Pleasure Extraordinaire 1

Michael Hawkins is mature, rich, and drop-dead sexy. He is also gay.

And for some strange reason, he wants me to be his pretend girlfriend in exchange for a big

sum of money.

He has one condition, though: I cannot get close to a man, or be seen with one during the

one year I’m contracted with him. I thought it’d be a piece of cake, until I meet his two grown-up,
gloriously handsome sons, who won’t take no for an answer, including from me.

I’ll not fall for their cheap tricks even if it means I have to close my eyes each time I see

them. And each time I close my eyes, I imagine their naked bodies doing sinful acts on mine. God
help me before my physical urges get the best of me, and the contract blows up in my face.

Macey Williams is an alias for the villain of The Pursuit Of Passion. Her name was deliberately changed to keep the

mystery for the readers who have not read the Pursuit series.

MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY

CH 1: The Contract

Iron Slap

That’s what they call me, because I killed a woman with just the slap of my hand. It wasn’t the

slap that killed her actually. It was the hook that pierced her head when I slapped her up against the
wall that took her life in a matter of seconds.

However, for some reason, that crucial fact didn't register in people’s minds. When I say

people, I mean millions of them, because Macey Williams, the woman I killed, had put up a video
recorder so the entire world could witness her barbarity as she killed my sister. But it turned out to be
just the opposite of what she’d initially aimed for, and instead, recorded how her life was sucked out
of her lungs.

As a result of the video spreading like wildfire, here I am, stopped almost every time I show up

in public by strangers asking for a picture of my glorious hand, or an autograph drawn by the said
hand. Some folks go as far as asking me to slap them. And not always on the face. I would gladly
honor those airheads’ wishes if I was sure my hand wouldn’t hurt.

Some YouTube guy made an amateur music video of the brief second of my hand hitting the face

of my sister’s kidnapper, using a horrible electronic melody of his own creation as the background
music, and that ridiculous video has gotten over twenty million views. That’s nothing compared to the
two-hundred and twenty-five-million visitors the original video received in its one-week life on
YouTube, before it was banned for violating the website’s terms and regulations against violence.

It’s amazing how such a simple, self-defensive act made me famous nationwide. I have been

approached by insurance companies, detergent manufacturers, food chains, and whatnot to appear in
their commercials. Hell, even a tow truck company wanted to use my hand as their logo. I’d think it
was funny, only it wasn’t. I haven’t, and will never, use the fame of the hand I killed someone with to
make money.

Not that I feel what I did was wrong.

Having been haunted by guilt for the majority of my life for being the cause of my mother’s

death—because she died while giving birth to me—not even a drop of guilt has formed in my heart
for intentionally causing Macey’s death. If I hadn’t killed her, she would have killed my sister.

Now, over eight months after the incident, my life has settled into some sort of normality. I’ve

recently moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Miracle Mile, the same district in Los Angeles
where Taylor, my sister, lives with her husband. The only thing missing to complete the feel of
normality is a job.

My resume rocks for a recent graduate with a double major in Math and Statistics, but the dark-

haired, middle-aged recruitment officer who’s interviewing me right now looks as if she has a truck
driver sitting across from her, wanting to fill the data-analyst post.

“Miss Doheny, you have an excellent background in programming,” she says with an expression

less than enthusiastic attached to her words. Her suit is as black as her long hair, and her shirt a crisp
white with no wrinkles apparent. Her sterile office with its modern furniture is just a continuation of
her perfectionism.

I just nod, because I don’t feel like saying ‘thank you,’ as there’s nothing to thank her for—

she’s just stating the facts.

“Please, tell me about your previous work. It says on your resume that you worked for only one

year in a New York based company. Is there a specific reason for not continuing your duties for
longer?”

There’s only one reason why she’s asking that question directly, and that’s because she knows

why I left that job.

“I took up the post, knowing that I was going to leave it someday, because I wanted to come

back to L.A. sooner or later.”

It’s not the answer she was fishing for. I can see it in the slight twitch of the corner of her lips,

the brief narrowing of her eyes.

“I see.” She lifts a hand and places it on the black desk, tapping her perfectly manicured nails

lightly on the surface. “How was your relationship with your former co-workers? Did you get along
with everyone on your team? Positive interpersonal relationships among co-workers are of vital
importance for us, since you’ll have to work together for several hours a day under extreme stress.”

Extreme stress, my ass! It’s not like they’re saving lives in an emergency department on a daily

basis. “I have no problem cooperating with colleagues in a professional environment. I can assure
you that I’ll be supportive and encouraging of everything that’s related to my team’s success. But, if
you want to know if I’ll just bow my head and won’t say anything if one of those co-workers tries to
take advantage of me sexually, I’m going to have to disappoint you. My supervisor from my previous
job tried exactly that and is now facing five years in jail.”

A smile of triumph curves up her lips, and her eyes brighten as if she’s just found a treasure.

Perhaps I should have just kept my mouth shut and my face straight. But, I’m sure she already knew
that fact about my previous boss and his attempt at raping me, and if she rejects me for exercising my
basic human rights by suing him, this isn’t the right workplace for me anyway.

She asks me a few more questions about my experience with software without really listening

to my answers, because she’s already gotten the answer she’d wanted to hear. She must have already
crossed me off her final list of candidates, and I can’t blame her for acting out of caution. For all she
knows, I might be one of those crazy gold-diggers who won’t refrain from lying about a non-existent
sexual harassment case to squeeze money from companies. And, with the fame I have, if I file a
lawsuit against them, the company’s prestige will be destroyed in a matter of days.

After the lawsuit, the work environment at the company became unbearable with colleagues

talking behind my back, insinuating that I started it all by seducing him. There was nothing I could do
except leave and look for another job. That proved to be wishful thinking, because no other company
wanted to hire me. I became completely unemployable in the entire state of New York, and it would

probably be wise for me to accept the fact that it’s the same here in Los Angeles. I should start
considering the embarrassing option of asking my sister for a post at her construction company.

Reluctantly, I shake hands with the interviewer at the end of the briefest interview I’ve ever

attended and leave her office. Tears sting my eyes, but I work hard not to cry as I walk past the
cubicles. I studied my ass off to finish two degrees and then worked more than sixty hours a week as
an employee for a full year. For what? To end up having to ask my sister for a job?

I walk toward the bus stop, since my fifteen-year-old coupe is broken, and sit on a bench beside

an elderly Latina lady. Construction workers behind us whistle shamelessly and say something I don’t
understand despite the four semesters of Spanish I took at college. I ignore them and return to my self-
pity session.

Every month, I pay twenty-five hundred for my tuition loan, fifteen-hundred for rent for the

smallest one-bedroom apartment in L.A., and another five hundred for everything else. The longer I
stay unemployed, the less chance I have to land a job, and the settlement I received from the sexual-
harassment lawsuit will be used up before I can invest it in something productive. The fact that I have
no health insurance is another big factor that’s more a fear than a motivator.

The bus comes, and I help the lady get on it and then settle in a seat in the back row. My phone

rings with an incoming email, and I tap on the screen to read it. It’s an ad from an airline, as if I can
afford to go on vacation at the moment. I scroll down the inbox to delete all the other spam mail but
stop when I notice an email from Hawkins Media Group. It was sent to me two weeks ago, but I
haven’t noticed it until now.

A position opened up at Hawkins Media Group that matches your profile. I’d like to invite

you to an interview at our headquarters in Sherman Oaks on behalf of Michael Hawkins. Please,
contact me as soon as possible to set up your interview with Mr. Hawkins.

Julie Meadows,

Assistant to Michael E. Hawkins.

Hawkins Media Group

I read the email again with a strong suspicion about its authenticity. It’s most likely another

spam or a cruel joke from a friend, since no detail is provided about the nature of the job post except
for the fact that it matches my profile. How do they know my profile? Oh, I see. They might have seen
my resume on Linkedin. And Michael Hawkins did offer me a job interview about eight months ago at
a business lunch he had with Taylor. How silly of me that I completely forgot about that.

I call Taylor’s secretary and ask for the phone number of Michael Hawkins’ assistant. It’s the

same number as on the email. Does that mean the email isn’t actually some spam? There’s only one
way to find out. I call the number, and a woman with a deep, confident voice answers the phone.

“Michael Hawkins’ office. Julie Meadows is speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hello. This is Lindsay Doheny. I received an email from you about a possible job interview,

and I wanted to make sure it’s real and not spam.”

“Hello, Ms. Doheny. I’m glad you called back. The email is real. A position opened up a few

weeks ago, and Mr. Hawkins personally recommended you. We would be pleased to have you over
for an interview. Would three p.m. work for you?”

“You mean today? In two hours?”

“Yes. Mr. Hawkins has the afternoon free today. He’ll be leaving for Atlanta tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay.” If I can arrive home in half hour, I’ll have only an hour to shower and change into

fresh clothes and another half hour for the ride to the HGM headquarters. “Do you need me to bring
any documents with me to the interview?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll send a company vehicle to pick you up for the

interview.”

“Really? Is that normal? What kind of position am I going to be interviewed for?”

“I’m not aware of the details, but Mr. Hawkins will gladly provide you with all the necessary

information during the interview.”

After I give her my address for the company car to pick me up and thank her, I disconnect,

eyeing the phone in my hand suspiciously. A chauffeur will drive me to the interview where the CEO
will be present? It’s unusual, unless Michael Hawkins is planning to recruit me as his CFO.

I shouldn’t get my hopes high, but since I don’t have anything else planned for the afternoon, the

interview will be a nice distraction, even an additional opportunity to practice my interpersonal
skills. Not that I’m lacking any practice in the interview department after having been interviewed
more than twenty times in the last couple of months. And, if I actually manage to land a job, I’ll forget
all those frustrating interviews ever happened.

I run to my apartment and hurry while getting ready for interview number two of the day. The

company vehicle, a black stretch car no less, arrives at exactly two thirty in front of my apartment
building, and a middle-aged man with blond hair and brown eyes climbs out, walks around, and
opens the door for me.

“Good afternoon, Miss Doheny. I’m Seth. I’ll be your driver today.”

“Nice meeting you, Seth.” Feeling a little dizzy at the unusual kindness of the driver, I nod and

get in the back seat. This is not normal. No way.

Michael Hawkins, the owner and the CEO of Hawkins Media Group that runs two TV

networks, one music recording label, and several smaller-sized advertising agencies throughout
California, is sending out the latest-model limo for me, and I’d be a dumbass if I seriously believed
he’s considering me for a job related to my majors.

I remember, with a cringe because he was actually flirting with me that day, the only occasion

we met. I had accompanied my sister to a business lunch. I didn’t mind it at the time; after all, he’s a
gorgeous man, tall, athletic, and mature. And, I bet he knows what he’s doing in bed. I might have felt
a little attraction to him during the lunch, but those superficial qualities shouldn’t matter to me if
we’re to establish a work relationship.

During the twenty-eight-minute drive, I count the number of red cars I see on the way. I spot

exactly one hundred-and-six red cars, if I don’t count that one car that had two black doors but was
red everywhere else. I have to eliminate it, or I’ll end up having an odd number and my job interview
will flop.

Among all the numbers, it can’t be a number that ends with seven because I hate seven. My

birthdate, which is also the date of my mother’s death, falls on the seventh of June. I found out the
truth about my mother’s death when I was seven. That jerk of a colleague in the previous company
where I worked tried to rape me on the seventh of February. Macey Williams kidnapped Taylor and
me on the seventh of May.

And surprise, surprise, the street number of the house where Macey held us captive ended with

seven as well. It was a clear sign that I shouldn’t have entered the house in the first place. And,
there’re many more things that aren’t just coincidence about seven. Not to mention the deadly sins that
are what? Seven.

Nothing good ever comes of anything related to seven.

That’s why I’m keeping that clown of a car out of my total sum, and the imminent interview will

be  nothing  but  a  light  conversation  filled  with  laughter  and  compliments  about  my  work  ethic,
accomplishments,  and  well,  good  looks.  Of  course  the  flattery  about  my  looks  should  come  from
Michael  and  Michael  alone,  or  I  may  have  to  file  for  another  sexual  harassment  lawsuit  and  that
would most likely label me as unemployable for eternity in California, as well.

I straighten my black pencil skirt and adjust my matching-color clutch under my arm as I climb

the stairs in front of the high-rise that’s only the most luxurious building I’ve ever seen.

The girl at the front desk greets me with a full-tooth smile and informs her colleague of my

arrival through her earphone. “Take the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor and check in with the
secretary. She’ll direct you to Mr. Hawkins’ office.”

I wasn’t aware that the interview would be held in Michael’s office. I should probably stop

calling him Michael in my head to prevent any accidental slips of the tongue. I thank the girl and hurry
straight for the elevators.

When the elevator doors open, I’m confronted with a tall and very slim girl who, judging by her

extravagant looks and the familiarity of her face, must be working in front of the camera in some way,
perhaps in fashion. Her leather jacket and skinny jeans make me feel too overdressed in my black
skirt suit.

I step in, nodding at her briefly. She doesn’t return my gesture, just flips her long, dyed-blonde

hair behind her shoulder. I notice the button for the floor twenty-four is already pressed, which means
she’s going up to the same floor as I am. I feel her heavy stare on me as I hit the button for the doors to
close.

The twenty-fourth floor? Very high for my edgy nerves, but at least it’s not an odd number. I

inhale the strong scent of the girl’s cologne, willing my nerves to calm.

“I wouldn’t bother going all the way up. My father isn’t in today,” the girl says, glancing at her

long, pink nails with a bored expression on her face, and I realize why she’s so familiar. She’s Chloe

Hawkins, Michael’s, ahem, Mr. Hawkins’ only daughter.

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up,” I reply, hoping the disappointment in my voice won’t show

and stare up at the numbers on the pad. It might not be such a bad thing, after all. I’ll probably
concentrate better on the interview questions without the distraction of a beautiful man.

I don’t know the first thing about Chloe Hawkins, so I shouldn’t judge her by the brief two-

second vibe I’m getting from her, but I can say, almost with certainty, that she and I will never be
BFFs.

I shove my shoulders back and lift my chin nonchalantly to keep a straight posture and stand as

tall as I can beside her five-eleven figure, regretting wearing ballerina flats rather than high-heels.

The elevator doors slide open, and Chloe elegantly walks out of it, swaying her non-existent

hips left and right. I follow her, hoping the secretary I’ve been told to see will be in that direction.

I clutch my purse, unable to stop my fingers from squeezing it with anxiety, as I see the brand of

the skinny jeans Chloe’s wearing, 7 For All Mankind. Among all the clothing lines available, my
potential future boss’s daughter has to wear clothes from Seven Jeans.

Seven!

My first instincts about her were correct. It’s crystal clear she and I will never make it beyond

two strangers. That is, if I’m lucky.

I spot a desk and a brunette in her early twenties in a dark-blue suit. She stands and greets

Chloe as she walks past the desk without returning the secretary’s gesture, and enters through the
large glass doors. I hesitate asking the girl at the desk about my interview, but I do it anyway.

“Miss Doheny,” she says, giving me one of the most heart-warming smiles, calming my agitated

nerves a bit. “Welcome to Hawkins Media Group. Mr. Hawkins is waiting for you.” She comes
around her desk and opens the same door Chloe has just passed through a second ago and gestures
with her hand to an anteroom. “Julie, this is Miss Doheny. Mr. Hawkins’ three o’clock appointment.”

Julie welcomes me briefly, dials a number and informs someone of my arrival, while I quickly

scan her large office. The desk and the file cabinets are an exquisite mahogany, while the carpet and
the walls are light cream.

My old office was half the size of this one, and didn’t even have a tenth of the luxury this one

has. Julie’s salary must be also several times higher than mine, although I bet her science knowledge
doesn’t go beyond high-school level. She must have other qualities that make up for her lack of
science knowledge to get her such a nice office.

I’d continue analyzing Julie and the choice of her dress, but the sudden opening of the French

doors at the other end of Julie’s office saves her from my critical evaluation.

I gasp when Michael appears from behind the doors, looking more gorgeous than I remembered.

“Michael…Hawkins,” I blurt out, wanting to kick myself in the gut for calling him by his first

name.

“Just Michael, please. I’m glad you decided to give Hawkins Media Group a chance.” He

stands at the doorway, offering me his hand to shake, giving me a bright, knee-weakening smile.

Right. I’m giving them a chance. I work hard not to roll my eyes at his words and much harder

not to let the sultry scent of his cologne get the best of me.

If only it was just his cologne that was distracting my senses and making my brain go all mushy

in an instant! His full head of black hair, with only a few small streaks of gray above his ears, his
beautiful warm brown eyes flashing sexy suggestions, his Zeus body, all make this man a hunk.

O h God, that body deserves a medal of honor for each and every curve beneath those

undeserving clothes. Even the wrinkles on his face create an aura of sensuality that’s hard to ignore.

I bet with his years of experience, he’s developed some mind-blowing tricks to overwhelm the

poor women who are already mesmerized by his beauty.

I’m torn between wanting to replace Julie to be as close to Michael as possible and hoping to

be assigned to a job on the bottom floor so I won’t do something foolish around him.

My heart is beating as if I’d just finished drinking half a dozen cups of coffee as I close the

distance between us and reach for his hand.

Somehow, I notice Chloe sitting at the edge of a large desk situated in the middle of the over-

sized office and feel grateful for the sneer on her face for keeping me focused on something other than
Michael.

“Hello, Michael,” I say and leave his firm grip. He points toward his office with the same

sunshine smile playing across his lips, and I walk to the middle of the office and stop to wait for him
to close the door…only he doesn’t.

“Chloe, be a darling and give us some privacy, please,” Michael says with a warm, fatherly

voice.

Chloe doesn’t say anything as she practically leaps toward the door with fury steaming from her

red ears.

Michael approaches me and leads me with his hand on the small of my back toward the long,

rectangular table on the north side of his office. “Lindsay, I thought you’d never call. I’m very happy
to see you again.”

“Me, too, Michael. Chloe told me just a minute ago when we met in the elevator that you

wouldn’t be in today,” I say loudly enough for Chloe to hear while she steps out of the office. I smile
with satisfaction, when she flashes me a contemptuous look seconds before she bangs the door
closed.

“She’s a little over-protective of her old father, but she’s harmless. Ignore her caprices, and

you’ll be just fine.”

I want to correct him and say he’s far from old, but I don’t want to be perceived as a bootlicker.

So I just let my body follow where he’s directing me.

A man, whose presence in the office I’ve just noticed, pulls out a chair for me and nods with his

head. He’s blond, as short as I am with my pumps, and wears an expensive navy blue suit.

“This is my assistant, Edrick.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Edrick.” I shake his hand and sit on the edge of the chair. My agitated

nerves won’t let me relax. I drop my purse behind me, keeping my spine straight, clasping my shaking
hands together under the table to hide them.

“The pleasure is mine.” Edrick settles across from me once Michael takes his seat at the head

of the table.

“You’ll interact with Edric k more often than you will with me.” Michael laces his hands and

rests his elbows on the table. “He’ll be responsible for everything related to your recruitment. So
make sure he’s informed about every little detail concerning your life, be it filing your income tax
return or your choice of tampon.”

I come close to choking on my saliva at the word tampon, but I must say his words help me

forget my nervousness. “I don’t think I heard that right. Why would Edrick have to know what I use
during my period?”

“Oh, I apologize. My bad. You must be thinking I’m going to recruit you for a post at the

network.”

I shiver briefly with disappointment. I was counting on getting a job here and skipping that

headache-inducing, motivation-killer job-hunting stage. “I won’t be hired?”

“Oh yes, you will. But not for the type of post you’re expecting to have.”

One of my eyebrows arches without my control, as confusion clouds my mind. “What kind of

post do you have in mind?” I ask hesitantly.

Okay, I like him. Maybe a lot, but I won’t work as a prostitute if that’s what he has in mind.

These wealthy people. All of them are too spoiled to see the value in each individual, and they

think they can buy their frozen hearts’ desire. Where’s the good, old fashioned way of taking the girl
out to a nice restaurant for dinner? He’s so gorgeous; I would probably end up in the same bed with
him before the clock turned twelve.

“I want to hire you as my girlfriend.”

There you go. My fury surfaces with the mere sound of his words, and I jerk to my feet, pushing

the chair back. I should get out of this office before he tastes my iron slap. I don’t want to deal with
another lawsuit.

“Please, listen to what I say before you decide.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“I didn’t think you were one. I just need you to appear as my girlfriend.”

“Oh, I see.” I smirk. Has he stooped that low? “You want to take advantage of the fame of my

iron slap? I thought your business was better than that.”

He shakes his head, an unnerving smile crossing his lips. Funny how that same smile melted me

into a puddle a minute ago. “I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend because of your honesty and
trustworthiness. It would be a lie if I said your selfless act to save your sister had no influence on my

decision. It did, but it just confirmed what I initially saw in you.”

