the rasp of metal seemingly loud, attention-getting. “Then he made me put my hand inside and touch him.” She wrapped one arm around Brock’s shoulders and slipped her hand into his slacks. He’d gone commando, and warm, hard flesh filled her palm. A part of her stood back and couldn’t believe she was doing this. But a bigger part thrilled to the knowledge that she’d made this man so incredibly hard with simply a story and a touch.

“He put his hand over mine and forced me to stroke him.” Just as in her story, Brock covered her hand with his and together they caressed his cock, her fingers wrapped around him.

“I heard someone on the stairs, but he wouldn’t let me go. He pushed me back against the shelf and rocked in my hand. I felt his come on my palm, and I smeared it all over him, making everything slippery.”

Brock swallowed, and his breath puffed. “You naughty, naughty girl.” The glint in his eyes said the naughtier, the better. All the while, she stroked him, tightened her grip, loosened it, caressed him until he was steel in her hand.

“The footsteps came closer and closer, and he whispered in my ear, ‘Don’t stop, don’t stop.’ As if he were chanting. My panties were so wet even though I was afraid we’d be caught. Then he groaned.” She squeezed Brock hard in her hand, droplets of come coasting down her fingers. Leaning in, she pressed herself against him. “Then he made a strangled sound and came all over my hand. And those footsteps, closer, closer, closer.”

Brock mumbled incoherently against her throat.

“Then he pulled my hand out of his pants and held my eyes as he said, ‘Lick it all clean.’ And I did, every last drop.”

She gave Brock one last pump, one last squeeze, one last shift of her body against his. His face in her hair, he groaned, and a jet of come filled her palm. He jerked, once, twice, gasped, then held her still against him.

“Je-sus,” he murmured on the next breath, shuddering in aftermath. Then he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. She wiped her hand on it, then he threw it in the potted plant behind which they’d been hiding, and zipped up. She’d caught him all, without leaving a single stain on his clothing, the only evidence being the handkerchief.

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“My dear, you are a very bad girl.” He smiled, then, her hand in his, stepped from the shelter of the ficus. People dotted the patio, laughter, voices, talking. Anyone could have seen them. Someone probably had. Brock put his arm around her shoulder and hauled her close as they passed a group. “George, Roger, so good to see you here.” A word to a friend, a smile for an acquaintance. “That,” he murmured for her ear alone, “was superlative.”

She hadn’t truly bought into the whole women’s empowerment thing until that moment. But it was power. Her blood pumped with it. He’d come fast, he’d come hard, just from the touch of her hand, her voice, and her imagination. She hadn’t even had an orgasm and it was darn near the best sex of her life. Anyone could have seen, but she’d had him in the palm of her hand, figuratively as well as physically.

“Would you like to dance, Brock? I feel like dancing.”

He held out his arm. “I’d love to.”

Under normal circumstances, she’d have rushed to the ladies’ room to wash her hands. But she didn’t feel the least bit dirty. An hour later, her feet pleasantly tired after several dances, she was slightly tipsy from the champagne she’d drunk. She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a good time at a party, especially not at one of these affairs, which was much more her parents’ speed. Jewel never reappeared, but they’d arranged to make their way home separately anyway. Outside the hotel, Brock handed her into a car he’d called for her. He hadn’t asked her to stay with him, hadn’t tried anything else. Leaning down to kiss her cheek, he pressed an envelope into her hand. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. We’ll have to do this again very soon.”

He closed her door, handed the driver some cash, and signaled him to carry her away.

The car was out of the city before Marianna loosened her grip on the creamcolored envelope. It wasn’t sealed. Easing it open, she stared at the bills inside. Crisp, green, almost new. Her blood pulsed in her ears, and she didn’t know why she’d waited so long to open it. No, dammit, that wasn’t right. She knew why. She was afraid she wasn’t worth as much as Jewel. It was lunacy to compare, but Marianna had been comparing herself to others all her life.

Glancing up to make sure the driver wasn’t watching in his rearview mirror, 38

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she pulled out the bills and fanned them in her lap. Her heart raced. They were all hundreds. She counted like a miser, one, two, three . . . Oh my God. He’d given her three thousand dollars. The thrill that ran through her was almost as potent as an orgasm. Three thousand dollars for a hand job. It had been so fast. The rest of the time, they’d talked, laughed, mingled, danced. If she measured the actual sex time, she’d gotten one hundred dollars a minute.

“DETAILS, DETAILS.” JEWEL CALLED MARIANNA A LITTLE AFTER TEN the next morning. “How’d it go? I want to make sure you’re fine, okay, not freaking out and all that.”

Marianna sipped her second coffee of the day. “It was okay, and I’m not freaking out.” She actually felt good. Almost giddy. She could pay for the windshield in cash, buy new tires, and fix the radiator.

“What did you do?”

“We danced.”

