never felt that sense of endless opportunity. I envy you.”
“What did you want to be? When you were a kid? When you were in college?”
I shake my head. “I don't really know. I don't rememberever having any dreams for myself. It never occurred to me. Even now, recently, I've been taking art history courses just because I love art. There's no definitive end, no plan.”
A knot is rising in my chest. This is hitting too close to home.
“I remember we talked art at the opera the other night. But where did it all lead you, Valentine? Do you have a job, a career? I've just realized I don't know that about you.”
“I day trade from home,” I tell him, which isn't a lie, exactly. I've spent the last several years learning about the stock market and I dabble a bit, enough to make some extra cash. It was Louis who taught me. And it's my standard answer. But he doesn't have to know any of that.
I feel a little sick to my stomach.
“Ah, you're a risk-taker,” he says, smiling at me.
I'm not sure if being a call girl for the last nine years qualifies as being a risk-taker. I am as stuck in my job as any nine-to-five corporate hack, if for very different reasons.
I shrug, take a sip of my drink. “Maybe. I do like the thrill of it, the idea of losing all my money, but it's really all a big fake for me. I tend to play it fairly safe.”
“I'm surprised.” His tone lowers and he leans in a little closer, until I can smell the subtle fragrance of his cologne. That wood and citrus scent that filters into my body, finds an empty place right between my thighs, and I swear it strokes me, teases me. “You strike me more as an adventurer,” he says.
There is something distinctly sexual going on in the wicked gleam in his eyes. In the way he is stroking my palm again, in slow circles. The same way his tongue might dance around my clit. Oh, yes, something sexual in my response to his scent, his voice, his touch. The tone of our conversation has shifted with a hard, grinding lurch. I can't help but goloose all over, hot and melting. I manage to smile at him. Actually, I can't help it. My mouth is suddenly not my own. I am about to do something entirely foolish.
I drop my voice. “In certain arenas, yes, I can be very adventurous.”
His slow smile spreads. God, his teeth are so strong and beautiful. The need to kiss him, to feel his tongue in my mouth, is nearly overwhelming. I squeeze my thighs together. I'm throbbing, hurting with the need for him to touch me.
He lets my hand go, pulling away slowly, inch by excruciating inch, like a long caress, his eyes never leaving mine. He clears his throat. “I think I need another drink.”
He motions to the waitress, orders for both of us while I try to pull myself together. But I am buzzing all over, lust as sharp as knife blades in my sex, my hardened nipples, on my skin. I want him too badly. Too much to handle, and I am about to blow it.
You cannot have this.
I need this. Need him.
God.
“I'm sorry. Please excuse me. I'll… I'll be back.” I grab my purse and rush downstairs to the ladies' room.
I ignore the attendant, a dark-eyed woman pointing out the perfume and breath mints on the counter, and push my way into the marble-lined stall, slamming the door behind me. My breath is coming in rough pants. I yank up the hem of my dress and press the heel of my hand over my aching mound. My silk panties are soaked. When I slip my fingers under that damp edge, into my cleft, I am as wet as the ocean, slick, needy.
I am absolutely burning. And my fingers are rough as I massage my engorged clitoris. Harder and faster. I need this,need some release, even knowing I won't find it. Dropping my purse on the floor, I slip two fingers inside, pumping, thrusting, searching for my G-spot. I gasp when I find it. Joshua's scent is all over me. His face in front of my closed eyes.
Yes.
I tilt my hips, spread my legs, plunge deeper.
Yes, just fuck me, please …
Pressing harder, I
“What did you want to be? When you were a kid? When you were in college?”
I shake my head. “I don't really know. I don't rememberever having any dreams for myself. It never occurred to me. Even now, recently, I've been taking art history courses just because I love art. There's no definitive end, no plan.”
A knot is rising in my chest. This is hitting too close to home.
“I remember we talked art at the opera the other night. But where did it all lead you, Valentine? Do you have a job, a career? I've just realized I don't know that about you.”
“I day trade from home,” I tell him, which isn't a lie, exactly. I've spent the last several years learning about the stock market and I dabble a bit, enough to make some extra cash. It was Louis who taught me. And it's my standard answer. But he doesn't have to know any of that.
I feel a little sick to my stomach.
“Ah, you're a risk-taker,” he says, smiling at me.
I'm not sure if being a call girl for the last nine years qualifies as being a risk-taker. I am as stuck in my job as any nine-to-five corporate hack, if for very different reasons.
I shrug, take a sip of my drink. “Maybe. I do like the thrill of it, the idea of losing all my money, but it's really all a big fake for me. I tend to play it fairly safe.”
“I'm surprised.” His tone lowers and he leans in a little closer, until I can smell the subtle fragrance of his cologne. That wood and citrus scent that filters into my body, finds an empty place right between my thighs, and I swear it strokes me, teases me. “You strike me more as an adventurer,” he says.
There is something distinctly sexual going on in the wicked gleam in his eyes. In the way he is stroking my palm again, in slow circles. The same way his tongue might dance around my clit. Oh, yes, something sexual in my response to his scent, his voice, his touch. The tone of our conversation has shifted with a hard, grinding lurch. I can't help but goloose all over, hot and melting. I manage to smile at him. Actually, I can't help it. My mouth is suddenly not my own. I am about to do something entirely foolish.
I drop my voice. “In certain arenas, yes, I can be very adventurous.”
His slow smile spreads. God, his teeth are so strong and beautiful. The need to kiss him, to feel his tongue in my mouth, is nearly overwhelming. I squeeze my thighs together. I'm throbbing, hurting with the need for him to touch me.
He lets my hand go, pulling away slowly, inch by excruciating inch, like a long caress, his eyes never leaving mine. He clears his throat. “I think I need another drink.”
He motions to the waitress, orders for both of us while I try to pull myself together. But I am buzzing all over, lust as sharp as knife blades in my sex, my hardened nipples, on my skin. I want him too badly. Too much to handle, and I am about to blow it.
You cannot have this.
I need this. Need him.
God.
“I'm sorry. Please excuse me. I'll… I'll be back.” I grab my purse and rush downstairs to the ladies' room.
I ignore the attendant, a dark-eyed woman pointing out the perfume and breath mints on the counter, and push my way into the marble-lined stall, slamming the door behind me. My breath is coming in rough pants. I yank up the hem of my dress and press the heel of my hand over my aching mound. My silk panties are soaked. When I slip my fingers under that damp edge, into my cleft, I am as wet as the ocean, slick, needy.
I am absolutely burning. And my fingers are rough as I massage my engorged clitoris. Harder and faster. I need this,need some release, even knowing I won't find it. Dropping my purse on the floor, I slip two fingers inside, pumping, thrusting, searching for my G-spot. I gasp when I find it. Joshua's scent is all over me. His face in front of my closed eyes.
Yes.
I tilt my hips, spread my legs, plunge deeper.
Yes, just fuck me, please …
Pressing harder, I
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