“Why do you want to hire me to appear as your girlfriend exactly? All you need to do is take

me out to a restaurant a few times, and you’ll have a girlfriend with an iron slap. Are you scared I’ll
reject you?”

He throws his head back as his loud laughter fills the room. I sneak a peek at Edrick and see

him mirroring Michael. I shouldn’t have made it so clear that I have a special interest in Michael.
Ahh, my uncontrollable tongue!

“Isn’t she lovely?” Michael asks Edrick and then turns to me. “Believe me, you’d be on the top

of my list of potential girlfriends, but you see, I can’t have a real girlfriend.”

I frown, trying to imagine why such a rich, gorgeous man can’t have a girlfriend. If STDs are

his problem, isn't that what condoms are for? And he doesn’t even need to use protection since there
must be dozens, if not hundreds of pretty girls out there with STDs.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asks, his eyes searching my face, and I shake my head. “It’s

because I’m gay.”

“Huh?”

“And I’m not ready to come out yet. I probably never will be. It would destroy my business and

the life I’ve worked so hard to build. My children would be affected and my employees. The public
opinion regarding homosexuals might be getting more liberal every day, but if the word gets out that
I’m into men, it’ll be my end.”

I plop back on the chair, unable to register his words. My lips are glued together; my brain is

blank. The one man who managed to grab my interest after long months of abstaining turns out to be
gay? That can’t be.

I’ve met and befriended enough homosexual guys to distinguish who’s gay and who’s not, and

Michael looks far from being gay. With his strong features and overpowering command, he is, in fact,
the very symbol of masculinity.

It must be a cruel joke. Fucking rich people! One of their hobbies is messing with the feelings

of ordinary people, like me.

My eyes jump between Edrick and Michael. I wait anxiously for them to break into laughter and

make fun of my foolishness. I’d rather have that than lose Michael without even having a chance with
him.

But the laughter never comes, and instead, Michael continues with his speech. “I need a strong,

opinionated, and trustworthy woman beside me to keep my image as a straight man. You’ll be
compensated with a generous salary for your help, have access to all kinds of luxury products, travel
across the world with me, and have a chance to learn the insights of the media business, if you want.
Please, don’t decline my offer without giving it thorough thought. ”

“I wish I could help you, but I don’t lie. Ever. I promised myself years ago that I’d never lie,

and you’re asking me to lie to millions. That’s not gonna happen.”

“Now, there is no way I’m letting you go without having you sign the contract,” Michael says

with a soft, easy tone in his voice and turns to Edrick. “I was right with my instincts about her. She’s
a treasure.”

Edrick confirms with a quick nod.

Pushing my purse to my side, I flop against the back of the chair and let my muscles relax at

last; still unable to comprehend how my inability to lie is in any way beneficial for them in this
situation. “I don’t see how you’re going to make me sign it without bypassing my number-one rule.”

“By not lying,” Edrick replies.

“And, how is that going to work exactly?” I ask and, by the curious expression on his face, I’m

sure Michael is wondering the same.

“We’ll hire you as an employee, for any position you want. Doesn’t matter. And, you’ll go out

on  several  dates  with  Michael.  We  don’t  need  to  officially  announce  that  you  two  are  in  a
relationship,”  Edrick  says.  “The  media  will  just  assume  it  if  they  see  you  frequently  going  out  to
restaurants  and  events  together.  They’ll  help  spread  the  word  without  you  having  to  label  what’s
going on between you. You can even claim to be friends only. That statement is never taken seriously
by the paparazzi, but that’s not your problem.”

Michael lifts his hands to clap them in the air and then pats Edrick’s shoulder in an encouraging

and not-so-gentle way. “Once again, you’ve proved to me why you're my right-hand man.”

I stare at the two men, wondering if it might work. “I’m not convinced this is the right solution

to my problem.”

“Why not?” Edrick asks. “You and Michael will spend time together out in public or private to

get to know each other and hopefully become good friends. I promise you, it won’t feel like a job at
all. He’s an incredibly cultured, generous, and amusing person. You’ll never get bored with him. I’m
not saying it because he’s my boss. He really is someone very special.” He glances at Michael, who’s
all smiles. “As long as pictures of you together appear on TMZ, your job is done.”

Yeah, I can see he’s someon e special. If only… Anyway. There’s no point in beating a dead

horse. I’ll get the job of my dreams and a salary for spending some enjoyable time with Michael
without having to lie about what we are. It shouldn’t be so difficult. Besides, I’ll have a chance to see
countries that I’ll probably never see if I continue working as a mathematician.

“In addition to that, since we’ll hire you as a regular employee, your salary officially will be

associated with your work and not your relationship with Michael,” Edrick continues. “Currently, we
have three positions that match your profile. But don’t let it limit you. You can have any job in any
department you want, and it doesn’t have to be in the area you studied. HR, marketing, management,
finance. You can even work as an actress for one of our TV shows if that’s what you want to try. Just
decide which one is right for you and I’ll arrange everything else.”

“As much as I like Edrick’s plan,” Michael says. “I don’t want to rush you into a big decision.

Take as much time as you need.”

I let out an exasperated breath and shake my head.

CH 2: The Condition

“You’ll not be treated any differently than the other employees,” Michael continues after

congratulating me for making the right decision. “You’ll receive a monthly salary and the health and
pension benefits. You’ll have the same rights and obligations as every member of Hawkins Media
Groups.”

I can’t help wondering what my salary would be. I used to make fifty-thousand a year in my

previous job as an entry-level data analyst in New York. It wasn’t much, but I’d felt lucky for landing
a job only two months after my graduation. If I expect to be treated fairly, I should ask for at least
three times that amount.

Edrick clears his throat, I guess as a gesture to ask for permission to take over, and when

Michael nods, he offers me a stack of papers, which I guess is the contract. At least the preliminary
version, because I have a feeling I shouldn’t just settle for whatever they require. “This is the
standard contract Mr. Hawkins’ previous girlfriends received, but feel free to point out whatever
bothers you. You’ll be provided with a car of your choice, as well, and it’ll belong to you.”

“Really? Even if I want the latest model of Mercedes?”

Edrick turns to Michael for help, and Michael simply nods to me.

“You’ll also be given a company credit card to cover the expenses of your clothes, shoes,

beauty salons, whatever is necessary to make you look top notch,” Edrick adds as I gaze down at the
four-page contract. “You can ask for a personal assistant to help you buy the right clothes for your
style, but Mr. Hawkins is of the opinion that you have a natural flare and should keep it that way to
give your appearance a personal taste.”

I glance at Michael’s sunshine face over my shoulder, feeling my cheeks getting warm. Even

that small piece of compliment pinches at my heart for the steamy moments I could have had with him.
Perhaps it’s a good thing he’s gay. I’m already on the way to falling for him; what would have
happened to me if he wasn’t actually gay and still wanted to hire me as his girlfriend?

“How about my salary?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the daydreams that are pushing to

occupy my mind.

“Hundred grand,” Edrick replies.

I roll my eyes. “Only that?” For all the trouble I’ll go through for being within kissing distance

with Michael and not being able to kiss him?

Edrick turns to Michael again as if communicating telepathically, and Michael nods. He’s

easygoing, too. Is there anything not attractive about this man? “We can go up to one-hundred fifty, but
you should know that no other previous girlfriends of Mr. Hawkins were paid more than hundred.”

“I’m glad I’m that special,” I joke with a low voice.

“Your total annual salary will be one point eight million,” Edrick says, earning a loud “What?”

from me. The hundred grand they offered initially was for a month’s salary? I negotiated the total sum
without being aware of the right amount. Misunderstandings aren’t always bad, apparently.

“Have I made a mistake in the calculation?” Edrick tabs on his phone, most likely to use the

calculator.

“It was my mistake. I thought one hundred grand was the total sum, not a monthly salary. But

you can’t take your offer back.” I work hard not to laugh at the million-dollar confusion. They could
get me with ten times less money than they initially thought, but holy cow! One million and eight
hundred thousand fucking dollars will be paid to me to appear as the dumb girlfriend of some rich
tycoon for a year?

As if that sum wasn’t enough, I can buy what I want, practically move into a spa and will also

own the car of my dreams? This is not actually happening, right? I must be in a deep coma caused by
a terrible car crash on the way to the interview and am dreaming all this stuff.

“Read the contract carefully, make sure you understand and agree on every condition listed and

get back to us in two days,” Michael instructs with a gentle tone in his voice.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Two days? Many things can happen in two days. They might find another, a

much prettier and better-fitting girl for the post. Someone who is more experienced in the world of
money and glamor and has a real fashion taste. “Just give me five minutes to go over it, then I’ll sign
it.”

Michael stands and calls Julie to bring drinks for us. Shamelessly, I ask for a scotch. I’m

signing a huge contract. I might as well celebrate it with some tasty liquor.

My eyes scan the words floating on the paper, but none of them actually register in my brain. I

don’t need alcohol, as the contract is making me feel drunk already.

When Julie comes back with my drink, I give up on trying to understand the terms of the contract

and glance up at Michael who is now standing beside the window by the table. “I’ll just sign it. I’m
too agitated to understand a word, but it’s okay. I’d spend a year in jail for an income like that,” I
blurt out a silly joke and hear Julie’s laughter.

Michael dismisses her with a stern gaze. “We can modify the rules even after you sign them, but

there’s one rule you have to adhere to, no matter what.”

“Oh, which one is that?” I look down at the paper, working hard to concentrate on the words

but, damn, it’s hard.

“You can’t have a boyfriend, a male friend with benefits, one-night stands or anything that can

put our pretend relationship in danger. Any other man you get involved with, even with an innocent
kiss, is a reason to terminate the contract immediately, and you’ll have to pay back everything you
earned to the last cent, including the car.”

Even the inmates have a right to conjugal visits. One year without sex, not even a kiss? Just

when I was dreaming about the feeling Michael’s tongue would leave in my mouth, on my skin. That
means the upcoming year will be a reflection of my previous year. And I didn’t earn a penny from the

abstinence last year. But, will I be able to keep my physical needs in check, particularly if I keep
getting turned on each time Michael is around?

I drop the papers onto the table and gather my hands on my lap. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Edrick, will you please give us a minute?” Michael asks, and when Edrick leaves, he pulls the

chair on my other side and sits beside me. “May I ask what exactly it is that’s stopping you? Are you
dating someone?”

I shake my head and stare at his hands that are tapping gently on his knees. “I’m not dating

anyone. I don’t actually see any problem for not dating for a year. That’s not the issue.”

“Will you share with me what the issue is?”

“If it will stay between us, and you won’t think anything bad about me.”

“You can trust me on that.”

I raise my regard, look directly into his eyes and see a fatherly concern in them. My heartbeats

slow down, and my muscles relax in the warmth his presence radiates. “I’m a very physical person. I
live for touches, kisses, and cuddling. I haven’t had any of that this past year, and I don’t think it’ll be
easy if I pass another year without being intimate with a man.”

His eyebrows arch up. His eyes widen, and his lips part with a smile. “I guess I’ve never had a

woman be so honest with me in my entire fifty-six-years of life.”

He’s fifty-six? I would have guessed forty-something. Even that would be too old for my

twenty-three short years of existence.

Michael’s hand reaches over and covers mine. “I don’t want you to lack any physical

satisfaction, especially not when I’m hiring you to have the man I love close to me.”

“Really?” He has a male lover? Ouch! Then again, why am I even surprised?

“I’m going to make an exception for you, for being honest with me.” He pulls his wallet out of

his pocket and grabs a black business card out of it. Handing it to me, he says, “You still cannot have
a boyfriend or date anyone. However, you can use the services this company provides.”

I glance at the delicate card in my hand and run my fingers on the engraved letters in cursive

red. “Pleasure Extraordinaire?”

“It’s a high-class Lady’s Club where ladies can hire attractive men for sexual pleasure.”

“Like a brothel?”

“Yes, but only men work in that club to serve their female clientele. That’s the only place I can

trust for confidentiality. They don’t accept everyone, and they run background checks on the
applicants and make them sign NDA to protect the confidentiality of the other clients, which is why I
prefer them to the other similar business venues.”

I smirk because he’s really considering the possibility of me going to a brothel for sex. I might

not have had sex for a while, but I haven’t stooped so low…yet. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t
think I’d get pleasure from a man, knowing he’s doing it for money.”

Laughter shakes his body, and he pats on my hand gently. “It’s not the kind of place you

imagine. At least half of their employees are well-educated, wealthy men, who simply enjoy the idea
of a woman paying them for a night of passion.”

“Such men exist?”

“Go see it for yourself. You’ll be surprised. I wish they accepted homosexuals, but it’s only for

ladies. As for the contract, don’t rush yourself into it. Take as much time as you need and come back
to me if you have questions.”

“I’d like to have a day or two to think about it, but I’m afraid while I’m busy trying to decide,

another girl will come and swipe the post away from my hands.”

“I promise I’ll not consider another candidate until I get an answer from you.” He gets to his

feet, and I stand beside him, clutching the contract and my purse.

My physical needs aside, I’m going to have to find a way to explain my situation to Taylor,

anyway. Or am I not allowed to talk about it to her either? “Michael, one more thing.”

“Sure.” Michael slips his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and stares down at me with

curious eyes.

“How much of this can I share with my sister?”

“Taylor Garnett? I’m afraid no part of it.”

“She will be against the notion of me dating you, because you know, you’re one of the clients of

her company. She’ll worry that if something goes wrong between us, the construction project you
have with her company will be affected.”

He takes a step back and gazes at something behind me, his hand cupping his chin. “That’s a

good point, something I haven’t considered.”

I try to picture how Adam, Taylor’s husband, will get all neurotic and paternal in an infantile

way when he finds out I’m dating a man thirty plus years my senior. But it will be worse if he learns
the real reason behind it. I guess the easiest way to handle it is to keep Taylor and Adam in the dark
regarding the contract, at least for the first months, until they get past the initial shock of me dating
Michael.

“I can assure you the arrangement between us will have no effect whatsoever on the

construction project. However, if it will reassure you, I’ll add that to the contract, so you can be sure
about my word,” Michael suggests, and I find myself nodding in agreement.

“Sounds like the only way to go.” I grab my purse from the table and stuff it under my arm,

while holding the contract in my hand. “I’ll let you know as soon as I decide.”

“Have Edrick set up an appointment for you over at Pleasure Extraordinaire before you make a

decision. His cellular number is on the contract as well as mine. Don’t hesitate to give either of us a
call any time of the day.”

“You’re being so helpful. I don’t know how I’ll have the nerve to decline you.” I give him a shy

smile, hoping he won’t smile back and break another of my defenses.

CH 3: The Encounter

Michael opens the door for me and gestures out with his hand. “I’m looking forward to your

call.”

As I walk past him, a brief touch of his hand on my shoulder sends small tremors through my

body.

“Have a good day, Michael,” I offer, as I step out and encounter the carbon of Michael’s brown

eyes staring at me. My legs stop cold, and I gulp down a lump of shock as I analyze the rest of the face
of the man staring at me with a curious expression. Michael’s pointy nose and shapely lips seem to
have cloned themselves on this man. He must be one of Michael’s sons. Zane or Chris.

An awkwardly long moment passes before anyone speaks, while Michael’s clone and I stare at

each other.

“Zane, I’m glad you’re here, son. This is—” Michael’s words are cut off by the hand Zane

raises sharply.

“Miss Lindsay Doheny,” he says, approaching me with slow steps and grabs my hand gently.

Rather than shaking it, he lifts it up for a kiss. His lips softly brush my knuckles, and I feel the moist
tip of his tongue tingle my fingers, moistening them.

My stomach flutters as if an entire colony of butterflies is flapping their wings at the same time

inside me. I manage to give him a quick once-over, taking in as much as his sturdy figure, and the
exquisite way his navy-blue suit hugs what I imagine is an athlete’s body.

“Iron Slap herself is in the same building as I, yet nobody cares to warn me about it,” Zane

says.

Oh, Iron Slap. When will I ever lose that label? I guess never. I offer a shy smile, working hard,

very hard, not to show the aphrodisiac effect of the touch of his soft hand on my overly sensitive skin.

“You look much lovelier in real life.”

I realize I’ve yet to make a comment; I need to say something or I’ll risk appearing dumb.

“Thank you,” I whisper without breaking our eye contact, nor pulling my hand out of his grip.

If I could spend a night of passion with this man, I’d sign the contract with Michael right away.

I’m sure as hell Zane will take me to places that’ll provide me with enough sexual satisfaction for a
whole year. I might be praised for my honesty, but there’s no way I’m sharing that naughty thought
with anyone.

“Lindsay, this is my oldest son, Zane,” Michael finally says, and I feel forced to pull my hand

away from the gorgeous man in front of me. But not my eyes. They’re still glued to his chocolate-
brown irises. “Zane, Miss Doheny is already taken.”

Zane flashes a one-sided, seductive smile that feels like it has a direct connection to my sex. I

find myself taking a step back to save myself from his strong aura and glance up at Michael. He gives
me a warm, calming smile, probably reading my overreaction to his son. Never in my life have I felt
so uncomfortable around men, as I do right now with Michael and Zane.

“What do you mean she’s already taken?” Zane echoes my thoughts. Oh, the contract. I don’t

look at him but shiver, hopefully not visibly, at the warmth of his breath reaching my face.

“I should probably go,” I say to Michael, and both men step back to give me space to walk

through. “I’ll call you in a few days.” I wave at Michael and my eyes land for a second on Zane. That
brief moment of seeing the fire in his eyes has me gasping.

I pace toward the door to hide the embarrassing reactions my body is having. Julie mentions

something about a company car waiting for me outside to take me home and opens the door for me.

I hurry down the corridor and punch the elevator key. It’ll be better for everyone involved if I

leave the building as soon as possible.

The elevator doors slide open with a ding, and I step in. Just when I spin on my heels to press

the button for the lobby, my elbow bumps into someone behind me, that someone being Zane. Oh, my
frigging shit.

He winces in pain, pressing his hand on the spot where my elbow hit his ribcage. “You’re damn

strong. Now I have first-hand proof that your video was real. If just your elbow causes so much
pain…”

I cover my cheeks in shock, feeling the heat of complete embarrassment flashing across my

face. “Oh, my god. Zane… Ahh… Mr. Hawkins, I’m so sorry.”

He steps in beside me, a hint of smile curving up his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive.”

“In my defense, I didn’t see you.”

His smile broadens and he stands beside me so close that the sleeve of his jacket brushes

against my arm. “You’re probably the only woman who’s told me that.”

I frown, trying to process what he’s implying, then grin once the bulb in my mind flashes with

realization. Oh, I clearly see you that way. “I’m really sorry. I should have paid attention. I was lost
in my thoughts and moved without looking.”

The elevator doors close at last, but no one dares push a button.

“What kind of thoughts?” Zane asks. “Oh, yeah, I can guess what kind. It’s not easy to be my

father’s pretend girlfriend.”

He knows. But, why am I surprised that he’s aware of his father’s sexual preference. In any

case, I shouldn’t speak any further about the contract if he’s unaware of the details of the
arrangements Michael undertakes to hide his sexual liking.

“He might seem easygoing at first, even friendly,” Zane starts. “But he’s a demanding man.

He’ll want to get involved in every aspect of your life. You’ll not be able to go out for a simple lunch
with friends without first having his permission. He’ll ask you to read what he wants you to read,
watch what he wants you to watch and eat what he wants you to eat. He’ll follow your every step.

You won’t have the freedom to breathe without his permission. Losing your independence isn’t worth
the fame being with my father will bring you.”

I search his face to catch a glimpse of what he’s actually trying to say. “I’m not doing it for

fame. I’m famous already, remember? Iron Slap.” I start to lift my hand to emphasize my point, but he
steps closer to me as if the distance between us wasn’t small enough and grabs my arm with a tight
hold.

“That’s right. Then what is it that you’re after, Miss Iron Slap? Wait a minute. Did he offer you

money? He’s never offered money to his fake girlfriends. Only a few jewelries here and there and
clothes to wear at the events he takes them to. But, money. Never.”

I yank my arm away and finally press the button for the lobby, putting a safe distance between

us. “I’m not really allowed to talk about the contract, although I haven’t signed it yet.”

“How much?” he asks as if I haven’t just told him about my unwillingness to give him any more

details. “Ten, twenty, fifty…hundred?”

I stare at the buttons, ignoring him, or at least trying to pretend as if I’m ignoring him. In reality

though, I’m hyper-aware of his firm body, his deep voice, and his musky scent. What’s that sexy
fragrance? If I inhale just a tad more deeply, I’ll drop down on my knees and finger myself to cool
down the fire between my legs.

“More than a hundred?” he continues with his self-talk, because I’m neither responding nor

looking in his direction. “That’s insane. It’s not normal. He must have something else in mind to hire
you, and I’m sure it’s not related to your fame. He doesn’t spend a penny without making sure he’ll
get back at least three times more. If he’s paying you the amount I have in mind, you can bet your ass
he has no simple intentions, like covering up his homosexuality.”