Jewel huffed over the phone line. “You know what I mean.”

She was actually embarrassed to say. She’d never been one to talk about her sex life with friends, at least not in lurid detail. She was even a little uncomfortable when Jewel got explicit. “It was just teenage stuff.”

“I haven’t been a teenager for so long I don’t remember what that is.”

Marianna puffed out a sigh. “Hand.”

“He did you or you did him?”

She clucked her tongue, feeling her face heat with embarrassment. “It was my hand.”

“Hmm.” Jewel allowed a long pause. “How was it? Not the actual hand thing,”

she said with emphasis, “but the experience?”

“You mean do I want to do it again?”

“I mean was it worth it?”

Ah, Jewel was referring to the money. “More than worth it.”

“Do you want to do it again?”

Oh yeah. She wanted the money. She wanted the power. And next time she wanted the orgasm.

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6

“I MADE YOU A DATE.” HARVE SHOVED A NOTE ACROSS CHASE’S DESK, then sat in the chair opposite.

Chase didn’t pick it up. The thought of entertaining some woman, even if she was paid, carved a hole in the center of his stomach. He could always just tell Krista he’d had a great date.

“You don’t get the option to change your mind,” Harve correctly interpreted.

“I’ve already paid for the woman.”

“I didn’t need you to pay for it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t do it if I hadn’t paid up front.”

Chase closed his eyes. His only option was to tell Harve the truth. He wasn’t interested in sex or women. He didn’t give a damn about work or making money. Besides Krista, however, there was only one thing he actually had an emotion about, and that was not to appear self-pitying to his friend of twenty-five years. Rather than do that, Chase reached across the desk and grabbed the note.

“Fine. I’ll meet her.” He didn’t ask her name or what she looked like.

“Take the afternoon off. Go home, have a shower, shave, and dress nicely, okay?”

He laughed; it was almost real, and it almost felt good. “Yes, Dad.”

A COUPLE HOURS LATER, SHOWERED, SHAVED, WEARING A SUIT, and ready for a late lunch, he pulled up in front of an Italian place in Foster City he’d never been to before and climbed from his SUV.

“You’re wearing a suit.”

The voice came from behind. Turning, his heart skipped one beat, just one. A picnic basket dangled from her hands, and she’d wedged a plaid blanket under her arm. Tanned legs beneath a flowing white skirt. His gaze traveled up. He’d expected young. When you thought of sex for hire, you thought young, like that New York governor’s scandal a couple of years ago. That girl had been in her early twenties. This woman was midthirties and in exceptional shape, her hair a mix of blond and brown streaks, her makeup light, her lips a deep burgundy. And she had a gorgeous pair of breasts beneath a tight long-sleeved red top. He was a breast man; he didn’t need them large, but he liked pert. Hers were high, firm, 40

The Girlfriend Experience

plump above the neckline of her low-cut shirt. He didn’t usually stare at a woman’s breasts when he met her. It had been months since he’d paid that much attention. But he was noticing a hell of a lot about her. For the first time, he wasn’t so put out by Harve’s insistence. Instead, he felt . . . warm. After months of a cold knot in his gut even on the hottest summer day, he almost reveled in the burgeoning core of heat.

“I was told the dress code was high-class,” he said, flashing his gaze up and down her entire lithe form, “but now I see that high-class has more than one meaning.”

Her nose wrinkled as she smiled. “Is that a compliment?”

“A very high compliment. I can take off my jacket and tie and anything else you’d like me to if that’ll make you feel more comfortable.” He realized he was flirting, something he thought he’d forgotten how to do. For a moment, he enjoyed small talk with a beautiful woman. “You certainly should remove at least some of those clothes.” She held up a hand to the sky.

“It’s a lovely day, and probably one of the last nice ones we’ll see before the rain sets in again.”

“I do believe it’s supposed to rain later this afternoon.” From the north, the slow-moving clouds were dark, threatening, but to the south, the sky was a vast expanse of blue.

“Then we’d better hurry or our picnic will be spoiled.” She held out a hand. He liked her smile a little too much. Flirting with her was a little too delightful. He shouldn’t enjoy how she made him feel. He even tried to tamp down the sensation, because feeling too good about anything didn’t sit right. Yet Chase took her hand in his and the warmth of her touch stoked a fire in the tiny nucleus of heat trying to build inside him.

“I’LL DRIVE,” CHASE SAID. “YOU NAVIGATE.” HE PULLED HER IN THE

opposite direction from her car.

Marianna figured there had to be some sort of symbolism in what he said.

“My name is Marianna.”

He smiled. He had good teeth, white and straight. But then she wasn’t buying a horse. The rest of him was darn nice, too. Beneath the suit jacket, he wore a tailored white shirt over a muscular chest and a flat abdomen. With strands of gray in his black hair and attractive lines on his face, she guessed him to be 41