Broken Girl(20)

“Do you like that?” he whispers. The dusting of his five o’clock shadow drags slowly against my face. His grayish blue eyes constrict, speaking volumes of who he wants me to be when I’m in his territory. I whimper again and nod slightly.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I huff. Every nerve begging him to caress my skin, touch me like I’ve never been touched before.

He, the man who doesn’t tell me his name, let’s go of my arms and pulls my hands up behind my head. I weave my fingers together, he pushes my hands against the back of my neck. He slowly drags his fingers down across my cheek, pulling them across my mouth until my bottom lip rolls out. The muscles in his neck tighten as he swallows. I roll the tip of my tongue across my lips, tasting the desire I have to consume what he is willing to give me.

“Keep your hands there. Don’t move.” He inches his fingers between my waist and the top button of my daisy dukes. Shivers rush down my spine collecting in the swell of my *.

He reaches into my pocket, grabs my phone and tosses it on the table behind me.

“Anything else?” He breathes his words against my flesh as he leans in and presses his plump lips to the pulse slamming against the side of my neck.

“Yeah, eight grand and I will stay with you as long you’re in town.” I pull in a sharp breath. I go rigid when I feel his fingers unsnap and drag the zipper down on my shorts. His breathing focuses; his hard cock is wedged firm in his dress pants.

“Eight thousand and you will be mine and only mine? Whatever I want you to do, you’ll do? Whatever I need from you, you’ll give me? I call bullshit my beautiful Rose.” He slips his fingers across my hip bones, under my shorts and forces them down into a pile around the sexiest pair of red stilettos I own.

Without flinching, without thrusting my hands down between my legs to cover up, I stand there naked from the waist down, and I watch him take me in inch by slow inch. First my ankles, then my calves, across my knees his eyes drink every thirst-quenching cell. He caresses his fingers to my thigh, I don’t move. I’m determined to win this game. Whether he thinks it’s a game or not, I’m not going to give in. Eight thousand bones is more than a reasonable fee when he’s pulling me away from my regular dates. Granted, eight grand is something I would make in three very, very, good months. But he doesn’t need to know that.

His fingers dance across to the inside of my thigh.

“Step out of your shorts, keep the heels on.”

I do what he asks, all while my hands are still tucked against the back of my neck. My elbows are getting tight. He kneels down and moves my Daisy Dukes to the side. His nose is sharp against the inside of my leg, his fingertips skim up the outsides of my thighs, he stands up twisting his hands in the edges of my wooly sweater and thin black tank top. Our eyes tangle in a silent conversation, one where I think I understand what he’s asking before he speaks. I’m standing there for a moment frozen by his silence. Do I drop my hands to pull off my tank top and sweater, or do I stand here, unmoved until he tells me what to do?

“I want to see every inch of your body react to my touch.”

I nod and pull my hands from the worn out position behind my neck and start to drag my fingers around the thin edges of my black tank top.

“What are you doing? Did I say to move?”

“No, but you want my shirt off right, Mister.”

“Just put your hands in the air.”

He wedges his foot between my ankles and urges me to widen my stance. He pulls off my tank top and sweater in one swift motion.

There I am, in nothing more than a black lacy bra and my four-inch stacked red stilettos. The cool air in the room brushes my flesh before his hands caress across my waist and up my spine to the back of my bra. Catching my breath, I stand in front of him, shivers racing across my skin; he leaves goose bumps in the wake of his touch. He takes me in, completely. Erasing the space between our bodies, his fingers nimbly unclasp the hooks of my bra, releasing the pressure of my straps across my shoulders. My tits rest in their natural shape, my nipples rock hard every nerve in my body either ends between my legs or the points of my tits.

“My gracious Rose, put your hands down,” he breathes.

My nameless lover’s eyes bonding to my chest, he removes the loose bra from across my body. He pulls in a ragged breath with a tight smirk as he holds it out in his fingertips before he lets it fall on the pile of my clothes he left on the floor.

He caresses his hands across my shoulders, down past my elbows before he catches my fingers in his hands. Lifting my arms, he takes a step back from me. Naked as the day I was born, developed more than the moment my innocence was stolen, he leans his head to one side and looks me over. For the first time in my life, a man is looking at me like the woman I’m supposed to be and not the object I had become. His focus causes my heart to flounder in my chest. The air in the room tumbles against my vacant flesh; uneasy found a home in every cell of my body as I shift in my stance. The ticking of time clocks me in my head as I watch his vision drink from my exposed skin. He inhales another rough breath before he starts in on saying the words that drench my * in pure sexual desire.

“You are the perfect prick of a poisonous thorn, my beautiful blossoming Rose. Cautiously waiting for me to inhale, pluck and consume you from the bush.” His whisper turns into a raw growl.

Every part of my body melts against his words, weak in the knees, a pulse gallops between my legs. In this moment, I need him to take me. I don’t care if he gives me a f*cking dime; he captures me with his eyes, and possesses me with his words. Is this nameless man going to be the one to finally give me the moment of true reprieve that I’ve been searching for my entire life? Heal me by the words rolling across the tip of his tongue, sewn effortlessly into every fiber of my being, I ache to have him steal my breath and slay my demons. Melting into any arrangement he’ll demand, I’m powerless in my intention to remain professional, suddenly, this is personal, very personal. I bend my arms in the attempt to fold into his body, needing to feel his lips consume mine, he takes a step back. My heart, clinging to the edge of my throat, crashes into the pit of my stomach.