“Please, Mr. Hawkins. I’m in no position to discuss this with you.” The elevator stops, and I

step out to escape him and his words.

Michael wants to hire me because he needs a pretend girlfriend. Nothing more, nothing less.

What else can I possibly have that a multi-millionaire tycoon would want? My encounter with him
was perfectly by chance. No secret agenda, no dangerous plans. It’s not like I have access to
governmental data or know his competition personally. A girl he can trust is all he needs.

I don’t tell Zane any of my thoughts, because I’m afraid I’ll breach the contract without even

having signed it. I just nod my head and wish him a great afternoon before the elevator doors close.

Only when I leave the building, I feel how hot with anger my body has become. The cold hits

me and makes my chin tremble. Holding on to my jacket, I hurry toward the car that’s waiting at the
base of the stairs.

Michael’s son might be too handsome to be true, but he’s also nosy, mischievous, and definitely

disloyal for speaking so badly behind his own father’s back. I realize my hands are shaking with
irritation as I give my address to the driver.

CH 4: The Decision

I purposefully stay away from Taylor and Adam to gain some time to think over the contract

without having their opinion influence me. I’ve been restless for two nights, going back and forth
pondering the decision between continuing with my hopeless job hunt to take the higher road or
signing the contract to fatten my bank account.

Can Michael have ulterior motives for hiring me?

I still fail to see an advantage in any area that an ordinary girl like me could bring him, besides

the one he’s openly and honestly hiring me for.

If I was a rare beauty, I might have a slight suspicion about Michael planning to sell me to his

clients, but I am not. My short height, ordinary face, dark-brown eyes and hair, and b-cup breasts
barely meet the requirements to be called cute, but not really beautiful. I’m just an insignificant drop
in the ocean of single girls in L.A. What could I have that a wealthy and powerful man might want
besides the obvious?

As I always do, I turn to the internet for answers. After two days of staring at Michael’s

Wikipedia page, I’ve practically memorized every word on it, and I must say it’s a long one.

His accomplishments start with Hawkins Radio Corporation. He started working at a small

radio station in San Diego at the age of sixteen. Then five years later, he bought it when it was about
to close down, turning it into the area’s most popular station, despite the presence of TV. Thus at the
tender age of twenty one, he laid the foundations of today’s powerful Hawkins Media Group.

He didn’t study, didn’t even finish high school, but managed to turn an humble radio station into

one of the biggest and most influential networks in the country with twelve subsidiaries, making me
feel embarrassed of my unemployed status despite the double majors I hold.

Michael married his wife in his mid-twenties, had his first kids, Zane and Chloe, in the two

consecutive years right after their marriage. It’s clear; Michael doesn’t waste time. His third child,
Chris, was born five years after Chloe’s birth, which makes him twenty-five now.

After losing his wife to cancer a decade ago, Michael hasn’t married again. I wonder at which

point Michael realized his homosexual tendencies. Perhaps he knew it all along but went for the
traditional life style with a wife and kids to boost his image as a successful businessman by being a
beloved father and husband. Or, he was just a late bloomer.

Zane works as the CFO of Hawkins Media. Realistically, he wouldn’t have that title, even for a

small-size company at the age of thirty-one, if it wasn’t for his father. Chloe’s Wikipedia page,
however, doesn’t state anything beyond her family. As if her only accomplishment is to be born to that
family. As long as she doesn’t bother me, she can spend her entire life shopping for all I care.

Chris Hawkins, on the other hand, doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page at all or other

information regarding his personal life or career.

On the final day, I wake up, fully convinced that I should accept Michael’s offer for no other

reason  than  getting  to  know  a  jewel  like  him.  He’s  gay  and  not  interested  in  me,  but  he’s,  driven,
dedicated,  mature  and  full  of  life  experiences  about  business,  people,  cultures,  anything  and
everything. And,  really,  I’d  be  an  idiot  for  turning  my  back  on  the  job  of  my  dreams.  Even  if  I’m
expected to hold the position at Hawkins Media Group for only one year, it’ll be proof to the other
companies that I’m a professional and not in it to make money with sexual-harassment law suits.

Before signing the contract though, I call Taylor to ask her to meet me for breakfast.

Just as I expect, Taylor shows up with Adam, dragging him everywhere with her as if he’s her

bodyguard.

“Hey, what’s up?” Adam gives me a half hug and shuffles my hair. I hate it when he treats me as

if I’m one if his little sisters.

“Stop it.” I push him away playfully. “I’ve got big news for you, but I won’t say anything until I

get my coffee.”

“I just want some orange juice,” Taylor says and takes the chair across me, while Adam heads

to the counter for our orders. “We, too, have some news,” Taylor whispers, her eyes scanning the
other patrons at the surrounding tables suspiciously.

“You go first. Mine can wait.” It will give me some time to compose myself and think thr ough

how I should pop the news.

All this time, I’ve been consumed with trying to decide what the right thing to do is, without

giving a thought to Taylor’s reaction. Now that she’s before me, my decision seems more real than
ever. And, I’m afraid with my news, I’ll awaken a new part of Taylor’s personality…the angry part.

“Well.” She rubs her hands together, biting her lower lip. “Adam and I are going to give it

another try.”

“Give what another try?”

“Having a baby.”

“Oh.” If I’d gone through what she had suffered last year, I’d never even consider getting

pregnant again. She’s brave to want to go through all that agony again. I have to give her that. “Are
you sure?”

“Kind of.”

“You can’t give it another try if you’re only kind of sure. What if it happens again?” I shouldn’t

have said that. Her gaze drops to her hands, and her lower lip trembles. I reach over and cover her
hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry, Taylor. I just don’t want to see you hurting again.” Damn, I
was crushed by what happened to my niece, I can’t even begin to imagine what anguish she must have
been going through all this time.

“I know. But, I just can’t not try it again.”

Adam comes with our beverages, saving us from Taylor’s threatening tears. She’s turned to a

puddle of raw and sensitive emotions after what happened with Macey Williams. Rightly so.

“What news have you got for us?” Adam places a cup of coffee in front of me and a bottle of

juice for Taylor.

I take a sip from my coffee and inhale a deep breath. This’s going to hurt. “I’m going out on a

date with Michael Hawkins.”

Both Adam and Taylor stare at me suspiciously, before turning to each other and screaming, “no

way,” in chorus.

What am I? Fifteen and asking for an adult’s permission to date a man?

“ I know, guys. You’re afraid it’ll harm your construction project, but I promise nothing ever

related to my relationship with Michael will have even a slightest effect—”

“Relationship?” Taylor interrupts. “You just mentioned a date, now you’re talking about a

relationship. The project can go to hell. Michael isn’t the right guy for you. He’ll use you, your youth
and beauty, then move on to his next target. You don’t need men like him in your life. He has a bad
reputation with women. I can’t allow any men hurting you, much less a man-whore like Michael
Hawkins.”

“Look, I’m only twenty-three. I’m not thinking about marrying at this point of my life. I just want

to have some reckless time before finding the right guy. Since Carl, I’ve never felt anything for a man
until I met Michael.” At least the last part isn’t a lie.

“Who’s Carl?” Adam’s eyes search my face for an answer.

“My ex.”

“Why didn’t I . . .” Adam starts to ask, but Taylor raises her hand to stop him.

“He’s a gentleman,” I begin reciting what I’ve been preparing to tell them. “He knows how to

treat a woman. And I really do find him very attractive.”

“We’re talking about the same Michael Hawkins, right?” Adam asks.

“Yeah, I know he’s old. But, that’s okay for me since I’m not planning to marry him.”

“You’re gonna get hurt.” Taylor shakes her head, moving her body away from the table, away

from me. “We women aren’t like men. When you get involved with a man, you’ll start having feelings
for him. What you think now, that it will never happen, will inevitably come true, and you’ll begin
dreaming about having him only for yourself, marrying him, and having his children.”

“Children? Are you serious? He has kids older than me,” I reply, but she’s right with every

word, from her point of view, not knowing the truth about Michael’s sexual orientation and the
contract.

“Which goes to prove my point.”

“I’m an adult now. Please, let me act as one. Let me have some adventures while I’m still young

and let me get hurt, too, if that’s what I’ll have to experience at the end.”

“Lindsay, love.” I can see tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, shit. She’s going in for the kill. “If

you’re hurt, I’ll be hurt, too. You may not feel it that way, but you’re a part of me. It tears my heart out
when you’re sad.”

I slide onto the chair next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “I feel the same; I do, but I

promise I won’t be sad because of Michael. If anything, I’ll feel alive and thrilled. Wasn’t it you who
was telling me the other day to do something fun with my life? That’s exactly what I’m intending to
do.”

“Do you honestly find him attractive?” Adam asks, his hand laced in Taylor’s. “I can’t picture

you with him.”

I snort. “You mean me having sex with him?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Of course not.” He rolls his eyes, mortified. “But, Michael has two

sons who would be more suitable for you than him.”

“That’s not helping, baby.” Taylor shakes her head, glancing at Adam, and pulls me in closer.

“Zane and Chris have even a worse reputation with women than Michael. Don’t you ever read the
tabloids? I’d rather have Michael as my brother-in-law than either of his two sons laying a hand on
Lindsay.”

“I’m not going to marry Michael. Ever,” I say, wondering how much Taylor knows about Zane.

I don’t have the slightest idea about his attitude toward women, but I can easily see him dating more
than one at the same time. That’s probably the reason behind the brief preaching he gave me in the
elevator. He might be interested in sleeping with me, make me one of the thousands on his list of the
women he banged, but knowing the contract will prevent me from any sexual affair, he tried to stop
me. I’m not even sure why he’d want me, actually. He has the looks and the money to attract all kinds
of ladies, older or younger, promiscuous or virginal.

Taylor glances at her phone and turns to me. “We have a meeting with a client in half an hour.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Be very careful,” Taylor says, and I let out an exasperated breath. “And please, please,

please, don’t go to bed with him for at least a month. Ask for STD test results beforehand. Your
feelings will eventually recover if he decides to find someone else, but genital herpes is permanent,
so is AIDS.”

“Oh gross.”

“Do as I say. You won’t be harmed.”

“Okay, okay. I will.”

Adam and Taylor finally grab their drinks and give me a hug before leaving me, and I remain

staggered and paralyzed in my seat for several minutes.

I play with my phone, wondering whether I should call Michael or drive to his office to give

him my positive reply. Calling seems to be a better option, because if I pay him a surprise visit, he
might not be able to receive me with his busy schedule. My best bet will be meeting with Edrick, but
I’d rather see or hear Michael’s first reaction when I break him the news. I don’t know why I expect
him to be anything more than just fine with my acceptance. After all, this is a contract, just like any of
the other dozens of contracts he must be signing on a daily basis.

Still, I dial Michael’s private cellular number that’s written on the contract, and he picks up on

the first ring. “Lindsay Doheny. I’m glad you’re calling back.”

“Hello, Michael. How are you?”

“I’m good, though that might change depending on your answer. Have you made up your mind

yet?”

“Yes, I have. That’s the reason for my call.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’ll sign it.”

“Fantastic. Thank you very much for sparing me another month of searching for a substitute.

Have you had a chance to visit Pleasure Extraordinaire?”

“Oh, that.” I totally forgot about it, and even if I’d remembered about it, I wouldn’t go anywhere

a mile near it anyway. “Frankly, I’m a little uncomfortable with the idea of using a service as such.”

“Well, I won’t allow you to sign the contract if you don’t at least go see the place.”

“You’re kidding me, right? It can’t be a requirement? There’s nothing about it on the contract.”

“The contract you have isn’t the final version, and we haven’t signed it yet. So yes, I can

demand additional conditions before we finalize it. I’m going to send over a company car to take you
to their mansion in the afternoon. Bring a photo ID with you. All your expenses there will be on my
account, so don’t worry over money if you want to indulge yourself with the most expensive dish on
the menu, and I’m not talking about food.”

Oh, shit! What’s he thinking of me? I think I presented myself under a terribly bad light by

admitting my need for physical closeness. “I’d rather skip that step and directly sign the contract.”

“That’s not up to you to decide.”

After a minute or two of trying to convince him otherwise, I finally give up and tell him to send

his driver to pick me up at three p.m. to get a few hours for preparation. I might as well get myself
beautified and primed for the unusual occasion.

CH 5: The Interrogation

I don’t know what to expect at the Pleasure Extraordinaire mansion, but one thing is clear. It’s a

place for the wealthy and distinguished, not to forget the sensual.

I pick out my most-expensive and also very revealing dress, which is a white, strapless, mid-

thigh dress that hugs my body tightly. It has golden laces that start right below my breast line and go
until the hem of its skirt. With white stilettos and a clutch, I’m ready to go.

I find myself very nervous on the ride, more than when I drove to Michael’s office for the

interview two days ago. Why, actually? I’ll probably just look around, scan the menu, and drive right
back home. Even if Brad Pitt is offered, it’s highly unlikely I’ll find enough lust in me to see past the
money issue associated with it.

I wonder what kind of wealthy men would want to be part of a sex club. Certainly the greedy

ones for wanting to make more money on something their bodies—penises to be specific—are
programmed to do easily, anyway.

Besides, Michael is going to have to sink big bucks into our contract. Why cause him more

loss?

My mind is so involved in what is awaiting me that I forget to count cars, which in itself is a

disaster because I’ll have absolutely no clue about the imminent hours.

The driver stops in front of a closed gate, then answers to the intercom by the gate that he’s

driving Mr. Hawkins’ guest. The gate doors open at the mention of Michael’s name, and I spot a four-
story beige building with small balconies, in the middle of tall oak trees. If I didn’t know, I’d think
it’s a mid-size boutique hotel. As the car drives around, I realize the mansion is much larger than I
originally thought and is connected through tubes to two other buildings of the same style.

It can probably host over a hundred clients with ease. Are there that many women in the city

who’d be willing to pay for sex?

A young man, a boy actually, with sun-kissed skin, short brown hair and big, brown eyes

appears beside the passenger door to open it for me. “Welcome to Pleasure Extraordinaire. I’m Nick.
I’ll be your assistant throughout your stay.” His eyes follow my face intently as I get out of the car and
stand in front of him.

He’s lean and very tall, just the way I like, but also too young for me. Is he offered on the menu,

too? There must be some women who’re into young, inexperienced men, but it’s not my cup of tea.

“Hi, Nick,” I say, feeling guilty for my superficial thoughts about him. I have just stepped into

the Pleasure Extraordinaire territory and have already started seeing people as if they’re meat to
purchase.

He offers me his arm, and I slide mine through it as we walk up the stairs and into the mansion.

The word extravagance isn’t adequate to describe the décor of the large foyer, decorated in a

dark hue of red and softer beige. The thick Persian rug is soft beneath my feet, and the red roses
hanging on the walls accentuate and lift the heavy air.

Oh, and not to mention the best of all decorations; half a dozen men, each more handsome than

the one before, lined up at either side of the door. Taller, shorter, younger, older, blond, black. A
small sample that covers any type of man a woman could wish for.

I admit my pulse accelerates and my sex clenches at the sight of the manly torsos, naked save

for the red boxers, a short distance from my fragile body.

Okay, I may have been rushing my judgment about my opinion on having sex with a man in

exchange for money. Mostly because, each of these men gaze at me as if I’m the piece of meat they’ll
enjoy and not the other way around. More than a couple of them have an apparent hard-on, too.

I turn to Nick for help, most likely blushing, as I have no idea of the protocol here. Am I

supposed to pick a guy now? As much as my vagina is already pulsating, I’d rather have a general
introduction to the place, before throwing a guy into a room, or better yet, being thrown into it by one
of them.

As if reading my confusion, Nick urges me ahead with a friendly smile on his face. “Mr.

Preston is waiting for you in his office. He’ll register you as a new client and explain to you the rules
of Pleasure Extraordinaire.”

“Sounds fair.” I smile at him with a wink, a response totally unusual of me. I don’t wink. Like,

never. But only a few seconds into this mansion and it is already getting into me. Could they be using
some kind of spray to calm down the clients and release their slutty side? I shouldn’t rule out that
possibility, although there isn't anything I can do about it. “But, who’s Mr. Preston?”

“Ace Preston is the owner of Pleasure Extraordinaire, also the manager.”

“Oh.” With my arm still embracing Nick’s, maybe a little harder than at the beginning because

I’m nervous as hell, I walk, climb more steps, and walk some more until we stop in front of a door on
which 'Ace Preston' is engraved in cursive letters.

Nick knocks on the door briefly and then turns the handle down without waiting for an answer.

“Mr. Preston will be taking over now. I’ll be waiting for you here.” He points at the chair across the
corridor.

“Thanks,” I say and take a step into Ace’s office. A tall man in a crisp, white shirt and black

slacks and with blond hair down to his shoulders stands in the middle of the room. His ice-blue eyes
are staring at me without a hint of friendliness.

I find myself hesitating to take another step toward him. Contrary to Nick’s pleasant company,

this man is radiating coldness and spite. I can easily picture him yelling at his employees or
demanding impossible tasks from them with bitter consequences if they don't comply. I think Ice, as a
name, suits him better than Ace.

Mr. Ice.

His gaze is making it impossible for me to examine the office. For all I know, the room is

entirely empty, but I can’t, for the love of God, take my eyes from his chilling regard.

“Miss Doheny, I’m Ace Preston. I’ve was expecting you sooner.” He approaches me, and I

force myself not to flinch away with irrational fear. He will not hurt me. I try to mentally talk some
sense into myself. I’m a client, and I’m here for him to make money. “Please, take a seat,” he says and
lifts his hand to point at something.

My eyes finally break free from his gaze and follow the direction his hand is gesturing. A chair.

Huh? Why am I so surprised?

He doesn’t wait for me to sit, nor does he offer his hand to shake mine; he just goes ahead and

takes his seat behind a large, mahogany table that holds a large computer screen and stacks of paper.
In addition to his extreme coldness, he’s lacking in the social-manners department as well.

“Mr. Hawkins and I had a talk earlier this morning. He’s willing to pay all your expenses at

Pleasure Extraordinaire for a full year. We have a variety of options for you to take full advantage of,
but before coming to that part, I’d like you to answer a few questions.” He looks at the computer
screen and types on the keyboard.

“Sure.” I nod and take a seat across him.

“Do you have any STDs?” Mr. Ice asks. I bite my lower lip to stifle my smile for the nickname

my mind has picked for him.

“No.”

“Have you been tested recently?”

“No.”

He reaches for a cell phone on the table and dials. “Mindy, I have a new client in my office…

Okay… Yes, right now.” After placing the phone back on the table, he turns to me. “We have a lab in
our building. Our nurse will draw your blood and run tests to identify if you have any diseases.”

“Okay.”

“Are you on the pill or using another birth control method?”

“No.” It seems like all my answers to his questions will be negative.

He types something on the computer. “Are you in a relationship?”

I don’t know how to answer that one. Does the contract I have with Michael count as one?

“To be more specific, do you have a man with whom you have sex on a more or less regular

basis,” he asks without looking at me, and I’m glad for that because his questions aren’t exactly the
easy ones.

“No.” Huh, another no.

“Good. How many sexual partners have you had?”

“I don’t see why it’s relevant to my experience as a client here.” Particularly when I’m not even

sure if I’ll use their services.

“These questions are prepared by my employees. They want to know their clients before

bedding them. I guess that’s not too much to ask considering the nature of our business. Your answers
will be registered in the database under an alias for my employees to review. Only those interested in
your looks and answers will appear on the list of potential partners for you.”

“Does that mean I won’t get to pick any man I want?”

“That’s right. Now, where was I?”

“Three men. I slept with three men.” That number would label me as a slut in my aunt’s eyes,

but here, I guess I’ll be perceived as virginal.

Mr. Ice doesn’t show any reaction hinting at his perception of me, though. His face muscles are

so rigid, they don’t even move except for when he speaks. How would he look while having sex?
Likely with the same indifferent, robot-like look on his face, even while he hits the heights of orgasm.
A sudden urge to laugh makes me snort at the thought of him sweaty and breathless, but his damn lips
remain pursed as if he’s reading politics in the Los Angeles Times.

He tears his eyes from the screen to glance at me, his eyebrows rising. Finally, a reaction.

“When was the last time you had sex?”

I look away, hardly stifling the laughter. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice coming out high-pitched

with my laughter. I bet he thinks I’m laughing because his questions are making me uncomfortable.
That thought is better than the real reason behind my laughter, namely seeing his robotic face while
climaxing.

I try to distract myself, while trying to remember the exact date of my last sexual encounter. It

was when I was in New York with a guy I met in a bar. I don’t even remember the guy’s name, but at
least I remembered using condoms for the two times I let him fuck me. “About nine months ago.”

He turns his solid gaze back to his computer, his face not revealing any emotion. I want to slap

his face just to get some reaction out of him.

