Sean crosses the room and grabs a bottle from the bar. “A drink, Miss Smith?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Jones. I’m a professional. We don’t drink.”
“You’re not allowed to drink, are you?” he asks.
“I can. It’s not forbidden.” He walks toward me with a predatory look in his eye. It makes my stomach twist.
“Then, why not?”
“I don’t my first time to be when I was too drunk to remember. Call me romantic, but it sounds more appealing to me that way.” I’m nervous. My fingers tug at the fingers on my other hand. I try to stop, but then I just do something else.
Sean’s eyes remain fixed on my cleavage. “You’re very appealing, so is your notion of remembering.” His eyes lift to my face. “Are you expecting to be interrupted this evening?” I shake my head. “Good. Let’s begin where we left off last time. Strip. Throw that beautiful dress on the floor and lay on my bed.”
My heart is pounding. I didn’t think he’d do this. Sean’s acting cold, distant. It’s like I don’t know him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he says evenly. “Do it.” Sean sits down in the chair and watches me.
My heart is pounding so fast that I can’t hide how nervous I am. Maybe I should have taken that drink. I reach for the zipper and slide it down. I shimmy my shoulders out of the dress and it falls to the floor, puddling around my ankles. Sean’s hot gaze drinks in my body. When I turn away to walk over to the bed, he stops me.
“Wait.” I stop. “Come here.” I walk toward him with my heels still on. The bra barely contains me. I stop in front of him.
Sean reaches for me slowly. He places his hands around my back and pulls me closer, and then palms my breasts through the bra. The shock of how he behaves makes me want to cry. He’s acting like I’m an object. I don’t like this, but I can’t stop. Sean doesn’t get another chance. And if I say no, this is over.
Sean squeezes my breasts, but it scares me. It doesn’t feel like I’m here with him. I have a darker version of the man I lo—
Oh my God. That’s when I realize it. I love him. I’m here thinking that this job is going to be something else, but it’s not. Sean doesn’t have any romantic inclinations toward me. I want to yell at him. I want to slap him in the face and ask how he could behave this way, but I can’t.
Sean’s eyes cut to mine and for a brief second, I see remorse. It’s there and gone faster than I can blink. Sean is cold, detached. He points to the bed. “Go lay down, the way you were the other day.” I want him, but I want the guy from the restaurant, the guy from the snowball fight, the one who stopped to help me get my car back. For some reason he’s shut down and I don’t know how to draw him out. Half way to the bed, I stop and look back at him.
“Do what I tell you,” he says.
Heart pounding, I go to the bed and lay in the spot I was in the other day. He watches me, but doesn’t move from the chair. “Spread your legs.” I do as he says, parting them. My heart thumps wildly in my chest. I don’t know if I can do this. I want Sean. I want to crack that shell. “Now slip your hand down your panties and rub, slowly.”
I glance at him, feeling shame spreading across my face. “Sean, please…”
“When you’ve done that, I’ll come over.” He doesn’t move. The stern expression on his face doesn’t change.
I can leave or stay. I can protest. Or I can do what he wants. Feeling foolish, I do as he asks. I slip my hand between my legs and rub. At first the only thing I feel is complete foolishness, but my body comes to life. I’m too emotionally charged for nothing to happen. Sean watches me from across the room. Slowly, I relax and just think about the sensations shooting through me. When I stop looking for him, Sean’s next to me. I feel his weight on the bed.
Sean breathes in my ear. “May I?” he asks, slipping his hand on top of mine, lowering it to the sensitive flesh between my legs. I nod and go to pull my hand away, but he holds it there. “You stay,” he says as he dips his hand lower and strokes my slick skin. I gasp, surprised at the intensity of the touch. My hips rise up to meet his hand.
My heart is beating so fast, so hard. I feel warm and afraid. I want to relax. I want to be with him, but I’m not his lover. I’m his hooker. Before I realize it, tears are streaking down my cheeks. Sean’s hand gently strokes me, but I don’t look at him. I can’t.
Sean’s fingers slip inside of me and I jump. He’s been kissing my neck and finally pulls back to look at me. “Avery,” he says, his voice filled with concern. Sean takes his hand out of my panties and pulls me to his chest. Cradling me in his arms, he asks, “Why are you crying?”