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"Remember why you're doing this," I tell my reflection. The girl in the mirror looks doubtful. She's dressed for the part, in sky-high heels and a slinky lace babydoll lingerie top, not quite see-through but close enough. But despite her tousled hair and plumped-up lips, she doesn't look like an escort. She just looks like... well, me, playing dress-up.
I shift on my heels, trying out a different pose. One knee bent, hands on my hips, chest out...
Not working.
I turn the other direction and try again.
Sigh. Does it even matter? Are you supposed to try to look sexy for your clients, or do they not even care as long as you're warm and willing?
My nerves flare once more, and I pull out my cell to check the site again. Thank god I found this website, a way to advertise for myself, so I didn't have to get involved with any weirdos like the pimps you see in movies and TV shows. I've found myself watching way too many episodes of Law and Order SVU in preparation for this and it's freaking me out.
I stare at the profile of my first client. No photo on his account–but of course, who would want to put their profile on a site like this? You definitely don't want your mother finding out that you're hiring an escort.
My stomach does a little flip just thinking of that word.
This isn't exactly the life I imagined for myself. It's something I never would have considered even just a few weeks ago. Before...
Well. I clench my fists. Before my stepfather stepped in.
The girl in the mirror is grimacing now. Not a cute look. I force myself to think about something else–anything besides the staggering sum of money I owe my stepfather. The drama that drove me into this impossible decision.
I reread the last message from my client. Giovanni. I wonder if that's his real name or if he faked it to further hide his identity. Either way, his credit card verification went through, and from his emails, all crisply polite and businesslike, he sounds as non-creepy as possible.
But what kind of guys go to escorts? What kinds of guys need to buy sex? Broken men... dangerous men?
The knock on the door nearly sends me leaping out of my skin. My phone tumbles to the floor and I leap to my feet, smoothing down the babydoll lingerie one more time.
Here goes nothing. My first client. My first trip down the rabbit hole.
I just hope he doesn't turn out to be my last... episodes of Law and Order are flashing in my skull as I cross the room and undo the latch on the motel door.
I take one last deep breath to compose my face, hopefully hiding any misgivings or nervous expressions. Then I swing the door wide open and plaster on my best come-hither smile.
It immediately fails the moment the door opens.
Holy shit.
A ridiculously tall mountain of muscle stands in my doorway. Even through his T-shirt, I can trace the bulge of his pecs and abs, not to mention his biceps, which look delicious enough to sink my teeth into. And when I look up, my heart starts beating double-time in my chest.
He's rugged-hot, all tan skin, chiseled jawline and high cheekbones dusted with 3-day stubble. His dark hair falls across his even darker eyes, and those eyes are staring straight at me–through me.
I thought I felt naked before, standing around this motel room in a babydoll lace nightgown, but I didn't know the meaning of the word exposed until I found myself staring down this guy. Those eyes look right through me, into my core, and it feels like he's eating me alive.
I realize I'm staring. Stupidly. He realizes it too, because his sharp lips twist into a grin.
"Who were you expecting, the pizza man?" he asks, still smirking, and oh fuck, that voice. Deep and throaty and just the right amount of gravely. I bet he never needs to ask a girl twice for a favor.
Without thinking, I lick my lips, and his eyes drop to mine, that smirk widening. "You must be Giovanni," I finally say, finding my voice. "Come in."
"Thank you, Lilly," he replies as he steps into the room, and for a second I'm confused until I remember the screen name I made up a couple days ago while setting up my account.
As he walks past me, I catch the scent of his cologne, something subtle and pine-like, mingled with his own scent, heady and delicious. My hormones rage in my veins, and I realize I'm actually getting turned on. When he passes me, I catch a glimpse of a sleeve tattoo jutting out of his T-shirt, and I have to fight the urge to peel that shirt off of him to see the rest.
Are all my clients going to be like this?
If so, maybe I shouldn't have been so nervous about this escorting gig. Cause damn, I would fuck this guy for free if I met him in a club.
Luckily he doesn't know that because I still really need the cash.
"Thank you for coming," I say, then hesitate, since that sounds a little weird. Do you thank clients?
He's watching me again, those dark eyes of his seeing way too much. "I had to, after seeing your photos," he says, and my cheeks flush thinking of the series of boudoir shots I posted to the website. His eyes roam down the length of my body, lingering on my firm, if a little small, breasts, and again on my hips and my slim legs. "I must say, I'm not disappointed. You're even more gorgeous in person."
I have to clench my knees to stop them from quivering in anticipation. "You're not too shabby yourself," I reply, then almost immediately want to kick myself. Was that weird? Awkward?
But he just chuckles and steps over to the bed, one hand resting on his belt buckle. "Get on the bed, Lilly."
Here we go.
You can do this, I tell myself. But to be honest, the moment I saw Giovanni, I stopped needing a pep talk.
I cross the room and climb onto the bed on my knees, watching him, awaiting my next instruction.
His eyes are doing that studying thing again. "Have you done this before, Lilly?"
I hesitate. Only for a second, but I watch him catch it, and curse myself. "Of course," I blurt, to cover for my hesitation. "Plenty of times. I'm very experienced."
Not entirely sure that was convincing, but he doesn't ask me again. Just watches me in silence for a moment, before he grasps the hem of his shirt and peels it off over his head in one smooth motion.
Fuck yes.