I examine his face harder to figure out what he’s thinking, but it’s not an easy task because I find

myself distracted by his good looks, the long blond lashes framing his blue eyes, the strong jaw, thick,
pursed lips, and the perfect and spotless pale skin. His shoulder-length, wavy hair is full and shines
like in shampoo commercials. He’s like a painting, beautiful to perfection but emotionless. The pink
shade of his cheeks make me wonder if he has dimples, but what good would it do to have dimples if
he never reveals them along with a smile.

“What kind of sex do you enjoy?” he asks, pulling me out of my silent reverie. “Vaginal, anal,

oral? How about sex toys or orgies?”

I can’t believe he can ask all those below-the-waist questions so casually as if he’s talking

about the weather. Perhaps the lack of reaction in his demeanor is what’s called for in this situation,
just like my gynecologist keeps a straight face when she’s fingering me or lowers her head down to
between my legs to check me. If that’s the case with Mr. Ice, I should be praising him for his
professionalism rather than making fun of him.

What kind of sex do I enjoy? Not a very hard question. “Vaginal, for sure.” Is there any woman

who doesn’t enjoy it, save for health reasons? “I don’t do anal. At all. I like oral,” I say, feeling heat

spreading over my body.

“On you or…”

“Both.” More heat radiates over my face and also down to my pelvic region. Strange how

talking about sex, even with an emotionless guy like Mr. Ice, can awaken my sexual desire.

“Regular fellatio or can you do deep-throating, too?”

Fellatio? I roll my eyes, unable to look at him, while I feel his gaze on my face. “Yeah, deep

throating, too. But it has been a while. I’m not sure how my gag reflex is doing at the moment.” It
shouldn’t matter, right? I’m the client here. The skillfulness of the men working as gigolos here should
matter more than my gag reflex. But no, I am interrogated as if I’m being interviewed for a prostitute
opening, no pun intended.

He nods again nonchalantly like our talk is the most ordinary talk two strangers can have. Yeah,

the weather is a bit windy today, don’t you think?

“Sex toys?”

“Only dildos,” I reply. “I bet you want to know about the size of my favorite dildo, too.” I smile

as mischievously as possible to draw a reaction out of him.

“That was my next question. What size?”

My smile spreads, and I cover my mouth to hide it. “Ten inches.”

Okay, that’s an exaggeration. My biggest toy is seven inches, but what’s the deal if I tell him an

over-the-top number? Will his ego be wounded to know that we women like it bigger? Will his world
shudder with the fact that the size-doesn’t-matter cliché is a big, fat lie produced by male magazines
to keep their male readers’ egos at the highest level? Not sorry to burst your bubble, hon.

I wonder how big his is. You never know with men. Some very tall, handsome men, like the last

guy I had sex with, have only the length of my middle finger, and some men with an unusual body
shape and average height have close to nine inches. So, there’s no way of telling how big Mr. Ice is
without directly looking at it--when he’s hard.

His skin is light golden and spotless, making me wonder how his penis looks…must be light-

colored as well, with a pink head. That thought makes my wetness grow by the second, and I wonder
if he’s also available on the menu.

I find myself gazing at his torso beneath his shirt, his stomach being the last point that’s not

concealed by the desk he’s sitting behind, when I hear him clear his throat. Ooops. I snap my eyes
back to his face, hoping my shame for being caught while analyzing his body won’t show on my face.

“How often do you masturbate?” he asks.

“Do you have more absurd questions to ask? Because I’d prefer answering them on a piece of

paper than directly to you.”

“I’m sorry. Did I offend you in any way? This is the usual procedure that I conduct with each

new client. The main point of this interview is to get to know you better so we can accommodate your
needs in the best way possible. Reading your answers on a piece of paper won’t give me half the

information I’m getting by having you answer my questions directly to me.”

“All right. Once a day, sometimes twice.”

“The frequency of your masturbation?” he asks.

I nod, trying to avoid his gaze. I haven’t shared that information even with my ex, while we

were together.

“Does it go up to four or five times?”

“Yes.”

“How often does that happen?”

I laugh again, shaking my head. “Are you sure this information you’re collecting is going to be

kept confidential? Because not even my gynecologist knows so much about me, even though she has
seen my private parts.”

“We’ll come to that, too. And, yes, Miss Doheny, the information will be confidential. Only my

men and I will have access to it. So, will you please answer my question?”

He’ll come to what? Is he going to examine my vagina, too? I shouldn’t be surprised after those

questions. But there’s no way I’ll let him see whatever I have beneath my dress.

Speaking of dress, I glance down at the skirt of my dress and notice it’s way past my usual mid-

thigh level and bordering close to my panties. Nonchalantly, I shift in my seat to pull its hem down,
while trying to remember his last question. “It happens every once in a while, but mostly when I’m
closer to my menstruation or just past having it.”

“Do you watch porn? If yes, what kind of porn?”

“Yes, I do. But, not often. It’s mostly what you’d call soft porn with only a man and a woman

having vaginal and oral sex.”

“Do you have any special interest in pegging?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“That’s fucking a man’s anus with a strap-on dildo.”

I cringe. “Eww, no. Not interested at all.” Is there any woman who actually likes that?

A knock on the door makes him stop shooting more questions, and a beautiful Asian woman,

possibly in her thirties, enters with a white box in her hands. “Hello,” she says to both Mr. Ice and me
and sets the box on his desk, while pulling a chair beside me to sit on. She holds my arm and sticks a
needle in it so gently I wouldn’t have noticed it, had I not been looking. But, a rush of pain hits my
arm when she starts filling small tubes with my blood. Hell, I’d rather have a dozen inappropriate
questions by Mr. Ice than this pain.

“Hasn’t Dr. Smith arrived yet?” Mr. Ice asks.

“No, sir. He called in sick,” the nurse answers.

“Among all the employees, he has to call in sick,” he says. Oh my god, was that a joke? Has he

just made a joke? “That means, Miss Doheny, you’re saved from a medical check-up for today.”

Shall I be happy about that?

“Which means we will not be able to add you to our database yet,” Mr. Ice continues.

“I can live with that.”

“Maybe you can, but I promised to Mr. Hawkins to give you a taste of our services. But, you

can’t have sex with any of my employees without the medical checkup and test results. That puts me in
a difficult situation with Mr. Hawkins.”

I try to glance at the nurse with my peripheral vision to see if she’s giving me judgmental looks.

She must be thinking what a whore I must be for coming to a place like this, but she’s not even
looking in my direction, instead, she busies herself with the tubes, and leaves us alone in a matter of
seconds.

“That’s okay. I don’t need to have…sex with anyone today.”

“No, I can’t accept that. This problem might change Mr. Hawkins’ opinion about paying for our

services. Let me think for a second,” he says and cups his chin between his thumb and index finger.
His expression softens as his gaze looks far away, his mind deep in thought, making me think, or even
hope, he’s not as harsh as he’s presenting himself to be in his private life. Maybe he has a cat at
home, helps out at the food bank, or has a sick mother whom he visits frequently.

He opens his mouth and rubs his lips together to moisten them, taking me away from my

assumption about his personality. “I think we can still give you a glimpse of what you can experience
at our establishment.”

He grabs his phone to place a call and orders someone named JJ Triple X to his office. I

squeeze my arm in pain to swipe away the laughter that’s coming upon hearing the name. JJ Triple X.
It’s obviously not his real name, but why the hell would someone choose that name as an alias?

Not a minute passes before a knock on the door makes my head turn, and a gorgeous man

appears at the doorway. A tiny voice in my head is whispering to me that I should be mad at Dr.
Smith for not showing up at work today.

CH 6: The Sex Bomb

Tall figure, straight, brown hair reaching down to his ears, shimmering honey-colored eyes,

sun-kissed skin covering firm muscles, and, yes, no shirt concealing those pecs and abs. Only a pair
of blue jeans wrapping up his long legs. That’s what the guy who opens the door looks like, and I
think I’m beginning to like this place. If all the men are going around shirtless, I’ll even consider
moving in here.

Unlike Mr. Ice, this man is radiating warmth and easiness. His stunning looks aside, I can easily

picture myself being friends with him. Friends with benefits, that is.

“Well, hello,” he says, bypassing the niceties with Mr. Ice, and moves toward me. “I’m JJ

Triple X, and I’ll be at your service this afternoon.”

I gaze at my hand getting lost between his and shiver when his lips leave a moist kiss on my

knuckles, while one of his hands moves down and brushes my forearm. Tickles spread all around my
arm, making goose bumps multiply.

I smile. It’s impossible not to smile while looking at the contagious grin on his face. “Hi, I am

—”

Mr. Ice cuts me off, “Don’t share your real name.”

“Oh,” I murmur.

“I’ll call you Beauty in White until you pick a name for yourself. And, you can call me JJ.” JJ

lifts my hand above my head and makes me spin around, while judging me appreciatively with his hot
gaze. “A beauty, indeed.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling dizzy from the spin and the tiny distance between us.

“We don’t have her medical reports yet. That means no action for today. Condoms won’t

protect you or her against genital herpes. Do you understand, JJ?” Mr. Ice warns.

“What a bummer.” JJ pulls me gently toward him, letting our bodies crush into each other, and

my body turns into a high-alert mode at the feeling of his hot skin against mine. “We can still have fun
together, right?” He stares down at me with enigmatic eyes, an eyebrow raised playfully, and my sex
clenches in response. Oh, he’s a professional all right, for turning me on without even kissing me.

“Let the fun begin.” He heads toward the door, and I have no option but to follow him as his

arm is wrapped around my waist.

“Wait. I’m not sure what this is supposed to be.” I manage to tear my gaze away from JJ and

turn to Mr. Ice. “I just came here to check out the place.”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, sexy,” JJ answers.

Mr. Ice nods. “You won’t do anything you don’t want. You’re the client. Your comfort and

pleasure are our responsibility. Go, enjoy a few hours with JJ in one of our luxurious suites. Order

whatever you feel like eating and drinking. Everything is on the house on your first day at Pleasure
Extraordinaire.”

I should give it a try. I should give it a try. How many times in my life will I get a chance to

have a day at such a posh place? Likely, this is the only time. “Nothing will happen without my
wish?”

“Absolutely,” JJ says. “You’ll be my queen for the afternoon.”

“No action,” Mr. Ice reminds us, and I roll my eyes. I may have had a one-night stand with a

random guy but in my defense, I was drunk. So there’s no way I’m going to let any cock inside my
body with the clear head that I’m sporting right now…or not?

“Follow me, my queen.” JJ pulls my hand and ushers me into the corridor. Nick stands and nods

at me, wishing me a wonderful afternoon. JJ rubs the back of my hand with his thumb as we enter an
elevator. “You’ll have an unforgettable afternoon with me. It’s a pity we can’t enjoy each other fully,
though.” His scorching eyes leave me light-headed as we press our backs against the wall, and I
figure I might not need alcohol to get drunk.

He leads me into a suite that’s larger than my apartment and gestures at the queen-size bed in

the middle of the room. It has dark red bed covers, matching the armchairs and sofa across from it.

“You go lie down, and I’ll order lunch for us,” JJ says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well then, I’ll order some hors d'oeuvres and champagne.”

While he gives our orders on the phone, I toss my handbag on the sofa and throw myself to the

bed. The soft mattress pulls me in, helping my tense muscles relax. I can’t let go fully though, because
JJ is watching me with lustful eyes. Does he really find me attractive, or is this just a show to make
me, as his client, feel special and open up easily to him?

After the phone call, he moves toward the bed, each step cautious, each movement precise. I sit

up straight and pull my legs together, straightening my short skirt over my thighs without much
success.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside me, JJ kneels down in front of me on the floor, and grabs my

foot, taking off my shoe.

“You have beautiful legs,” he says while running his fingers on my toes.

“I don’t feel comfortable when you shower me with compliments,” I blurt out.

“Why? Do you think I’m lying?”

I don’t reply and let my silence answer his question.

“Oh, girl. Then, you haven’t understood the main criteria behind this enterprise. The clients

don’t pick us. We, men, pick our clients.”

“Is that true? How could you pick me? You didn’t even see me.”

“I saw you through cameras, when you entered the building. I liked your looks instantly. You

made my cock stir when you tried to pull down your skirt while you were getting out of the car, and if
I may be so blatant, I’m still hard.”

I don’t dare to look down below his waist to test whether what he’s saying is correct. Not yet.

“Weren’t there any other men interested in me?”

“Who cares about others? I was the first to press the button, and I’m here with you right now.

That’s all that counts.”

“There’s a button?”

“There’s always a button,” he says, smiling mischievously, making me wonder whether we’re

talking about the same button.

“How does that work?”

“The permanent ones who live here have access to the camera recordings and get alerts when a

client arrives at the mansion. Those who like the guest press a button. Sometimes the first one gets the
guest. Other times, the one with higher ratings gets lucky. I’d get you anyway. I’m one of the highest-
ranking permanents here. So tell me, do you find me attractive?”

I grin, most likely blushing, and bite my lower lip. “I don’t believe there exists a woman who

wouldn’t find you attractive.”

“Oh, nice.” His hand moves up to my knee, then my thigh, but I stop him, grabbing his hand,

before he can go any further. “I was just going to get rid of your nylons to massage your feet. Would
you let me?”

I loosen my hold on his hand and spread my legs for him, aware of his intense stare at my

panties.

“I’m a certified massage therapist and reflexologist. I can make you come without touching you

there.”

I bet he can make me come without touching me at all, just with his hot gaze. I’m at the mercy of

one of the highest ranking gigolos. If it wasn’t for the medical records inhibiting us, I’m sure I’d end
up letting him take me in any way he wanted by the end of the afternoon.

Gently, he hooks his finger on the hem of my thigh-high and pulls it down, then repeats the same

thing with the other. “Just lie down and enjoy the moment.”

I do as he says, watching him intently between the mountains of my breasts, while he fondles my

foot, caresses my toes, and rubs the sole. My body is alternating between a complete relaxation and
an all-consuming arousal with each touch of his magical fingers.

“Are you aroused?”

I don’t respond, and instead put my other foot on his shoulder.

“I can see you are.” He moves his hand and grabs my ankle, leaning down to lick the inner part

of my lower leg. His tongue sweeps higher and higher to my knee, and I’m forced to moan out my
arousal. Damn, he’s good.

I begin moving my hips in small circles against the pressure of my soaked panties.

“I want to lick your kitty.”

I grin, my eyes hooded. “You can’t.”

“Not now, but soon.”

I’m forced to look away, up to the ceiling, because I don’t want to provide him with more proof

of his sexual power over me.

“Want to feel how hard you’ve made my cock?”

I inhale sharply. I actually do. I prop on my elbows and glance down at his jeans. He picks up

my cue and moves up to the bed beside me, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans on his way.

My mouth is watering in anticipation. His must be beautiful; I can see it in his confidence as he

takes off his jeans and stands on his knees beside me.

My hand moves automatically over to his gray, silk boxers, anxious to feel his thick member

hiding underneath. His cock jerks as I slip in and my fingers circle it.

JJ closes his eyes and pushes his hips against my hand. “Take it out and lick it.”

Wasn’t I supposed to be the queen? Why do I get orders after orders? But I don’t mind this last

one, because that’s exactly what I’m dying to do right now.

Pulling down his boxers, I reveal his cock to my absolute pleasure. It’s thick, smooth, and

bigger than the dildo I have at home. It’d rip me apart if he thrust it hard into me. Oh, shit, I want him
to. I want to feel him inside me, pulsing and twitching.

“You want it, don’t you?” He’s grinning above me. “Have you had any cold sores?”

I glance up at him, confused by his question. “I used to when I was a kid, but not anymore.”

“The same with me. I don’t see any sores around your lips. I’m clean, too. I get tested regularly.

You can enjoy my cock as you wish.”

I move forward, sticking my tongue out, and give it a long, wet lick.

“Fuck, take it easy, sexy. I’m only a man.”

Encouraged by his words, I take the head of his cock into my mouth and squeeze it between my

lips. Another curse escapes his mouth along with heavy breaths. He might be a professional fucker,
but that won’t stop him from losing his control in my mouth. That’s the exact reason why giving head
to a man is as good as letting him fuck me. I love how they break apart, oblivious to what’s going on
around them, and are totally at my mercy.

I suck him viciously, pulling him in deeper, pressing the back of my tongue lower to hold back

my gag reflexes. His cock feels bigger in my mouth with each lick and throbs with desire. His body is
stiff except for his hips moving in synch with my sucking.

I place my hands on his stomach to push him down so he can lie down while I suck him to

climax, but he doesn’t budge.

He opens his eyes, glancing down at me in a haze. “It won’t be fair if you don’t get your

release.”

I let his cock slip out of my mouth, but continue stroking it with both hands. “We can’t have

sex.”

“You’re forgetting the sex toys.” He pulls himself away from my hold and leans on his side

toward the drawer to get a long, thick dildo in a plastic wrap. “It won’t feel as good as my cock
inside you, but it’ll do for now.”

Unwrapping it quickly, he washes it with soap in the sink across the room and dries it with

napkins. “I don’t think you’ll need lube.”

I shake my head shamelessly, thrilled by the prospect of having that large toy inside me.

“Take off your dress. I want to see you naked.” JJ moves toward me, his cock still as hard as it

was in my mouth not too long ago, and gets on the bed.

I stand on my knees, unzip the dress, and slowly push it down, enjoying the blatant look of lust

on his face. He grunts from deep in his throat, when I pull down my bra and reveal my breasts.

“Come here.” He places the dildo beside him and points at the spot in front of him, and I walk

on my knees on the bed. As soon as I’m within reach, he slides his arm around my waist, pulls me
against himself, pressing his moist, hard cock between our bodies, and leans down to suck my
nipples.

Oh, Heaven and Hell.

His soft lips are intoxicating against my nipples. His teeth graze my skin. His hand roams down,

cupping my ass cheeks, a finger sliding between them. I want his hand to move down to feel my
wetness and finger me there. Then, I want his enormous cock ripping me apart, overwhelming my
senses. I don’t care if it hurts. I prefer the pain to emptiness.

“Let me fuck you, sexy.” He pushes me down and, with just one move, settles above me on his

hands and knees, his cock facing my mouth, my vagina toward his face. As soon as I feel the plastic
toy sliding across my slit, I mouth his cock and suck him hard until I feel him shudder. I draw in air
when he eases the dildo into me to the hilt. It’s a massive toy, much bigger than what I’m used to.

“Didn’t you say you had a ten-inch at home?”

How does he know? Did he listen to me being interrogated by Mr. Ice? Before I can ask, he

pulls out that damn thing and slams it back into me, urging more juices to gush out of me. I take his
cock deeper into my mouth till it hits the back of my throat, while my hand caresses his testicles. His
moves with the dildo become sluggish as I feel him approaching his climax.

“I’m gonna come soon. Are you anywhere close?”

I shake my head and hum to his erection inside my mouth, earning another curse from him. He

thrusts the dildo fervently into me and rubs my clitoris, but it won’t be enough, and I know why. I
can’t concentrate on both giving head and climaxing at the same time. So I apply more pressure to his
cock, sucking him with all my power, obliging him to give up and pump his load deep into my throat.
He does and I lick him clean.

“Shit, shit, shit. I’m sorry,” he says and rearranges the dildo inside me, sliding it in and out with

more uniform moves. Now that my mouth is empty, I can focus better.

Each thrust threatens to push me over my own cliff of climax, making sweat break out all

around  my  body.  I  picture  JJ’s  large  cock  inside  my  vagina,  tearing  my  flesh  apart,  instead  of  a
lifeless  toy.  That  brief  yet  powerful  image  is  the  last  drop,  and  I  come  apart  and  jerk  on  my  back,
when  the  waves  of  orgasm  take  over  my  body.  JJ  keeps  the  dildo  inside  me,  waiting  for  the
convulsions  to  subside  and  my  breathing  to  become  less  frantic,  and  then  lies  down  next  to  me,
hugging me with his big arms.

“Your mouth is terrific. I haven’t come like this for ages, and I’m not saying it because you’re

my client.”

“I’m glad to help.” I snort between breaths, and he laughs into my hair, brushing his own sweaty

body against my back.

“Will you come to me again? I want to feel how you convulse around my cock.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll come here again.”

He lifts his head to see my face. “Why? Didn’t you like it with me? Have I come too fast? Don’t

you like me?”

“No, it’s none of those. You’re fantastic.” I roll on my back and look up at his beautiful face.

How can he even consider I might not like him with such a beautiful face? “I’m not that kind of girl.
As much as I enjoy being with you, I’m sure I’ll go home and feel dirty for what I have done. You see,
I’m against all sorts of prostitution. I’m sorry to say that, but I think it’s demeaning for everyone
involved. I feel like I took advantage of you, because you need money and I have access to it.”

