April
The makeup artist applies my blush, and I feel my face heat with frustration. Or is that excitement, or just sheer terror. I can’t even tell anymore.
“Curtain time, girls!” Porsha calls. “Line up in your order.” Her eyes glance over to me. “Cartier, darling, you will be choosing third tonight.”
I nod.
“You will work your choosing order number backwards to number ten, and then for the next two weeks after that, you will choose last. This is how we keep it fair.”
“Okay, sure.” I fake a smile. I won’t be here then, anyway.
“Can I choose first?” The girl with the long dark hair asks. “I know it’s not my turn, but I really want a certain person. I’ve been waiting for him to come back for months.”
Sebastian.
I look her up and down, she’s beautiful with thick, long dark hair and a small tight and toned figure. She has the most attractive face of anyone I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a short red dress that shows all of her curves. Her large breasts are peeking out of her top, and her legs go on for miles.
Sebastian’s slept with her before; I know it. I get a vision of her with him, and my stomach twists with disgust.
“No.” Porsha looks through her printed schedule. “You are…”
I hold my breath, waiting for Porsha to finish. I don’t know if I want to choose before or after the girl. What if I pick him and he really wants her?
Damn it, I’m now regretting asking him to come at all.
“You are second tonight, Luna,” Porsha finishes.
“Yes,” Luna smiles and punches the air.
Shit…She’s before me.
I drop my head. I just want to get the hell out of here.
“Line up, girls.” Porsha smiles. “Game faces on. Our gentlemen pay a lot of money for your company.”
The girls laugh and chatter as they line up, while I close my eyes and try to brace myself to be brave.
The first girl makes her way out onto the catwalk. She walks up and back, and then she spins and walks back out to the end. She performs a sexy twirl to the sounds of quiet excitement from the men, before she stands to the side of the catwalk and places her hand on her hip.
Luna is next, and I watch on as she does the same. My heart is literally in my throat.
Fuck this, I’m never coming back here. This is beyond stressful.
The song changes to Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye, and I exhale heavily. This music is slower, sexier… tantric even. And now it’s my turn.
I walk out to the seductive beat. When I make it to the end of the catwalk, I glance around at the gorgeous men before me.
But not the one I’m after.
I walk to the back, twirl, and then I strut back to the front, placing my hand on my hip just in time to look up into the hungry stare of Mr. Garcia.
He’s sitting at a table at the back with a glass of amber fluid in one hand and a cigar in the other. His legs are spread wide, his appearance dominant.
Our eyes lock, and he slowly brings the cigar to his lips and sucks hard. He inhales, and a thin stream of smoke disappears into his mouth.
Fuck me, this man is sex on legs.
My insides begin to pulse as I imagine him naked and over the top of me.
I remember the way he gripped my face the last time we were together. The way he licked my lips. The way he bit my neck. The way he went down on me midway through sex and licked the mess he’d made.
My nipples harden at the memory. No wonder he has a fucking fan club.
I’m the damn president.
I can pretend all I want that there is something between us, but when I see him here, like this, reality hits home. I want to be dominated by him. I want him to use me, and damn it, I want to be fucked.
His eyes are dark, and I nearly forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
I slowly turn and take my place at the side of the stage.
I watch the rest of the parade, concentrating on not looking up, but I can feel the heat of his gaze.
Is he always this sexual? Or does this club bring something out in him?
The parade ends, and Porsha walks out with the microphone in hand.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce Eleonore.”
The men fall in to silence.
“State your intentions!” Porsha calls.
The men line up in front of Eleonore and, one by one, they introduce themselves. “Who will you choose, Eleonore?”
“Mr. Parker.” She smiles.
A good-looking man steps up and takes her hand. He walks her from the stage. He looks like an athlete or something. Young and virile.
Good choice.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce Luna,” Porsha says, holding Luna’s hand up. “State your intentions.”
The men line up again. All except one.
Mr. Garcia remains seated as he sips his scotch. He looks every bit like the powerful, walking orgasm that he is.
“Who will you choose Luna?” Porsha asks.
Luna smiles and points to Garcia. “Mr. Smith.”
Shit.
He runs his tongue over his teeth and tilts his jaw to the ceiling.
“Mr. Smith.” Porsha smiles. “You are one lucky man tonight.”
Sebastian slowly stands and then comes and takes Luna’s hand. He leads her from the stage, and I drop my head in dismay. What?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“May I introduce Cartier!” Porsha calls. “This is only her second shift. Who will be her second date?”
The men move and stand in a line in front of me.
“Fifty thousand!” a man calls.
“Sixty-five!” another man calls.
I glance toward the door to see Sebastian leaving with Luna. He’s holding her hand. He says something to her, and she laughs in response as they continue to leave.
He didn’t even stay to see who I chose, I taste the bile of my stomach as it turns.
God, I read this all wrong.
He doesn’t care that I work here. He just doesn’t give a fuck.
I go through the introductions with the men one by one, and they all seem nice.
But none are who I want.
“Who will it be, Cartier? Who will be your date for tonight?”
I look between them. I want to go for the kindest looking man-the one I know will handle my sexual rejection.
“Mr. Stevenson,” I say softly.
He’s blonde and sweet looking. He walks over and takes my hand to kiss the back of it. “Hello, Cartier.”
“Hi.” I force a smile.
He leads me down the catwalk and we walk toward the exit.
Is Sebastian kissing her right now? Is he grabbing her face and licking it?
God, it’s one thing to never experience a man like Mr. Garcia, but to know what he’s like and not be able to have him… to know that someone else is having it in your place… that’s another level of torture.
Mr. Stevenson and I make it into the elevator, and I stare at the back of the doors.
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it.
“I can’t wait to get you alone, Cartier. I bid for you last week, too.”
I force a smile and, unable to think of a reply, remain silent.
The elevator doors open and we walk down to the room where he opens the door and lets me inside.
Should I just leave? Fuck, this is a mess.
“Champagne?” he asks.
“Please.” I cross my arms and walk over to the window to stare out at the city of London below. The heavy flow of traffic lights up the streets.
So, this is what it feels like to hate yourself.
No money is worth this.
Stop it.
Moments later, Mr. Stevenson passes me a glass of champagne.
“Thank you.” I take a tentative sip as his eyes hold mine. “Do you come here often?”
“When I need to.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “You mean… when you need sex?”
“Among other things.”
God.
There’s a knock at the door. “Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
“No.” He frowns, walks to the door and opens it.
Mr. Garcia stands in the corridor.
“Can I come in?” he asks.