Audra sighs gruffly and streaks her fingers through her red hair. The scrunched, nude fabric of her dress climbs up her thighs. I scan my gaze down her body and find out that she's barefoot. My breath hisses through my teeth and my pants feel suddenly tight.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone. Pam gave me your number and – ”
“How do you know Pamela Tribbard?” I interrupt. My faux smile never falters, but the way Audra's eyes drill into me, I can guess she sees right through it. Most of my clients can; it's one of the ways I pick them.
“How is that any of your business?” A stray stripe of sunlight cuts Audra's face in half, drawing emphasis to her pert little nose and her pale skin. I don't take the break in the clouds as any sort of sign, just random happenstance. In my world, there is no such thing as fate. I tuck my tight fingers into my pocket and lean back, watching Audra's eyes trail over my body. I take great care to keep it in shape. I doubt many would be willing to pay to assuage their darkness with some balding, middle-aged prat with a dandruff problem.
“Because you have my number. Not many people do. Now, before I decide to change it and cut Pamela off entirely, I want to know how you know her. Why she even thought to recommend me to you.” A flash of anger stabs through Audra's face, turning her white skin pink. She turns away, pauses, spins back to face me again with a slightly different expression.
“You can't cut Pam off. She talks about you like she's in love.” My lip curls. I don't mean it to, and I reign it in almost immediately, but Audra sees and she doesn't like it. She glances over her shoulder again, and I growl. “Besides,” she whispers, putting her hand on the railing and coming down the three stairs of the back porch to stand even with me, “you're in my yard, sneaking around like a common criminal. Tell me why I shouldn't have you arrested? Why I'm the one that has to answer your questions? What are you even doing here?”
“Is Mark your boyfriend?” I ask casually. I don't mean for that to happen either. The question just slips out of my mouth, further infuriating me. Get yourself together, Carter. I don't know what's happening, and I don't like it. I always know what's happening. Iron-clad restraint is my specialty. Perhaps this girl isn't as ideal a client as I thought?
“Wouldn't you like to know?” she replies, voice childish and underwhelming. My previous interest in this redheaded girl begins to fade. I stare into her eyes, upswept at the corners, wide, green, feathered with thick clumps of eyelash slathered with too much mascara. Hmm. My cock begs to differ with my lackluster opinion. He's still very interested in Audra. I reach a hand down and draw Ms. Holiday's attention to my thickened cock.
No reaction on her face, plenty from her nipples. They harden into points, puckering the fabric at her breasts and further confirming my earlier suspicion that there's no bra underneath this dress. My smile picks up a notch, slightly more real this time, wholly more dangerous. I pray Audra Holiday retreats inside before my agenda changes. As of right now, I haven't forgotten about Mark.
“Hey, Aubrey, where the hell you at, baby?” Both Audra and I have a physical reaction to Mark's needling voice, so high pitched I actually foster the idea that he never made it past puberty. Perhaps his sluggish disinterest and messy curls, unkempt facial hair and baggy clothes, were charming in the days of his youth. Not so anymore. I enjoy the look of panic and frustration on Audra's pale, pixie face. Her crimson brows arch gracefully, two well-groomed 'V's above her rich green eyes.
“I don't need a prostitute. If I want to get laid, I can find it for free.”
My hand lunges from my pocket and wraps around the statuesque beauty of Ms. Holiday's neck, fingers curling on her nape with barely restrained violence. I pull her towards me and press our foreheads together while she gasps and stumbles, hands pressing up against my chest. The surge of energy inside of me is undeniable, the demon roaring to the surface and nipping at the heels of my sanity. But I don't hurt her. I don't hurt any of my clients outside of the bedroom – potential or otherwise – and I generally try to keep my hands off of women. As a whole, they've experienced more violence than any other collective group in history. When I'm like this, when the hole inside of me gapes so large that I can't stop the plunge, can't stop my descent into unfettered madness, I focus my attention on their perpetrators, on people like Mark. I much prefer sex to violence – or at least violent sex to actual violence – but today it's not only preferable but necessary.
“I am not a prostitute,” I repeat in the calmest voice possible. Audra groans, perfect porcelain skin breaking out in goose bumps, her hot breath wild against my face. My arm muscles cramp with the tension, desperate to keep my hand light on the back of Ms. Holiday's neck. My eyes are open, staring straight into hers, so close we could kiss if that were the sort of thing I was interested in. “I take money in exchange for services rendered. I revel in the taboo and I indulge the darkness.” Audra's breath comes more heavily, feathering against my mouth, teasing me to within an inch of my sanity. Her body radiates heat and desire, her nipples pressing so tight against the nude fabric of her dress that I can just barely make out the redness of her areolas.