He shakes his head, his expression sad. “It’s not the way you think. We aren’t kidnapped sex

slaves or something. I applied for this job to become what I am now. I studied medicine, but gave up
on becoming a doctor in my last year of residency. I simply couldn’t do it. I’m a hedonist. I hate
responsibilities, but I enjoy women more than anything else. I’d do this job even if it paid nothing. I
live for pleasuring women. There’s nothing else in the world I’d do instead of this. I don’t need
money. I could leave this place today and live in luxury without having to work, because I’ve saved
enough money.”

He hugs me tightly and dips his head to give me a kiss on the lips, and I notice he hadn’t kissed

me before. He tugs at my lower lip, grazes it with his teeth, and then sticks his tongue gently into my
mouth. We kiss for minutes, enjoying each other’s taste without breaking even for breathing. He’s a
great kisser, and I don’t remember having been kissed like that ever in my life, but I shouldn’t be
surprised by that. He’s perfect at everything related to sex.

Each stroke of his tongue is restoring my arousal, and I wish I could feel him inside me, making

love to me.

As if reading my body’s reaction to him, he says, “You’ll get sore if I fuck you with that ugly

dildo again.”

I flash him a tired smile. “How did you know I had a ten-inch dildo?”

“I listened to your talk with Ace. But don’t worry, because only I got to listen to you since I

CH 7: Lies - ACE

Everyone lies. Every person in my life, from my housekeeper to my employees, has in one way

or another lied to me. The women in my life have provided me with enough lies that I could fill an
encyclopedia-sized book with them. Even my goddamn parents lied to me for years. So when I meet a
person, like Lindsay, who hasn’t lied during the half an hour debriefing in which I had her reveal the
most personal information about her sexuality, it’s very normal that I feel bewildered.

She blushed. She giggled. She looked away. But, she didn’t lie. Well, except for one occasion

about the size of the dildo she owns. That I’ll let it slip, because I know her purpose wasn’t lying per
se, but to make me feel uncomfortable about the size of my cock.

If only she knew…

How do I know about her honesty, you will ask? Just as with all my new clients, I made her sit

on a special chair that’s connected to a biofeedback machine that measures the changes in her body
temperature and pulse rate to detect if she’s lying. It’s one of my favorite moments of my job. Asking
some obscene questions of clients and watching their reactions both on their faces and on the screen
of my computer.

However, it was more fun with Lindsay than it’d ever been.

I don’t usually ask past beyond birth control, STDs, and some general questions about sexual

likes and dislikes of the clients. However, with Lindsay, I felt intrigued. Her honesty to my
interrogative questions drew more offensive ones out of me. I have no doubt she’ll be mad at me if
she ever finds out she’s the only woman for whom I know the frequency of her masturbations.

Five times she can get off without the stimulation of a man? Without any touching or kissing? I

wonder how many times she can fuck a man in a day.

And, I absolutely loved how she avoided facing me when she talked about her deep-throating

skills. Not just because her shyness was adorable (it was), but, because I feared I was going to show
how instantly that information turned me on.

Lindsay, deep-throating a massive cock.

That must be some show to watch. And, watch her I did while she rocked JJ’s world, making

him come in record time. That counts as something, because, to say JJ can last hours is an
understatement.

If the word about Lindsay’s mouth gets around, she’ll have hundreds of my men lining up to test

her skills. I can’t exactly say I’m comfortable with that idea. Times like this make me wish I could be
one of the escorts working here, and not the cold-hearted boss whom everyone hates.

However, how I feel doesn’t matter. Pleasure Extraordinaire is my life, my home. My

employees are my only family; my clients my livelihood. I should help Lindsay get the best out of my
life’s work while she can, because honestly, after one year is over, she will be a fish out of water,

CH 8: The Heartache

JJ and I stay in each other’s arms kissing and caressing each other for long minutes, ignoring the

hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

When I notice it’s getting dark outside, I slip out of his embrace, feeling cold without his hot

body wrapping around me. I grab my dress, which is now wrinkled, but I couldn’t care less about it.
Pain pinches at my heart when he gets off the bed and puts on his jeans. I slide inside my dress and let
him zip it up.

“Promise you’ll come back for me?” he asks while doing up his fly.

“I will.” As if there’s any other way. This beautiful man, tender and sexy, would’ve never

entered my life if it wasn’t for the contract I’ll sign with Michael. “Do you want to have dinner before
you go?”

“No, I’m not hungry.” I straighten my dress and slip into my shoes. JJ grabs my hand, guiding

me out of the suite, back to the red corridor and into Mr. Ice’s office.

“I need you here for a few more minutes if you don’t mind?” Mr. Ice asks and motions toward

the chair in which I sat some hours ago. “JJ, you should stay, too.”

JJ nods and takes the chair beside me, smiling down at me when I glance at his face. So close,

yet so distant.

“I must set up your profile page so my interested employees can check it out to decide if they

want an encounter with you,” Mr. Ice begins explaining. “The profile page usually includes
information about the hobbies of the clients, their sexual habits, likes and dislikes. And, I also
recommend adding pictures to make it easy for the employees to pick. But, due to your circumstances,
we can’t place any picture of you on it. And, only employees who happen to be watching the camera
recordings when you enter the establishments can see you and that depends purely on luck and will
make it hard for you to choose as many men as our other clients have access to.”

“Don’t worry,” JJ interferes. “I’ll pick you whenever you come here.”

“We, very much, try to avoid having our clients getting stuck with only one or two employees,”

Mr. Ice continues. “That’s why I decided to gather a jury to give a rating about your looks in place of
putting pictures. A rating of eight should be as good as nude pictures taken by a professional
photographer.”

I frown, unsure about how to react. “As long as I don’t have to do a catwalk in a bikini before

that jury you mentioned, I’m okay with your suggestions.”

Mr. Ice just nods. “JJ, you’ll be part of the jury.” Then he turns to me. “I invited Alexander to

be the third member of the jury. He used to work for a fashion magazine and knows about beautiful
women inside and out.”

JJ smirks, flashing a look of dismay toward Mr. Ice. “You don’t need to work for a magazine to

recognize a beautiful woman. Being a man should be enough to qualify for it automatically.”

“Fortunately, Alexander happens to be a man,” Mr. Ice replies, unperturbed by JJ’s teasing

tone.

“Who’s going to be the other member?” I ask. “You said there’d be three people on the jury.”

“Uh.” Mr. Ice pulls his eyebrows together, an unusual reaction in the midst of his composed

responses. “Me,” he states, turning up a side of his lips into a barely-there smile. His expression isn’t
perverted or judging, otherwise I’d be only seconds away from making my way out of the door and
building.

A knock on the door, and heads turn to the third member of the jury. A man well into his fifties

with gray hair and tanned skin enters the room, and his eyes land on me, ignoring the two men. After a
quick introduction, he takes his place on the other side of my chair, while I get up, upon Mr. Ice’s
request, for all three men to get a better look at me.

I can’t say I’m completely comfortable by three sets of eyes roaming around my body. Except

for JJ’s lustful stares, though, both Mr. Ice and Alexander glance at me as if appreciating an exquisite
painting, without any hint of a sexual or demeaning air attached to their expressions.

“Clearly a ten out of ten.” JJ takes the lead. “She’s a beauty through and through.” I bite my lips

to stifle a smile, when he winks at me and gives a full-on once-over of my body. He’s the king of
flirtation.

Mr. Ice shakes his head. “Take another guess. You’re biased because she just blew you.”

I turn to him. Shocked, disgusted and embarrassed. “How do you know?”

“I’m sorry. I had to check up on you and JJ for security reasons,” Mr. Ice answers.

Shit! He saw me while I was at my sluttiest. Had I known I was being watched, I wouldn’t even

have sat on the same bed with JJ. The tiny voice in my head corrects me. Yes, I actually would have.

“Wait. Wasn’t it supposed to be anonymous voting?” Alexander asks and Mr. Ice nods in

agreement.

“I guess we can do it without hiding our votes if you don’t mind,” Mr. Ice asks me, breaking my

telepathic flirtation with JJ.

I shrug my agreement.

“In that case,” Alexander says. “I’m between seven and eight. Eight for her sex appeal and

seven for her beauty.”

I guess Alexander’s grading is more objective compared to JJ’s, but I can’t help but feel

disappointed after having been rated a ten by JJ.

All eyes turn to Mr. Ice for his rating, and he clears his throat and shifts in his chair before

stating his opinion about my appearance. I have no idea what kind of women he prefers—if he prefers
women at all. After my shock with Michael, I don’t trust my abilities to guess men’s sexual
preferences anymore. For all I know, both Mr. Ice and Alexander are both homosexuals.

“Four,” Mr. Ice says, and my mouth plops open in surprise. “I think she’s a four.”

“Out of five?” JJ asks.

“Out of ten,” Mr. Ice replies.

“Oh, man. You definitely need glasses for missing what a catch she is!” JJ laughs, shaking his

head.

“Beauty is a personal taste, but I can break down my rating for you if you like. She’s on the

shorter side of the height scale. What’s your height, 5’2”, 5’3”? Her breasts are barely b-cup. Yes,
she’s slim but not in an athletic way. A couple of extra pounds will immediately show around her
belly and hips. Her hair can use some trimming and styling.”

“Cut it out, will you?” JJ interferes, probably having seen the shock on my face. I know I’m not

the prettiest girl out there, but to be criticized about my small breasts, which I don’t think are that
small, and none-athletic body by a man I met only a few hours ago makes me want to hurt someone.
“Those aren’t the things to say to a lady,” JJ adds.

“You asked for it.” Mr. Ice turns to his computer and types on the keyboard.

“What the hell?” JJ’s mad voice echoes my own thoughts. “This isn’t the way to speak in the

presence of a lady.” JJ stands and approaches me, holding my hand.

Mr. Ice continues typing while he says, “Would you have preferred discussing it behind her

back? I’m taking two points from your rating because you aren’t objective in your judgment.”

Mr. Ice inhales deeply and looks up at me with his ever-neutral face, simply ignoring JJ’s

attitude. “I added Alexander’s rating as 7.5 so the average is six point five.”

That’s actually close to how I think I look. I always thought I’m a six. Well, despite Mr. Ice’s

low rating, the average turned out to be close to the truth.

“That’s absolutely wrong.” JJ doesn’t seem to be giving up any time soon.

“Different men, different tastes.” Mr. Ice pushes his chair to stand and walks toward me. “I

have no doubt you’ll still have a lot of my men interested in you.”

JJ grabs my other hand, too and pulls me toward him for a kiss. I feel extremely self-conscious

while opening my lips to let his tongue slide into my mouth in front of two other men, but he has this
magical touch that I want to savor as much as I can. “You don’t need other men. Just let me know
you’re in, and I’ll come out and give you the pleasure you desire.”

I giggle, like a little girl, despite Mr. Ice’s presence just two steps away from me. JJ kisses me

on top of my head before letting my hands go. “I’ll see you around,” he says and leaves with
Alexander.

I stay, watching them go, feeling awkward beside Mr. Ice, now that I know his low opinion

about my looks. It shouldn’t matter, anyway. With that cold attitude of his, he wouldn’t make it to the
top of my list of men I’d love to have sex with either.

“Like I said before, you should avoid hooking up with the same man unless you’re sure you’re

in total control of your emotions,” Mr. Ice says, making me pull my gaze away from the door.

I hesitate to glance up at his face, but when I do, I see concern on his expression. Why?

“It’s better for you to spend time with as many men as possible to avoid confusing physical

pleasure with love and affection,” he continues. We strive for pleasure, but romance should stay far
away from our business. JJ is an experienced escort. He knows women better than women know
themselves, and he uses his knowledge to get the best out of his clients. He’s a master manipulator
when it comes to getting as many women as possible to have sex with. It’s not bad for business, but
money isn’t everything. I wouldn’t want you or any of my clients to get hurt in the process.”

“I won’t.”

“I do hope so.” Another rare smile brightens up his face, and I find myself forgiving him for

giving me a low rating for my looks. Why should I be mad at someone for being honest with me,
anyway? Honesty is what I treasure most. “I’ll send a memo about your participation in our enterprise
to the external employees and let you know about the interested ones. You’ll receive a password and
with that, you can log in to our database and review the profiles of my men who want to pleasure
you.”

I grin, picturing myself going through the profiles of L.A.’s gigolos. Considering the nature of

their jobs, they must have lots of X-rated pictures in their profiles, which will be actually fun to
examine. “I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“How much is the usual price for a night with one of your employees? How much would you

have charged me for the few hours I was with JJ?”

Mr. Ice inhales deeply, lifts his hand to undo the first button of his shirt, a clear sign of the

discomfort he must be feeling at my question. “I have about three-hundred external employees, and
their fees usually start from two-hundred-fifty for a three-hour meeting. We charge about a thousand
dollars for a beginner, permanent escort. JJ is one of the most wanted men I have, and a three-hour
hook-up with him costs five grand. Ten if you want to hire him for an entire day.”

Holy fuck! JJ wasn’t lying about having saved enough money to live in luxury for the rest of his

life. Seriously, though, are there women delusional enough to pay that much money for a few hours of
pleasure?

As if reading my mind, Mr. Ice says, “Don’t let the money confuse you. I have over two-

hundred regular clients who come here at least once a month. JJ alone serves close to ten percent of
them.”

Is he telling me that to make me jealous? Because it’s working. JJ has twenty women in his

harem, throwing bags of money to feel his beautiful cock throbbing inside them. For several hours?

The jealousy that’s spreading through my body and making me feel physical pain isn’t a good

sign. Mr. Ice is right. I’m confusing sex with romance.

“I see,” is all I can say with the turmoil going on inside me. As I walk toward the door, Mr. Ice

hurries and opens it for me.

“Miss Doheny, before you leave, I must ask you another question. What alias should I enter for

your profile?”

“What?”

“You need an alias for your profile in our database. I can’t use your real name. Would you want

to keep the alias JJ chose for you? Beauty in white?”

I snort. That alias would be misleading, since I’m barely seven on the beauty scale.

“Seven,” I say. “My alias should be Seven.” Since it’s clear I’ll encounter nothing but disasters

here in the Pleasure Extraordinaire villa.

Outside, Nick is waiting for me. I say goodbye to Mr. Ice and take Nick’s arm. When we arrive

at the lobby, I realize I don’t have my handbag. I try to remember if I forgot it in Mr. Ice’s office, but
no, I didn’t have it there with me. I must have left it at the suite.

“Nick, I think I forgot to take my handbag from the suite, but I don’t remember where exactly the

suite is.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll go get it for you,” Nick says.

“I’ll use the restroom, while you’re at it.”

Nick bows his head, with a sweet smile on his lips and walks me to the nearest restroom before

letting me go. I can’t say I’m bothered by the over-attention I’m getting here from everyone I’ve come
across.

After I freshen up and apply makeup, I leave the restroom and stroll toward the windows down

the hall. The view is thick with luscious trees of various sorts. The grass is long and adorned with
flowers. Everything is pleasure here, one way or another, even the landscape.

I hear the murmurs and giggles of a woman on the other side of the hall. It must be another client

with one of the escorts here. I shouldn’t look their way, I know, but I’m curious to find out what kind
of woman comes here to satisfy her sexual needs. Would it be too judgmental of me if I think usually
older, uglier women must choose to be here rather than chasing uninterested men outside, in real life?

Not just judgmental, but wrong too, because the woman walking beside one of the boys I saw at

the entrance is neither old, nor ugly. If anything, she’s beautiful enough to appear on the cover of
Hustler with her curly, blonde hair, long legs, and ample chest. She’s coming here while probably a
dozen men outside must be waiting for their turn with her? That’s unthinkable and outrageous.

I swallow hard and turn around to hide my gaze from her, looking in the direction Nick left. A

familiar sound startles me, and my eyes search around for the source of that velvet voice. Sensual
laughter erupts and I realize it’s JJ’s, and he’s standing before the beautiful woman, kissing her hand,
the way he kissed mine not long ago.

I feel the same physical pain pinching at my chest at the sight of the two eyeing each other

intimately, revealing hints of the imminent passionate minutes, or hours, ahead of them. Why? Why
does it have to be him and not another one of the hundred permanent escorts, wrapping his arms
around that woman? Not even a full hour has passed and he’s already preparing to get another woman
beneath him.

Mr. Ice was right. Physical pleasure doesn’t come alone for most of the women. Feelings get

attached to it. This is the downside of being a woman, I guess. While a man fucks and moves on
without even remembering the name of his fuck-body, a woman has sex and immediately starts
envisioning walking down the aisle beside him. It was stupid of me to think of JJ as more than who he
is. A professional gigolo who has only fucking as many women as possible in his heart.

I should get out of here and forget the afternoon with JJ ever happened. I run toward Nick, as

soon as he appears with my bag in his hand. He notices the sudden change of my mood, I guess, but
doesn’t ask anything and wishes me a great evening before closing the passenger door.

I was right in picking Seven as my alias. The disasters have started right on my first day and

won’t stop if I remain a client.

CH 9: The Game

The day after my visit to Pleasure Extraordinaire, I call Michael’s cell to inform him about my

decision. I’ll sign the contract. I might not do it for the right reasons—I don’t think there exists any
logical reason for choosing to be some wealthy guy’s fake girlfriend, including money, but I’ll sign it
anyway.

I’m both thrilled and panicky about the next twelve months. It’s been only a few days since

Michael explained the contract to me, and I’ve had some very unusual experiences. I can’t even begin
to dream how these upcoming months will turn out. I don’t think it’ll be anything less than
exhilarating, and I desperately need some exhilaration in my mind-numbing life.

The phone beeps several times before Michael finally picks it up. “Hello, Lindsay. How have

you been?”

“Great, so far. Thank you. How are you?”

“I’m good, too. I’m about to fly to Russia in a few minutes.”

Russia? I could have been boarding the same plane with him for a fascinating trip to Russia, if

I’d signed the contract sooner. “I just wanted to let you know that I paid a short visit to Pleasure
Extraordinaire and now I’m ready to start our fake romance.”

He laughs into the phone. “That’s fantastic, but it’ll have to wait a couple of weeks until I come

back from my business trip. Would that be okay with you?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“You just go ahead and sign the contract and hand it to Edrick so we can start paying you.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Have a safe flight,” I say and disconnect.

I send Edrick an email about my phone conversation with Michael and my decision, and

receive his reply in just two minutes from clicking send. He wants me to drive to the company to go
over the details of my salary and the car I’m going to have. Oh, the car. I don’t have the slightest idea
about which car I should pick, but that alone is enough to keep me excited for several weeks.

I drop my phone on the vanity table and head to the bathroom for a quick shower. I have a

feeling that I’ll see more of Edrick than Michael, so it won’t hurt to look my best for my appointment
with him.

Just as I leave the shower, I hear the doorbell ring and wrap my wet body into my bathrobe to

get the door. A delivery man carrying a large, brown package in hand offers me a friendly smile.
“Miss Doheny?”

“Yes.”

“This package is for you. Please, sign here.”

After I scribble my initials on the device he’s holding, he hands me the package and leaves. I

stop dead in my tracks when I look at the sender on the package. Mr. Ice, himself, from Pleasure
Extraordinaire sent me this mysterious box. I shake it to get an idea of what’s inside, but hear no
noise. It’s feather light, too.

Feeling curious and irritated in equal parts, I slam the door, place the box on the table, and look

for a knife to rip it open. I get a little disappointed, when all I find inside the box are papers. I don’t
know what I was expecting, maybe some sex toys?

The papers look like a contract. I groan loudly and throw the stash of papers on the table. Not

another set of rules and regulations that I should read carefully and adhere to from start to finish.

I enjoyed those sexual hours in JJ’s arms, but I’m not sure whether I’ll ever be able to be strong

enough to perceive it just as sex and nothing more and be fine with the fact that the men there are
whores and care only about the hours they have a girl under them. Maybe, all my mind needs is
fucking another man or two to become one of them, to distinguish feelings from casual sex, to feel no
pain if I see my temporary lover kissing another woman after I'm done with him.

The handwritten letter on the top of the stack grabs my attention, and I lift it to read.

“Dear Lindsay,

Your blood results came out to be all negative for STDs. Also, I received Mr. Hawkins’

signed confirmation that he’s taking over your expenses. You’re now officially a member of our
exclusive club. My hearty congratulations. Welcome to our family.

Your profile in our database is all set. You can find information about how to access your

profile and our database together with your password in the package I’m sending you.

Let me politely remind you to keep this information to yourself. Please, start using

contraceptive pills and avoid shaving to prevent razor burn and get waxed instead for your next
visit to Pleasure Extraordinaire.

Sincerely,

Ace Preston”

Waxing instead of shaving? I toss the letter back to the stack and go back to putting on my

clothes. A part of me wants to go back there and take full advantage of the pleasures offered, but the
other part of me, the sensitive side, tells me I won’t be able to distance myself from the emotional
vulnerability of the equation called sexual intimacy.

I take a cab to the company headquarters and find Edrick in his office. He stands when I enter

his office and sits on the sofa with me. “Mr. Hawkins is very pleased that you agreed to sign the
contract. It was getting harder and harder finding a reliable person suitable for the job. Although we
have had all other previous girls sign an NDA, the danger of one of them spilling information was
still there. You know how famous Mr. Hawkins is, which is also a disadvantage, because if the word
gets out that he’s gay and has been hiding it for all these years, his image and entire business will be
endangered.”

“I’m well-aware of the magnitude of the problem and happy to help in any way I can.”

“That’s fantastic.” He gets up to bring a folder, which I assume has the contract in it, and hands

me a pen. “Please, sign this so we can authorize your employment with us.”

I sign the entire set of papers and get my copy of the contract with Michael’s signature on it.

Once everything is done with the contract, Edrick places it back on his table and hands me an

envelope. “There’s a blank check in this envelope so you can buy yourself the car you wish to have.
The limit is seventy thousand, which is, I guess, the right amount. But if you find something a little
over that price, just let me know so I can give you another check. You’re also given a company credit
card with the monthly limit of twenty grand. That’s in addition to the salary you’ll be receiving. So,
don’t be stingy about using that money on luxury items. I also opened an account for you at some of the
designer clothing stores so you can shop for clothes for the events you’ll be attending as Mr.
Hawkins’ girlfriend.”

I’m not sure if Edrick’s words are real or the product of my imagination, but each word has the

happy-making effect of chocolate and candies on me.

I listen to him as if I’m a little girl, listening to my favorite fairy tale from Taylor’s mouth. I

didn’t think I was a materialistic person, but here I am, thrilled by the fact that I’ll be boosting the
economy with several shopping sprees in the upcoming months, and it’ll be part of my job duties.
Who would have thought that?

After going through a few details about my duties, Edrick escorts me to my new office and

introduces me to my future colleagues in the marketing department, where I’ll be working as a chief
data analyst and have my own project.

Everyone seems friendly and welcoming. I know looks can fool, but with my dedication and

hard work and Michael’s support, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about regarding work. I’ll
officially start the beginning of next week and can’t wait.

At the end of the brief tour, Edrick instructs his assistant to arrange a company car with a

private chauffeur for me until I buy my own car.

I could easily get used to being spoiled like that, and the best part is I’ll have a ton of money

saved after completing the full year, a funding I can use to build a financially secure future. When the
secretary confirms the driver assigned to drive me around is waiting for me at the parking lot of the
company building, I thank both of them and head out.

The chauffeur greets me warmly and opens the door for me. I ask him to drive me to a chic

restaurant nearby for lunch so I can christen the credit card I’ve been given.

He drops me off at a restaurant that serves select international dishes from Peru to Malaysia

and tells me he’ll be waiting for me. No hassles with taking a bus or worrying over the taxi fares.
This is going to be awesome.

I enter the restaurant, feeling dizzy and happy as if I’m flying over the clouds, and nod at the girl

at the front desk. “Hi, I don’t have a reservation, but I’d like to have lunch if you have a table for
one.”

She looks down at the list in front of her, wincing a little. “I’m sorry, we’re fully booked for

lunch.”

“It’s okay.” I hear a man saying behind me. “She can join me.”

I turn around to see who and am stunned when I realize it’s Zane Hawkins, Michael’s son.

“Hello, Miss Doheny.” He’s as handsome as I remember him. No, not true. He’s more than his

image registered in my poor memory cells, because I hadn’t realized until now how his brown eyes
twinkle when he smiles. The dimples on his cheeks, the wind-ruffled mass of beautiful hair, the
infinite width of his shoulders.

“Mr. Hawkins,” I whisper, willing my heart to stop pounding against my chest. “What a nice

coincidence.”

“That’s true.” He offers his hand, and I hold my breath while his fingers are brushing the

sensitive flesh in my palm, across the back of my hand, my fingers. Hell, all my skin turns into a ball
of sensitive goose bumps at his touch. I hope he won’t notice his effect on me.

When our server comes, greeting us, I pull my hand back and direct my focus to her. Without

success, though, because even if I’m not looking at Zane, he has my full attention.

The girl at the front desk motions for us to go in while talking to the server. “Show Mr.

Hawkins and his guest their table. It’s number seven.”

I sigh between my parted lips. Why does it have to be table number seven? And why do I have

to hear it? “I… I think I won’t have lunch.”

Zane stares at me with curious eyes. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Sorry. I should really go.” I turn on my heels, but before I can take a step, Zane’s hand catches

my elbow and twirls me back to him. I have no choice but to explain to him my super-creepy
superstition. I wish I had a more functional superstition than my fear of seven, like hand-washing and
checking the locks for a dozen times before leaving home. I’d be totally happy if certain disasters in
my life depended on the frequency of my hand-washing. At least, it’d keep the germs away.

“What’s the problem?” Zane asks.

I glance at the two girls now staring at us and lean in toward Zane to whisper to him my

problem. “I’ve a kind of allergy to number seven, and our table number is seven.”

My mind spins and my heart leaps as his soapy scent hits my lungs. I tilt my head to look up at

him, and it’s a long way up thanks to his tall stature.

His eyes are smiling at me, not believing my words. I wouldn’t believe it either. It sounds a lot

like an excuse to escape a lunch with the son of my fake boyfriend.

With a heart-melting grin attached to his lips, he faces the two girls. “Can we get another table,

please?” I fear he’ll explain to them the reason for changing the tables. “Somewhere by the windows
would be nice.”

“With pleasure,” the girl at the front desk replies, stressing the word pleasure, reminding me of

the letter I received from Pleasure Extraordinaire. Has Zane heard anything about that place?

“Shall we?” The server walks through the tables, and Zane and I follow her toward a table for

two by the window.

“This is nice. Thank you.” Zane pulls the chair out for me, and I hang my purse on the back of it

and sit.

After we order our drinks, Zane shoots for the question I was afraid to hear. “What’s your deal

with number seven?”

“Long story.” I try to put on my most neutral face to show him it’s not actually that big of a deal.

“I was planning to take a long lunch break anyway.”

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.”

“Would you prefer talking about your relationship with my father?” He grins pointedly. He’s

good at locating people’s weaknesses, I guess.

“It’s not just one thing, but a combination of several events leading up to my reluctance to like

that number.”

“Okay, I’m all ears to learn about the events making you hate a lovely number.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes, grinning. “In math, seven is both odd and prime. Actually, it’s one of the

worst of the prime numbers because it’s double Mersenne Prime, and I always had issues with
Mersenne Primes while studying. Those are minor issues however, compared to my personal
problems with seven. Where to begin? My mother died on the seventh of June.”

He nods, prompting me to explain. Isn’t that a reason enough for him?

“She died while giving birth to me.” A response, something resembling empathy would be due

at this point, but he just keeps staring at me.

“I found out about the reason for my mother’s death when I was seven years old. I broke my leg

in June, a few years ago. I came close to being raped on February the seventh. The street number of
the house I killed Macey Williams in ended with seven. The exact hour I killed her was seven oh
seven.”

“All look like simple coincidence to me. If you fixate on any number, you’ll always find

something to complain about it.”

I shake my head in disagreement. “I don’t believe it. None of the things that happened to me

related to seven were coincidence. I’m cursed with it. That’s why I try to avoid that number as much
as I can.”

“Seven isn’t all as bad as you might think. How about seven Heavens?” he asks.

“If I believed in Heaven and Hell, that might have been a valid argument, but I don’t.”

“Seven days of the week?”

“Which goes to show seven is simply wrong for everyone. I’m sure you’ll also agree that we’d

be all better off if Monday didn’t exist.”

He laughs. “The movie Seven with Brad Pitt and Gwyneth Paltrow? That’s one of my all-time

favorites.”

“Are you kidding me? I had nightmares for a full week straight after watching that movie.”

The server brings our orders and asks if we need anything else. I simply shake my head and

thank her, watching Zane mirroring my behavior. I can’t believe I’ve just spilled out my most private,
uber-personal secret to a man who’s not just the son of my boss—yes, Michael is my boss—but also
working in the same company where I want to gain hands-on experience.

Good job, Lindsay. I couldn’t have found a better way to embarrass myself if I’d put on a

skimpy bunny costume.

He starts eating his entre, which I think has no meat in it.

“Are you a vegetarian?” A safer topic than my fear of seven.

“Yes, I am.”

“For the love of animals?”

He nods, smiling.

“I hope you won’t try to convert me, because I love meat.” I fork a piece of beef and pop it into

my mouth, awkwardly aware of Zane staring at my lips. “You can try my meat if you long for it. I
promise I won’t tell anyone.” Wait, that came out wrong.

His smile widens. He’s clearly noticed my unintended pun. Talking about seven doesn’t sound

so bad right now.

“I read a report on Macey Williams,” he says. “Her doctors at the clinic diagnosed her as

paranoid schizophrenia and manic depressive. She killed a nurse’s assistant and a doctor the night of
her escape, and the police believe she’d been involved with five other murders before she came after
your sister. Allegedly, she killed her biological father and his wife.”

“Yeah, I know all that.” I shiver, as I always do when the topic is Macey Williams. Only

someone with mental issues can shed so much blood without blinking an eye.

“You know that, yet still you continue with your irrational belief that being kidnapped by her

was something to do with bad luck.”

I frown and tilt my head to the side, gazing at him while trying to understand his logic. “You just

said she was a serial murderer, and I was kidnapped by her. I can’t think of any scenario with worse
luck than that.”

He lifts his hands, waving his index finger at me. “I agree to disagree. You see, I watched the

video  of  the  kidnapping,  so  you  know  I  have  an  idea  what  went  on  in  there.  The  fact  that  Macey
Williams kidnapped you, of all the people she could have kidnapped to lure your sister in, was in fact
a very fortunate event. Imagine if she’d kidnapped your brother-in-law instead of you. Because, he’s a
man  and  so  physically  superior,  Macey  wouldn’t  let  him  stay  without  securely  tying  him  up. Your
sister  and  your  brother-in-law  wouldn’t  have  had  much  chance  to  escape,  but  you.  She  let  you  be
without ropes. She underestimated your physical capacity, didn’t see you as an actual threat. Do you
see where I’m going with this?”

He doesn’t wait for my response to continue. “The simple conclusion is that you got rid of a

murderer, spared tax-payers’ hard-earned money that’d have been spent on her and saved lives she
could have taken if you hadn’t killed her. Here’s another point to my argument; you killed her in the
easiest possible way. It wasn’t even your intention to kill her; otherwise you wouldn’t have just
slapped her. But, it was indeed your slap that pushed her against that hook, which killed her. You
killed a blood-thirsty maniac and a potential mass murderer without intending to do so, and so your
conscious must be cleaner than if you had to shoot her with a gun.”

I realize I’m not holding the fork anymore, and my mouth is wide open with food still waiting to

be swallowed. I hadn’t thought that way of the kidnapping that led to Macey’s death. If I hadn’t come
to L.A., Macey would have found another way to get to Taylor and most likely succeeded in killing
her, considering the physical conditions Taylor was in with the pregnancy.

I finally remember to close my mouth, swallowing the food, and lean back against the chair. “I

don’t know. My niece died that day.”

He nods. His expression softens. “I know, but I also know that the baby was expected to die at

any moment. And, in spite of the low quality of the video recording, it raised awareness among
millions of people about that specific type of birth defect. And who knows, it may prompt scientists to
focus on research in that area and help researchers get funds easier now that it’s becoming a widely
known topic, thanks to the video. It might even influence the national policies regarding organ
donations for infants. We just don’t know, but I’m sure your niece’s death caused a domino effect for
big things in the future for science.”

Tears well up in my eyes. “Shut up or I’ll start crying.”

“I was just trying to show you things aren’t inherently bad. That’d be like judging Van Gogh’s

Starry Night by only looking at a corner of it, without seeing how beautiful the whole picture is.”

“How about my mother’s death? Was that also a chain of lucky events?”

“I can’t say because I don’t know how sick your mother was. But, I’m sure if she was asked

who should have survived that day, she’d have given your name.”

“Enough already.” I shade my face with my hand, looking away through the window to hide my

tears.

“I’m sorry. People will think you’re crying because I’m dumping you.”

Unexpectedly, loud waves of laughter take over, accompanying my tears. I dare look up and see

he’s laughing with me. He managed to pull two strong responses out of me in just a matter of minutes.
What does that say about him?

“Just so you know, if you were dumping me in reality, I wouldn’t be just sitting and crying.

You’d be the second one tasting the iron slap, and who knows what your head might just land on with
the force of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His laughter gets louder, and he throws his head back while his body

shakes with it.

When we both finally calm down, I take a sip from my water, while watching him drinking from

his wine, his lips still curled up, ready for another round of laughter.

I’m not sure what I should make of his words. I’ve hated seven for so long, it’s become a part

of who I am. And, even if my perception toward seven changes someday, I’ll never start celebrating
my birthday. That’s a fact that’s as permanent as if written in stone. However, no need to dwell
deeper on it and make Zane think I’m a complete freak—if he hasn’t already come to that conclusion.

“So,” I say. “How does it feel to direct one of the most successful TV networks in the nation?”

He frowns, looking confused by my words. “I don’t know. You ’d have to ask that of the CEO’s

of the big four.”

“Come on. Don’t be so modest. HBC has two of the most-watched shows on the air, and I’m a

big fan of one of them.”

“Let me guess, Frat House.”

“You guessed right.” I smile, feeling a little ashamed that he could guess I was a big fan of a

sitcom about four overly handsome college hotties and their sexual encounters between classes. “The
good looks of the actors aside, the whole idea is simply genius. It’s hilarious, sexy, and engaging. If
you pay close attention, you won’t see many females outside at nine p.m. on a Thursday night.”

“Unfortunately, the ratings don’t agree with your observations. The interest in that show has

dropped immensely compared to last year. We’re even considering not renewing it for the next year.”

“What? That’d be like the worst decision one can ever make in terms of making money in show

business. I’m telling you, if you cancel it, you’ll have a very angry female audience. It may even
jeopardize the future of the entire network, because when women get angry, things get dirty.”

He bursts into another laugh attack, although I didn’t intend it to be a joke. I seriously love the

show to the level of obsession. “You should share your opinion with the board of directors. They
have a different opinion about the show."

“Oh, I see. Let me guess, the directors are all dinosaur-aged and overly conservative men,

aren’t they? Of course they won’t see the merit of Frat House.”

“Correct guess about the age, but unfortunately they have a say in our decisions. They were

never content with the show to begin with, and now they’re using the drop in the ratings as a reason to
cancel it. This information is confidential, by the way,” Zane says, cutting a piece of mushroom.

“Of course.” I turn to my plate, seriously let down by the prospect of the cancellation of the

only TV show I look forward to watching every week. These people must be delusional if they can’t
see how profitable the show is. I hope another TV network will see the truth and snap the show away
from those ungrateful pricks’ hands.

When the lunch is over, to my absolute dismay, because I really enjoyed the half-hour

therapeutic chat with Zane, we stroll outside.

I walk slowly on purpose, enjoying the warmth of his hand at the small of my back. I won’t lie,

he’s arousing physical reactions that I shouldn’t have for the son of my boss. And, I feel I won’t have
the strength to decline him if he shows even a little interest in me.

That’s why I shouldn’t fully give up on Pleasure Extraordinaire. If I’m sexually satiated, I will

be more resilient against Zane’s advances. If he makes any advance on me, that is. But, I don’t see any
harm in being prepared.

“I’ll see you around,” he says as he takes my hand in his to kiss.

Oh my.

I inhale the spicy scent of his cologne—a huge mistake because my head starts spinning with the

lust that his scent is awakening in me. All of my body is reacting to him. I hope my hardening nipples
aren’t showing through my blouse. My sex is getting moister by the second, as if his lips were close to
it.

I’ll have to book an afternoon over at Pleasure Extraordinaire so the sexual need growing in me

from just the simple touch of this man won’t drive me crazy. Is this why men turn to brothels? How
seriously wrong it is to be forced to turn to brothels to be able to function, as if I’m just made to
copulate.

Despite my confusion, as soon as I arrive home, I dial Pleasure Extraordinaire and secure

Saturday afternoon for a few hours of sweaty and exhausting fun.

CH 10: Ice and Fire

The car pulls up, and the driver nods to me through the rearview window. I look out of the

window to see who’s going to walk me into the sensual four walls of Pleasure Extraordinaire this
time and am stunned when I see none other than Mr. Ice leaning down beside the car to get my door.

“Seven,” he hums with a heart-melting smile that reaches up to his eyes . . . so unusual of him.

I thought being serious was his signature, his natural state. But, I’m not disappointed at all.

Particularly because that smile is strong enough to make my heart trumpet and my sex . . . well, it
shouldn’t be about my sex anyway. He’s not an escort. He’s the owner of the establishment.

I climb out of the car and straighten my beige, mid-thigh sheath dress that’s on the rather sluttier

side of the appropriateness scale.

“Mr. Ice,” I blurt out and immediately see my mistake. Shit. He’s Ace, not Ice , and definitely

not Mr. Ice. When will I learn to think before speaking?

He blinks at me first, and then the shy smile turns into a full grin once he realizes my nickname

for him. “Is there a particular reason why you call me that?” He offers his arm for me to slide my own
arm around, while gazing at me with his big ice-blue eyes, curious for my answer.

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t mean anything. Just a silly joke about your cold attitude the first time we

met.”

“My cold attitude? Well, I apologize for that, but I’m not offended in the least for the alias you

picked for me, though.” He moves forward toward the entrance of the Pleasure Extraordinaire
building, pulling me with him. He might pretend to be cold, but his body heat is enough to keep me
warm in my skimpy dress.

A different set of young men, again naked except for jeans, are waiting at either side of the

hallway, each greeting me with the most gorgeous smiles. I guess they line up here, at the entrance to
pump a steady gush of arousal into the clients, right from the start. And, hell it’s working.

I feel Mr. Ice’s eyes on me, while my own eyes roam over the athletic bodies of the youth. One

must have a certain amount of exhibitionism in him to be able to do what they’re doing. Well, a well-
defined chest won’t hurt, either.

I’m curious about my new encounter. He’s not among the permanent escorts in the house and

instead has a life and a real job outside and only does this as a hobby.

I doubt he’ll be as sexy as JJ, my first encounter. But if what Mr. Ice said about their stringent

criteria for selecting their employees is anywhere near correct, my lover for the day will be sexier
than the three guys I slept with outside Pleasure Extraordinaire.

In addition to their requirements, I, the client, get to add my own. If this enterprise is going to

make thousands out of me, I’ll of course demand high standards, like height of at least six feet with an

athletic body and a cock of eight-inch length and five-inch girth. One can say I’m into numbers. He
should also be an excellent oral-giver and last longer than fifteen minutes at one go, too.

I wish I could see Mr. Ice’s face when he was reading my additional requirements. Although I

was thinking I’d never find a gigolo who meets all those requirements and wants to have me, here I
am, inside the luxurious brothel, only a few minutes away from meeting my dream lover.

I try not to think about JJ, while Mr. Ice and I walk toward his office. JJ was great in every

sense, from sexy looks to having the right attitude and knowledge about how to get into me, both
literally and figuratively. But, it’ll be dangerous for my weak heart to be around him, and I hope I
won’t see him today or any time soon until I desensitize myself to his charm.

Mr. Ice leaves me alone with my thoughts until we reach his office door and then takes my hand

into his to lead me into his office.

“Big Boy sent in the dress he wants you to wear for the afternoon with him,” he says as he slips

out of his jacket and hangs it into the closet beside the door.

I giggle. “Big Boy? Is that my lover’s alias?”

“Yes.” Mr. Ice comes out, holding a super-short, blue dress. If I thought the dress I’m wearing

was slutty, I have no words for the semi-transparent barely-there dress in Mr. Ice’s hand.

He opens another door to a suite and gestures inside with his hand. “You can get changed here.

Feel free to use the shower, towels, and makeup set.”

I nod, grab the dress by the hanger from his hand, and enter the suite. After taking a quick

shower to wash my body only, I dry myself and put on the blue dress. Since my lover asked
specifically for me to be makeup-free for our union, I skip the makeup set and only apply moisturizer
on my face and neck.

When I glance at the tall mirror and see my nipples poking freely through the fabric, I feel the

urge to cover them. How am I supposed to go out and face Mr. Ice, while each and every contour of
my body is displayed generously?

A knock on the door shoots up my anxiety. Before I can answer, the door opens, and Mr. Ice

stands at the doorway. What the hell? Why didn’t he wait for my answer? I might have been fully
naked right now. Maybe catching me like that was his intention. I reach up and cover my chest.

“We don’t have much time,” he says apologetically. “Big Boy is expecting you in fifteen

minutes.”

“I’m ready to go.” I hesitate to pull my arms down. It’s a good thing I’m wearing panties, or Mr.

Ice would have a clear view of my sex through the thin fabric of the dress.

“Not yet. Big Boy requested you to have coconut oil applied to your lady parts.”

“I don’t remember reading anything about that,” I snap. Coconut oil in lady parts? What kind of

fantasy does this Big Boy have in mind?

“He entered that request only an hour ago, but it’s not hard to fulfill. I have here a bottle of

coconut oil for you.” He places the bottle on the table beside him and begins pulling up the sleeves of

his shirt.

I stare at the bottle, and then him, baffled and also a bit amused. “What are you doing?”

He looks back at me, more confused than I probably must look, as if I asked him if he was a

girl. “I’m getting myself ready for the oiling.”

“What does that mean?” I laugh at his suggestion. “If you’re thinking I’ll let you anywhere close

to my vagina, much less let you apply oil there, you’re completely delusional.”

“Who would you have preferred? JJ? I don’t think he’ll enjoy the idea of preparing you for

another man.”

“JJ? I don’t want JJ or you. I have two functioning hands right here.” I lift my hands for him to

see in case he’s missed that point, and his eyes immediately drop to my pointy nipples beneath the
dress. Shit. My hands go back to where they were, covering my breasts.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It has to be a man, because it’s not just about the oil, it’s also about

awakening your sexual desire for the afternoon session with Big Boy. It’s his own explicit desire, and
I’m bound to fulfill it.”

What kind of fucking request is this? He’s a fucking gigolo, for shit’s sake, getting paid for

having sex with a young, willing girl. Why can’t he just accept that fact without asking for anything
additional?

Had I known he’d turn out to be so demanding, I’d also request him to have his dick oiled by

another man for half an hour straight. How would he like that? I don’t think the female prostitutes get
to be half as demanding as the male escorts here in Pleasure Extraordinaire. Even as prostitutes, they
won’t stop demeaning us women. Fuck them all.

“No way. I won’t let you rub me if that’s what you have in mind. I just can’t. Don’t ask me

anymore.”

“That means we have a big problem here. I’ll have to go ahead and call off your session for

today. But, because of our cancelation policy of twenty-four hours, you’ll be charged fully for it,
which is two-thousand dollars.”

“Two what? Fuck you and your cancelation policy.”

He laughs at me, opening his mouth widely, roaring out his amusement. “Would you want me to

call Nick to do it instead? Although it’s not among his job duties, I don’t think he’ll say no.”

“Are you kidding me?” I roll my eyes in frustration. Either I’ll back down and let him apply that

fucking oil to me, or I’ll go home, causing Michael to pay two-thousand dollars for an afternoon of
nothing. “I may let you do it, but I have a condition.”

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to see me naked, I should see you naked, too.”

The amusement is erased from his expression on the spot, and the real Mr. Ice, the cold, distant

one from our first encounter, reveals his face again. “You don’t need to be ashamed with me. I’ve
already seen you naked when you were with JJ during your last visit. Remember? I had to watch the

security cameras.”

Yeah, right. I bet he did that out of necessity. “All the more reason for me to see you completely

naked.”

He lets out a breath of shock and exasperation. Oh, I guess Mr. Ice is irritated at being forced

by some girl to show his wiener. I want to laugh at him to his face for being such a pussy about it, but
I don’t want to scare him away and cause his wiener to slink back to where it came from.

After some seconds of inner speculation—which he shows no signs of on his rigid face, so I’m

left to guess it—he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. “Fine,” he hisses out through his gritted teeth.

I drop my arms to my side, because there’s no point in hiding my nipples anymore. He’ll see my

pussy upfront, and I’ll see his dick. What’re some pointy nipples compared to that?

I have to stifle a shiver at the sight of the hard muscles bulging out in his upper body as he takes

off his shirt and places it on the chair. I can clearly count his six-pack. Oh, my. My breath catches in
my throat.

He doesn’t need to rub me down there to awaken the inner slut in me. The mere sight of his

toned body does exactly that.

Next, he reaches for his belt, and I find myself drawing in air and taking a step back with shock.

I’m getting wet already. What if he notices my arousal and thinks he’s the reason for it? Shit, I’ll give
him a bigger pleasure that way than letting him just oil me.

When he drops his slacks on the floor and gets out of them, I keep my eyes trained on his face,

not daring to look down even for a second. He takes his time on the last thing that’s keeping his
dignity. His boxers. His eyes are locked on mine as his hands slowly pull that damn fabric down.

He’s completely naked now, and we’re running a staring contest. I bet he’s dying to see me

lower my eyes to his dick and watch my reaction. My eyes are burning, but I won’t give him the
satisfaction . . . ever.

He’s the first one to break the eye-contact and turns around to grab the bottle, leaving me

enough time to examine his member. Unfortunately, there’s not much to be impressed about because
it’s flaccid. I admit I’m a little disappointed, because I expected him to be as turned on by my nearly
naked body under the dress, as I’m turned on by him.

“Get on the bed,” he orders sharply. What’s the deal with the men of Pleasure Extraordinaire

and ordering around? “Pull up your dress, sit on the edge of the bed, and spread your legs.” He’s
enjoying his little revenge, all right.

I throw away my high heels, wiggle out of my panties, and turn my back toward him as I head

toward the bed, slowly rolling the hem of my dress higher and higher until it’s well above my hips.

I don’t need to look at his eyes to know he’s assessing my ass. Luckily for me, my ass is my

biggest asset. Biggest being the keyword. Even when he complained about my short height and B-cup
breasts while he was rating my appearance, he didn’t make any comment about my ass. Which goes to
show that he likes it.

I sit at the edge of the bed, spread my knees, just as he said, and look up at him, while he’s

taking slow steps toward me. And, oh god, his dick is growing by the second.

I giggle like a little girl and cover my face in shame. I feel fingers encircling my wrists and

pulling my hands away from my face.

“Please, don’t make it any harder than it already is,” he says, and I have an uncomfortable

feeling he’s not talking about the moment as being hard. When my hands aren’t covering my face, all I
can look at is his dick, which is only a few inches away from my face.

“It’s pointing at me.” I enter another fit of laughter, slapping at my thigh, bowing my head to

hide my face, but keeping my stare on his dick, while he kneels in front of me.

The truth is, I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m not laughing. The sight of him, his hard member

now showing its full length, which I’m sure is no less than nine inches, is taking my breath away,
making my mouth water, and eliciting even more tantalizing reactions from my sex--shit and fuck.

And, he’ll know about those reactions once he touches me.

“Lean back and place your hands on the bed. Just relax and let me do my job.” Dipping his

fingers into the bottle, he gathers a generous amount of oil while I sit upright and relax my hands on
the bed on each side of my body.

“Push your hips forward.”

I do, spreading my knees fully and opening up my vagina completely to his view. There’s

nothing to hide, and he’s staring at my core with intense focus.

I wish I could know what goes on in that secretive mind of his. Oh, wait. I know it already. If

the thickness of his erection is a sign of anything, it’s the depravity of his thoughts. The important
detail is how, in which position? Is he fantasizing about pushing me flat on my back and just sticking
his cock into me, or is he dying to fuck me with his tongue, too?

What does a man who has seen every type of sex think about when he has a girl naked in front

of him?

The touch of his oily fingers on my inner thigh interrupts my speculations, and I’m forced to

look down at his hand slowly making its way to my center.

“Whoever did the waxing did a great job.” He glances up at me, while drawing circles on my

skin with his wicked fingers. “You feel soft as if you’re naturally hairless.”

“It didn’t come without pain.” I bite my lower lip, because his hand moves upwards and lands

on my mound.

“Is it painful now?” He caresses my skin from left to right, spreading the oil all around, slowly

going downwards, but not quite touching me there yet.

“No, not at all. It feels good…” A loud breath escapes me when his finger touches my sensitive

flesh around my clit. I swallow--hard.

He pulls his hand away to get more oil and applies it on each of the lips patiently as if he has

the entire afternoon. “You feel good, too.”

I jerk my head to the side, because I don’t want to see the lust in his eyes. I’ve come here to be

with another man, and if I continue staring at the burning desire in Mr. Ice’s eyes, I’m sure I’ll think of
him while fucking another man, and I don’t want that.

His massage is causing outbursts of desire starting in my core and spreading through my body.

My breasts, my hips, my throat demand the same attention my sex is getting. My lips are begging to
taste his. Big Boy’s plan is working in full. I’m becoming a growing ball of lust, threatening to
explode too soon as the lips of my vagina are pulled and kneaded in Mr. Ice’s slippery hand.

“You look absolutely breathtaking,” he says, his eyes fully focused on the job his hand is doing.

I swallow hard. My body’s reactions are getting harder to control with each pinch of his hand.

My hips buck against his hand without my intention. His fingers are both soft and rough, and I’m
afraid I’ll explode way too soon.

I watch his hand, unsure about how much longer this sexual agony will last. I wish I could have

the guts to end it now.

Abruptly, he dips a finger inside me and pushes his thumb against my clit, earning a loud moan

from me.

“Is…this…necessa…urghh,” I cry out when he pushes at the point in me where all my nerve

endings seem to be meeting. This is real torture, being so close to climaxing, but not allowing myself
to do it. I don’t want my first climax of the day caused by him. His mere fingers, and much less do I
want to give him that pleasure.

Fuck the fucking escorts of Pleasure Extraordinaire and their insatiable demands. What kind of

man would ask his lover to be finger-fucked by another man beforehand? Is that Big Boy’s kink? Oh,
god, he might even be watching me at this moment and see how I shatter to a thousand pieces with just
a finger from Mr. Ice.

Fuck it. My desire to explode is getting out of hand with each press of the murderous fingers on

and around my clit, and my entrance. I’m moaning nonstop now and can’t even think of stopping it.

My mind is foggy, all my senses focused on one small area between my legs. This can’t be

normal. His fingers can’t have that much power over me.

There must be something in that oil!

I scream from the top of my lungs as he finally pushes another finger into me.

“Stop it.” I jerk back, staring at his wild eyes. “What’s in that bottle? You’re drugging me with

it, aren’t you, you, fucking pig?”

He ignores my wish and thrusts his fingers deeper into me, making me groan and double over

with pleasure, but I just can’t allow it. I yank his hand away and drop on the bed on my side.

I can’t for fuck’s sake take it anymore. The urge to come is too powerful to handle. I have to do

something about it. Before thinking it to death, I sneak my hand down between my legs and slide two
fingers inside my body. The oil and my own juices have made my sex very slippery and too damned
sensitive.

I fuck myself with my fingers with the same pressure as my seven-inch dildo would have given

me.

Stoke, stroke, stroke.

I’m all fingers and vagina, and nothing else besides those two matters. There could be a bomb

attack near my ears, and I wouldn’t be able to stop fucking myself.

My sex feels like an independent being, squeezing and sucking my fingers, as if it has its own

mind and is producing more juice. My usual spot of orgasm seems to have spread all around inside
me, making it hard for me to focus on one point to climax.

I rub each of the demanding spots of my swollen flesh with brutal strokes, trembling with the

force arising from my core. I fear for the upcoming. I fear it’ll come bursting out and swallow me up
to nothingness. But more than that, I’m terrified it won’t show up, that it will leave me at the edge
before letting me reach my climax.

I push my hips against my fingers and my fingers against my core. And then it happens--with all

its beauty and devastation, chilling me down and warming me up at the same time. I yell, pant, groan,
and shiver through the tsunami waves of an explosive orgasm and see the light growing in the middle
of darkness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groan as my inside muscles jerk deliciously around my fingers. As my

senses slowly return, I feel sweat coating my body like a second skin. My hand squeezed between my
legs throbs with pain, so does my face sunk in the bed. I don’t even remember when I lay down on the
bed, and I don’t care. All I can hear is my heart pulsing in my ears.

With my breathing still short and quick, I open my eyes and turn my face to the root of my

unusual act, Mr. Ice. I’ve never masturbated in front of a man, much less a stranger.

He’s standing and leaning against the wall across from me, giving his own sexual organ a rough

rubbing. I should have known the level of desire in me would infect him, too. If he’s half as lustful as
I was seconds ago, he must be burning in the seas of desire.

There’s fire in his ice-blue eyes that are now fixed on me. He doesn’t need to tell me out loud

what he’d have preferred doing, rather than using his hands for his pleasure. The thought of my
afternoon lover watching us fills my mind. He must be getting a kick out of my little performance. But,
I wonder how he’ll feel about what I have in mind.

I slide down to the floor and walk on my knees toward Mr. Ice. My dress is still above my

waist and wet with my sweat, but I don’t care. I reach up to his hips when I am kneeling before him.
He’s staring down at me wild-eyed. I should let him jack off and watch how he explodes into
nothingness to take my revenge from him. However, despite my recent orgasm, I’m too lustful.

“You tricked me into this,” I state, in case he’s thinking otherwise, and lean toward his raging

erection. His hand is still firmly grasping it. “Let go,” I order with menace in my voice, and he does
what I say.

I run my fingers on the oily limb before circling them around it. It’s so big my thumb can’t reach

my other fingers. I wish I could be a man for a day to get to know how they feel sexual desire. Is it all

around their dick in equal amounts or located more on certain spots?

I send him a mischievous smile, before licking his dick from base to head, and then slip it into

my mouth. He groans, a hint of panic widening his eyes. I lower my head to get him deeper, and the
head of his dick hits the back of my throat. I don’t feel any gaging reflex whatsoever—must be the
orgasm that’s relaxed all my muscles—so I bob my head up and down around his dick without caring
about gaging.

I can hear his breathing getting deeper and louder. His legs begin trembling under my hands. I

push them to stop the annoying movement and pull his dick out of my mouth, glancing up at him for his
reaction. “You’re not allowed to come yet.”

I grip his shaft right below its head and squeeze it gently to stop his sperm from shooting,

enjoying the pulsation of his dick in my palm. When his moment of orgasm is gone, together with the
trembling of his legs, I mouth him again and grab his balls to massage them. Slowly, my hand sneaks
below them, rubbing the region between his testicles and butthole.

The trembling of his legs returns, and I’m forced to take him out of my mouth again to prevent

him from climaxing. I’m not yet finished with him, and I’ll make him pay several times more for what
he did to me.

He has yet to open his mouth to speak his objection. His speechlessness is only adding to my

pleasure. If my afternoon lover is indeed watching this, he must have already come, maybe even a few
times. Not good, because he won’t have any more fuck left for me, which goes to show I should enjoy
the moment with Mr. Ice now while I have him in hand--in a literal sense.

I shower his cock with the vast amount of saliva my mouth is producing and take him into my

mouth again. My finger sneaks back between his legs and reaches up to his butthole. I wonder if he’s
ever been touched there. I have no idea if he likes men too, and lets anyone fuck him there. I probe the
entrance gently and a bundle of firm muscles push my finger back.

Looks like a no.

When his legs start shaking again, I start to pull back, but this time he fists his hands through my

hair and thrusts his dick deep into my throat. I’m not upset by having him take control, just shocked.

He fucks my mouth with a primal force, hitting the head of his cock deep into my throat. The

heat and desperation his body is emitting is making my sex itch with a fully renewed desire.

I continue stroking his balls and prostate while I suck him with vigor and determination,

remembering the hurricane in me only a few minutes ago.

Just when the thrusts get furious and the trembles stronger, I push my finger into his hole. His

body stiffens on the spot, but I keep my finger there, probing his muscles gently for permission to
enter. The second I get my permission and slide my middle finger inside him, he sprays hot spurts of
sperm, blasting into my throat. Before I know it, though, his hand yanks mine away.

“Nobody touches me there,” he growls and pulls himself out of my mouth.

I drop on my butt and watch him storm out of the room. What’s got into him now? Has the little

game he started turned out to be not so much fun for the crybaby?

CH 11: The Lover

I take another shower to wash away the sweat from my body and put on the dress I came in

with. If Big Boy decides to decline me because I’m not wearing the sweat-soaked dress he picked out
for me, then he can go fuck himself, because I’m not going to put up with any more of his caprices.

Once dressed, I find the bottle of coconut oil and apply some to my vagina, expecting it to

revitalize the desire that the shower diminished to some degree. I remind myself to buy a bottle or
two for myself for later.

After I’m done oiling myself, I wash my hands and head out, a little nervous about meeting Mr.

Ice after his stormy exit. I open the door to his office and meet his composed expression as opposed
to my wild heartbeats.

He’s a little distant, I can tell, but otherwise, the usual coldness on his face is replaced with a

warm smile. “Nick is expecting you outside and will walk you to your suite.”

“Thanks. I…I had to take a shower, but I applied some of that coconut oil.”

He nods and snaps his eyes from mine, in shame? Perhaps I should apologize for having tested

the forbidden waters of his buttocks, although he’s the one who’d started everything. But, I feel
bringing up the topic will embarrass him more than it’ll do any good.

“I’ll go now.”

He stands, walks around to open the door for me and tells Nick to take me to the winter suite

before wishing me a great afternoon.

I masturbated in front of a man and then sucked him out, but I don’t feel the slightest shame in

me for going to another man for another round of sex. And, no trace of the heartbreak I felt after being
with JJ. Am I finally getting desensitized toward sex?

The thing I did with Mr. Ice can hardly be called sex, though. It was like fucking in an

animalistic sense. We didn’t even kiss each other. No words of admiration were exchanged, only
plain sucking and fingering.

Maybe that’s exactly what I need to do to truly enjoy the delicious fruits this place has to offer.

No kissing, that will make my heart flutter or cause emotional attachment and no talking afterwards.
Just meet, fuck, and thank you very much. It sure worked with Mr. Ice. I feel nothing for him. No
resentment, and no heartache after we were done. Why shouldn’t it work with the man I’ll meet in a
few minutes?

I’ll test my assumption, and if that’s indeed the key to my problem, I’ll have a hell of a lot of

hot, sweaty times in these four walls of indulgence.

I glance at Nick over my shoulder and notice he’s just a boy compared to JJ and Mr. Ice. Not

that he’s ugly in any sense. He’s beautiful, but a boy, nonetheless, immature and inexperienced. There

must be several women who’d enjoy their men innocent, but I’d rather have the dirtier ones with
years of experience under their belts.

Hoping my lover for the afternoon will have a mature and manlier look with a wide variety of

sexual encounters in his past, I walk silently beside Nick. We stop at the same suite I was in the last
time with JJ.

Nick opens the door, although I didn’t hear a sound from the other side of it, and I’m confronted

with a dark room. Are we going to play hide and seek? Or perhaps my lover is on the shyer side of
the confidence scale. I can’t say I’m liking it, though.

“Welcome,” I hear a deep voice, but can’t see anything through the dark.

“Can we turn on the lights, please?”

“In a moment.” Hands grab my waist, and I’m pulled against a body so hard it hurts as if I hit a

concrete wall. I hear the door close behind me.

That I can’t see him right now isn’t too bad actually, for my skin is enjoying being the main

sensory organ while I explore the contours of the naked body before me. As soon as he locates the
zipper of my dress, he unzips it and lets it pool around my feet. That move makes us equal in
nakedness since I have neither a bra nor panties.

He presses me against him, and I feel wet lips showering my throat and shoulders with harsh

kisses as if he’s trying to engrave his lips on my skin.

I move my hands up and down his thick arms and scratch his back from his shoulders to his

round ass cheeks, all the while pushing my hips against his, pressing his cock between our bodies.

I want to sneak my hands to have a feel of it, but he grabs both of my hands and pins them

behind me before I can even try.

What is this? I can’t see? I can’t touch?

At least his lips are doing good work at taking my mind off the less-than-stellar conditions of

our meeting. His hair tickles my throat as he pushes my hands farther back and leans down to suck my
breasts. Before I know it, his hand that’s not grabbing my wrists like cuffs moves between my legs
and begins stroking me there.

Has he watched how I got off only a few minutes ago? He must have. That’s why he’s trying his

fingers on me right now. To compete with my own and show me who’s better at it.

His fingers are as rough as his lips, working me up with ruthless strokes, driving me close to

my climax all too quickly.

“I’m very close,” I whisper as a warning.

“Not yet,” he hisses into my ear, momentarily distracting me from the approaching pinnacle.

Instead of slowing down, though, his fingers poke around my entrance before diving into me and a
hurricane of mad thrusts stirs awake the nerve endings inside me.

“I’m gonna come now. I can’t hold it.”

“No.” More hissing, but no stopping. What does he expect me to do when all his fingers are

doing is pushing me close to a wild explosion?

When I’m only a heartbeat away from reaching the forbidden peak, he draws his fingers out of

me, and the next thing I feel is being lifted up and tossed over the bed.

My hands reach out to locate him in the dark. Yes, it’s still pitch-black and my eyes haven’t

adjusted to it yet. Before I can touch him, though, his hands grab my buttocks, pulling me against his
face, and his mouth lands on my pussy, sucking my clit with the power of a vacuum cleaner. Just like
that, without any warning or explanation.

There’s no way I can hold it any longer now that he’s going full power on me, thrusting his

tongue into my tender flesh. The addition of his rough fingers just does it for me, and I come apart
with violent convulsions, stroking his fingers just as roughly as they stroke me.

“You taste so good. What is it?” I hear his words through my intoxicated senses, though they

don’t make any sense. However something is off, terribly off even to my fog-filled thoughts.

I jerk up on the bed, despite the strong waves of spasms hitting me to the core, and yell, “Turn

the fucking lights on.”

I need to see him to make sure my hazed mind isn’t playing some despicable trick on me. I

slither on the bed and touch the nightstand to locate a table lamp. When I finally feel something that
resembles one, I switch it on and see…Zane.

Zane Hawkins is Big Boy?

Before my mind can question the why’s and how’s of being in the same suite of Pleasure

Extraordinaire with Zane as my lover for the afternoon, I stare at him in shock, because he’s on the
floor, writhing in pain like an animal struck by a bullet.

Once my eyes finally adjust to the light, I notice something, a strange detail on his face. His lips

are unusually swollen and glowing red.

“What did you put on your pussy?” he screams, but his words are hard to understand.

I literally jump down from the bed and get to his side to find out what’s going on. I panic at the

magnitude of the problem he’s going through. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you apply some kind of lotion to yourself? What was it?” His swollen tongue can barely

spit out the words correctly.

“The oil you asked me to apply.” What was it? “Coconut oil or something.” Seems to be the

root of all evils today.

“Fuck! Are you sure? I’m allergic to coconut.”

That doesn’t make sense at all. “Then, why the fuck did you want me to apply it?”

He tries to cover his lips with his hands, but flinches when his skin touches his giant lips. Oh,

my god. What’s just happened?

“Help, help! Someone, call a doctor!” I yell and get to my feet to call someone in-- someone

with a cooler head than mine.

Nick bangs open the door and hurries inside with a phone against his ear. “Dr. Smith, we have

an emergency in Winter Suite number Seven.”

Number seven! Number fucking seven! Give me a break!

More men come in and together they help a fully naked Zane out of the curse-filled room. I grab

my dress, put it on, and follow them out. There’s no way I’m spending an extra millisecond in there.

I run beside the men carrying Zane, working hard to wrap my head around the order of events.

The coconut oil was his request, or at least that's what Mr. Ice said. Why would Zane request me to
let another guy apply the kind of oil he’s allergic to, unless he has a masochist split personality that
he’s not aware of?

That’s too much fantasy, so I drop that possibility and skip to a more likely explanation. That it

is a secret scheme orchestrated by Mr. Ice. Can he be so vile as to deliberately injure one of his
employees? I don’t know him well enough to guess, but it doesn’t seem fitting, neither to his persona
nor anyone else working under the Pleasure Extraordinaire umbrella, especially because of the lack
of any reasonable motivation behind this perverse act.

That brings me to only one cause for the bewildering calamity, an error from Zane’s side. I

don’t know how a smart man of his capacity managed to categorize a product that he’s allergic to into
something he wishes his new lover to use, but any other explanation seems less logical in every
sense.

When the doctor takes him into the exam room, he orders me and Nick to remain outside.

Perhaps it’s a good thing because I don’t know how I’d handle seeing a man suffer because of me.
Well, some coconut lotion he licked off my pussy, to be exact.

Everything is so strange. In fact, there’s nothing sensible in the entire afternoon! Why the

fucking hell did Zane ask to have sex with me in the first place? Doesn’t he have enough gorgeous
women throwing themselves at him? Mr. Ice’s persistence about smearing that drugged oil all over
my privates was just the tip of the iceberg of the curiosities called my afternoon.

Speaking of Mr. Ice, he’s striding down the hall toward us, his face a wall of cement. I wish to

break every piece of brick and read his mind. He could work as an undercover agent without giving
away anything with his expression. God, does this man have any uncontrolled muscles in his body?
Most likely, he doesn’t have any emotions whatsoever; that’s why he can be so neutral in every
situation.

“He’s allergic to coconut oil,” I grit the words out between my teeth as soon as he comes over,

relaying to him who I think is the guilty one here--he, and only he, unless Zane made a mistake.

He glances at me for a fraction of a second, and in that moment, I realize his irises are growing.

Technically, eyes don’t have muscles, so he still keeps his super-strength muscle control. But to be
able to pull a reaction out of him, even a tiny one like this, manages to make me feel somewhat
pleased in this chaos.

“Must be a mistake in the software.” He bites his lower lip as soon as the words are out of his

mouth, as if he didn’t mean to say them. His eyes do a quick flicker across the hall. “I’ll go check up

on him.”

I can tell he’s not being honest with me--asshole. “You’re lying! You fucking did it on purpose!

Admit it!”

He simply turns his back to me and enters the room, closing the door in my face. He

deliberately injured a person and is lying about it. The only thing that is keeping me standing here,
rather than giving in to the growing urge to corner him in the exam room and force him to confess is
that I don’t want to distract the doctor from doing his job.

But it doesn’t mean I’ll let Mr. Ice go. I’ll wait here, even if it means I’ll spend the entire night

in this dimly lit, chilly hall with this flimsy dress on me.

Minutes pass, still no sign of either the doctor or Mr. Ice. I’ve heard of several types of food

allergies, but allergy to coconut is completely new to me. I don’t have the slightest idea of the danger
it entails. I’d never forgive myself if something serious were to happen to Zane. Although I’m not the
real guilty one here, I should have checked on it before letting him lick me.

God, he seriously licked me and would have fucked me, had the incident not taken place. Why,

oh why did he do that? Only one reason is popping up in my mind. I must be the forbidden fruit he’s
not allowed to taste. These ego-driven, type-A-personality men. He likely wouldn’t take a second
look at me on another occasion, but since I’ve become his father’s girlfriend and therefore
unreachable to him, he had to find a way to stick his dick into me. If this was indeed his reason, he’s
gotten what he deserved.

Fuck him and fuck all men. I wish I were a lesbian. At least I’d be better versed in the type of

person I’d like to get into bed with. Rather than the closed-minded, penis-controlled teenagers
disguised under the appearance of a mature man.

My high heels are killing me, and there are no seats close-by, so I take them off, risking looking

like a mushroom compared to tall trees, beside Nick and the other two men.

Just when I lean against the wall and begin rubbing my foot, Mr. Ice comes out. He tries to

avoid looking at me, when he says, “He’s much better now.”

He starts to walk away, but I catch his elbow before he can escape. “Admit it.”

“Can we discuss it in my office?” He stares at me with cautious eyes, and I nod. I have to run to

keep pace with his long strides as we go to his office.

“Why did you do it?” I ask as soon as I step into his office and bang the door behind me. I see

his chest moving fast, but besides that, he’s still his robot self in terms of revealing his emotions.

“Come, check his entry with me. You can see his note.” He signals with his hand toward the

computer on the desk and types the password to enter his account. “Here, read it for yourself.”

I move closer to read the text on the screen and whisper the words aloud, “Have her apply

coconut oil in her vagina before the meeting.” I smirk with anger. “That’s ridiculous. He knows he’s
allergic to coconut. Why would he have you use coconut oil unless he has a death wish?”

He stares at the screen without disclosing anything that goes through his mind.

“You have access to all accounts. You could have written it down there easily.” I feel my voice

rise, but so what? “Just admit it. You did it.”

He shakes his head, but can’t open his mouth to defend himself.

“I hate liars, and you proved to be one,” I yell and stride out of his office. My hands are

shaking, and my chest hurts. Short breaths are all I can manage as the memories of the first lie ever
told to me floods my mind.

When my cousin got mad after losing a silly video game three times in a row against me, she

presumed it to be her right to lie to me about my mother’s death to get revenge against me for beating
her.

Yes, a barely seven-year-old girl succeeded in cutting a deep wound in my soul by telling me

my mother suffered a horrible death because my extremely big head broke her bones while she was
giving birth to me. I couldn’t do anything, not eat, nor talk, for several days after hearing the
horrendous details of my mother’s death, until Taylor explained to me she died of preeclampsia and
not because of my over-sized head.

Lies have the power to destroy a person in a matter of minutes. And I’m the best example of

that. Even after hearing the truth from Taylor, my subconscious chose to believe the lie my cousin had
told me, and I can’t, for the love of God, wipe away the feeling of guilt of murdering someone who
gave life to me.

From that day on, I became conscious of liars. The bad thing is that they’re everywhere. Even

the people who’re paid to be honest, such as doctors, can lie easily. And, let me not get started with
lawyers.

But, the good thing is, I’ve become an expert in spotting liars. A brief sign of distress, gulping,

a wrong twitch of an eyelid, or as in Mr. Ice’s case, irises dilating suddenly, give them away if you
pay close attention. He chose the wrong person to lie to because I could be granted a PhD in reading
those signs if such a lie-detection department existed.

Fuck Mr. Ice and all the liars. They can spend the entire eternity in Hell for all I care.

I climb into the company car and ask the private driver I’m assigned by Hawkins Media Group

to drive me back home.

I shower as the first step in getting rid of the feeling of dirt after coming in close contact with

filthy people and then settle in front of the TV to play a round of Street Fighter on my Xbox. It helps to
be able to kick some asses, even in cyberspace.

When I notice the sun is going down, I call to order pizza for dinner. I promised to have dinner

with Taylor and Adam, but I guess I’ll skip it for today. When the bell rings ten minutes after the
phone call, I grab my purse and hurry to get the door.

I nearly drop the purse in my hand when I see Zane and not the pizza delivery guy at my

doorway.

“May I come in?” he asks. His face has no trace of the allergic reaction he had a few hours ago.

Even though I’m glad to see in person that he’s all right, I’m not sure about inviting him in. “Please, I

want to talk to you,” he insists.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, but the real question I want him to answer is why he

wanted to be with me.

“About the afternoon. I came here to apologize. I should have asked you instead of surprising

you that way.”

He had even kept the lights off to hide his identity from me. I survey his face intently to evaluate

his sincerity, but he seems genuine enough even to my expert eyes. I want to let him in and talk his
heart out, but my home is in no shape to accept a guest, much less one of the bosses of the company I
work for. Besides, I’m fairly sure my sweatpants have a hole in the crotch.

“Give me a minute,” I say and close the door in his face before running with the speed of light

to my bedroom. After changing into jeans, I hurry to the living room to collect all the dirty clothes I
failed to throw into the laundry basket. As soon as dirty plates find their place into the overly filled
sink, I stride back to get the door, hoping Zane hasn’t decided to leave.

“Come on in,” I open the door wide to let him in, trying to breathe as silently as possible.

His eyes size me up and down and a smile appears on his lips, lighting up his face with a lustful

expression. I have to bite my lip to banish the images of those lips sucking the lips of my sex only a
few hours ago; and I must admit, the power of the suction of his mouth could compete with any Dyson
vacuum cleaner.

“I don’t have much time.” I cross my arms as a way to put a distance between us and hopefully

to hide my awakening nipples beneath my t-shirt, cursing myself for not remembering to put on a bra.

“Can I get a glass of water? I drove here right after I woke up from the coma.”

“Oh, sure.” My living room might look presentable, but I’m a horrible host. I grab the only

clean glass I can find in the kitchen and come back to Zane with ice-cold water. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He gulps down the entire glass of water, while his eyes are fixed on my chest. If he’s

thinking I can’t see where they’re looking through the glass, then he’s an idiot. But I sense he’s aware
that I know exactly where he’s staring and even that it’s turning me on.

I take a step back and move my eyes around the room to break the spell he’s pulling me into,

while he drinks the last sip of the water.

“I wasn’t sure it’d be you.” He places the glass on the coffee table, his dark-brown hair falling

across his forehead as he leans down. “I was going through the list of available clients at the PE
database when I noticed a new entry with the alias Seven and thought it might be you.” He runs both
his hands through his hair to push it back, and I gasp at the sexy way his fingers capture the thick
strands.

“I had no idea you were one of the escorts,” I mumble although it’s not really relevant to his

explanation.

He smiles and licks his lips, moistening them, and I take another step back, uncomfortably

aware of the danger his lips pose to me. “Only a very few wealthy, single men aren’t a registered

escort there.”

“Really?”

He nods and moves cautiously toward me. “I wanted to have you from the first minute I saw you

leaving my father’s office.”

“Why? Because you knew I’d be his girlfriend and then you couldn’t have me?”

“No, not that. I’d had no idea he had that intention until he told me when you left his office.”

“Then, why?” I’m not a particularly hot girl. Even Mr. Ice confirmed that fact by rating my

looks with a four out of ten.

“Why do I have the hots for you? I have no idea, but every time I see you sway your round ass, I

can’t help but wonder how you’d squirm if I bent you down on a desk and fucked you from behind.”

A surge of heat flushes from my core, spreading over the surface of my weakening body, and I

gulp down hard, fearing I’ll start trembling. The mere fact that he’d been only minutes away from
finding out the truth about the way I squirm, before the coconut allergy hit him, doesn’t help in the
least with the sudden response of my body to his words.

“I say let’s find out. Let me make you squirm and scream with my cock stuffing your pussy. I

was so close to it today. After tasting your pussy, there’s no going back to normal for me. Let me,
please let me in.”

“Enough.” I lift my hand, my palm toward his face. “I’m not going to let you do anything to me.”

As if I just gave him my thumbs up to do whatever he wants with me, rather than declining him,

he leaps toward me to close the distance between us, cups my buttocks with his large hands, and
attacks my lips.

Although my brain flashes me a 'Stop him right now' sign in neon letters, my body is too

entangled in his to be able to react to his vigorous assault. His hands slip through the waistband of my
jeans and clamp on my bare ass cheeks beneath my underwear, pulling my hips against his hard-on.
His grip is so strong; I’m lifted off my feet.

Oh, god. I feel my sex dampen almost instantly at the feeling of his penis bulging through his

slacks and pushing against my body. I try to push him away, without success, and barely utter the
words, “I’m not allowed to have sex with anyone,” into his mouth between his ferocious kisses.

He lets my lips go, although my body is still wrapped tightly with his arms. “Yes, you are. You

hired me for the entire evening. This is still part of the Pleasure Extraordinaire service.”

Pleasure Extraordinaire, indeed. I feel my vaginal walls throbbing inside me, yearning to be

stuffed as Zane has promised. I evaluate his words for a brief second before he launches his mouth
back onto mine and thrusts his tongue between my lips, while his hands ruthlessly rub my butt cheeks.
Only a little stronger and my flesh between his fingers would hurt, but he doesn’t cross that border.

An unexpected slip of a finger through my slit does it for me, and I stop fighting him and wrap

my arms around his neck to pull him in for a harder kiss.

He groans into my mouth while continuing to grind his hips against mine. I wish his cock had

the power to rip through clothes, because I want it in me with a white-hot, pulsating desire.

I rush my hands down and fumble with the buttons of my jeans, while he mirrors my move with

his own slacks, and in a matter of seconds, our pants are pushed down, although we’re still fully
clothed from above the waist. I’m so horny for him, I don’t want to waste any seconds taking off my t-
shirt before taking his manhood in me, and I’m guessing his reason to keep my t-shirt on is the same as
mine.

He flips me so my bare buttocks are touching against his legs and pushes me against the arm of

the couch, bending me down on it as he promised. “I’m clean, I swear,” are his last words before he
slides his cock up and down my pussy lips and pierces it into me.

I scream with the fullness of it, trying to stretch so I can take all its thickness. Noticing my

discomfort, he pulls back and slides back in, this time slowly. I thrust my hips back, meeting him
halfway, yearning to be filled despite the slight discomfort.

His large hands grip my hips on either side of my body to keep me in place while he pounds

into me. His fingers are long enough to reach down and touch my clit, but he doesn’t do anything
beyond fucking my pussy with loud plunges.

I’m gasping and panting with each thrust, so close to an overwhelming climax. “Harder,” I cry

as if his thrusts aren’t already intense enough to be defined as violent. He responds to my plea with
harder and faster moves, shaking me to the core, making me yell incoherent words mixed with curses
while a stormy climax sweeps over the little reason that’s left in my mind.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants and pulls out of me. I use the tiny drop of energy left in me to turn

my head and watch him as he jerks his cock to his own climax and flushes his hot liquid onto my ass.
As if our fucking wasn’t mind-blowing enough to end up in Guinness’ Record book for hotness, I
tremble with the sexiness of the scene, him rubbing his cock above my ass while his seeds flow
across my skin.

“You have the tightest pussy I’ve ever fucked,” he says when his breathing becomes somewhat

regular. “I saw on your profile you’re on the pill.”

“Yes, I am.” I nod and straighten up.

“You should still go wash yourself before my boys reach down to your pussy.”

His boys have no way to land inside me, but I go to bathroom to wash up anyway. When I come

back, wrapped up in a towel, I find Zane sitting on the couch, staring at a painting on the wall.

He gets to his feet and approaches me when he sees me. “I’m sorry for my surprise visit. I

understand if you don’t want to use my services over at PE anymore.”

“I’m equally guilty, I guess, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to have anything going on

while I’m working for your father, even though there’s no breach of the contract.”

He reaches for my hand and pulls it up to his lips. “Nobody needs to know anything about it. As

long as you’re Seven and I’m Big Boy, we can do anything we want inside PE,” he says and kisses
me.

I try to hold the towel intact, pressing my arms against it, while trying not to melt against his

kiss. It’s hard to say no to him, especially after such a mind-blowing orgasm. My first time going
condom-less with a man, and thank God, I’m on the pill. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. I’ll see you around.” He leans in and lets his lips brush mine, gently, almost lovingly,

and I remember my promise to myself to not let my heart beat for any of the PE escorts.

I pull away, before he can slide his tongue into my mouth, and look toward the door pointedly.

A mischievous smile appears on his lips, but he doesn’t say a word and just leaves my apartment.

The pizza delivery guy arrives only a minute after Zane’s departure, leaving me in awe about

the perfect timeliness of Zane’s visit. The last thing I have in mind is eating, though. Zane might claim
to want to see me again, but a gnawing whisper inside me tells me I won’t be anything but a one-time
fling, or one of the dozens of women he keeps on the side.

It bothers me that men like Zane don’t come without other women competing for them. I might

consider getting into a bloody fight with those women if I was sure Zane was worthy of my effort. But
I’m neither positive of his sincerity, nor confident that I really want him—only him, that is. Because I
can’t help but wish to spend more time with Mr. Ice too, and to have a chance to get to know him,
despite my disappointment over his lie.

A promiscuous man on the one hand and a liar on the other. The kind of men my heart yearns to

have couldn’t be worse, and I have a feeling the days ahead of me will include more disappointment
and heartache.

Pleasure Extraordinaire – Complete Collection is now available.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L8H2AJI

The Pursuit of Passion by Liv Bennett

Adam Garnett has been known for his utterly good looks, brilliance at closing multimillion-dollar business deals, and

failed attempts at seducing his boss, Taylor Doheny; the beautiful widow of Adam’s best friend.

Three years after her husband’s death, Taylor Doheny is still determined to keep her heart locked away from men,

particularly the ultimate flirt and notorious womanizer named Adam Garnett.

She had better take care; his ravishing words, sweet promises, and provocative gestures are threatening to break

through her defenses and irrevocably get under her skin.

When Adam risks his life to rescue her during a vicious assault, Taylor can’t find it in her to ignore his broiling desire

and obsessive lust for her. Will she be able to leave the past behind and open up her heart to Adam, despite the real danger of

having her already fragile emotions crushed?

Download The Pursuit of Passion for free:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EZ5N6Z2

Blinding Love 1 by Liv Bennett

He loves me and hurts me. The more intense his possessiveness becomes, the deeper the

scars he leaves. And, I take in everything; the good and the bad, the love and the jealousy...until I
can't do anymore.

Our love is blinding, tainted, intense.

Our love is punishing, broken, not meant to last.

It is beautiful, deep and adorned with can't live without you's, don't leave me's.

And sorrows and imperfections.

Yet if I had to start all over again, I'd choose you...always you.

Download Blinding Love for free:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L48ZXN6

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. The uploading,
scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover image © Artem Furman / ShutterStock, Inc.
Swirl image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / Seamartini
Floral ornament image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / ThomasAmby

About the Author

Liv Bennett lives in California with her husband, daughter, and two loud budgies. Reading and

writing erotic romance are her favorite forms of relaxation, in addition to long walks and yoga. She's
a social drinker of coffee, but a serious tea addict.

eepurl.com/F_nqD

https://www.facebook.com/LivBennettAuthor

(Please, log into Facebook before clicking on

this link)

slivbennett@gmail.com

The Pursuit Series by Liv Bennett

An Illicit Pursuit (Pat & Zachary)

The Pursuit of Passion (Taylor & Adam, 1)

FREE!

Delayed Delivery (Taylor & Adam, 1.5)

FREE!

An Everlasting Pursuit (Taylor & Adam, 2)