I didn’t entertain him with a response just yet. I didn’t plan to throw him around like the other assholes he dealt with. Idea after idea ran through my mind, each one more selfish than the last. I wasn’t naiveenough to think I was only doing this for his benefit. Desire replaced the blood in my veins, overpowering everything else.
The motel we met at wasn’t like the hotel we were going to, but it wasn’t like Moe’s Ass Shack. It was cheap, readily available, but clean. When I took Braden there, everything else had been fully booked.
Before I set out tonight, I made sure to book a room for the full night and specifically declined any scheduled room service when we got to the front counter inside. Key card in hand, we silently made our way to the room. Antsy, anxious tingles washed down my arms as I swiped the key card into the door lock and waited for the light to turn green, allowing us access. I let him walk in first, making sure to lock the door behind me.
Underneath the bright hotel lighting, I was finally able to get a full look at him. I was right about his clothes. Not a single misplaced thread, though they weren’t high-end or fancy. Just a pair of loose-fitting denim jeans, a baggy jacket a few sizes too big for him, and just beneath the zipper, I could see a plain gray T-shirt.
“This is fuckin’ fancy,” he drawled, a slight accent lacing his tone. I had noticed it earlier, too. “Been forever since a John took me somewhere this nice.” His jacket fell off his shoulders, landing on the ground when he threw it off.
I stepped towards him, getting close enough to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “I never got your name,” I mused, running my eyes over his face. “Believe it or not, my name isn’t Emo Prince Charming. It’s Price.”
One of his eyebrows rose, revealing a thick scar down the side of it. “I can do Prince Charming, Daddy, Uncle, Master—whatever you want. What I won’t do is use your name or mine. So, what are we doing here?” His palm slid up my chest, his eyes following his hand as he got closer to the neckline of my shirt. When he spoke again, his accent was dimmer, and his voice was full of practiced lust. “You gonna face fuck me until I can’t breathe? Need to let out some pent-up anger and slam your big, fat cock deep inside of me? Tell me, Prince Charming, what do you wanna do with me? I can handle whatever it is.”
I gently pulled his hand away. Flames brewed in my gut. I was angry for him, rather than at him. Was this how the other “Johns” treated him? So badly that he expected it from everyone who picked him up?
Shaking my head, I tried to calm the dizziness swimming my vision. Outside of this room, I was helpless. Weak. Lonely and exhausted. I refused to show that now, looking into the arctic depths of his eyes. Storms raged behind them, lightning striking atop a metal rod, flashing before the flood of fear washed it all away.
Whether he meant to show me or not, he was in pain. I could see it. I wanted to ease it. I desperately wanted to hold him in my arms and show him a gentle touch I was sure he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Keeping a soft hold on his hand, I found confidence I didn’t know I was capable of. “I don’t do rough. I don’t do particularly fast. I am about to be the easiest, gentlest person you’ve probably had in a while because I’m about to practically make love to you.” I refused to look away. We locked gazes, the flames licking my intestines, reaching out to him through my eyes. Could he feel them? “I’ve got four hundred bucks with your name on it, whatever that may be. Tell me, Pretty Boy, what do you want to do?”
I attractedproblems like the Earth attracted the Sun. Without burning hot anger or pain, I was nothing but a lifeless husk with no reason to keep going. I started life as a victim, and it became increasingly apparent that I would end it that way. What else was I supposed to do, besides accept that?
My entire life was built around the idea that, if I allowed the pain, it would hurt less. The only issue was that I knew that if I felt anything aside from pain, I’d crave it. I knew that I would want more, and if I had more, I’d be too afraid of the pain, and pain was all I had. If I got used to anything different, the pain would be too much. I wouldn’t survive, and Ihadto survive. I had to keep living. Not for myself, but for Willow. For my mom’s spirit. I made sure I never felt a loving touch because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be okay with not having it again.
“I don’t do rough. I don’t do particularly fast. I am about to be the easiest, gentlest person you’ve probably had in a while because I’m about to practically make love to you.”
Of everything he could’ve said or done, the man with flames for eyes—Price, I knew now—chose to say the one thing that terrified me the most.
When I saw him, something had clicked inside of me. A lock’s hinge inside my head began to weaken and bend. Amber flames under a summer night’s sky. I was already craving his warmth.
Price was hot. I hadn’t been joking with him when I said he looked like an emo Prince Charming. Tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his jacket, the muscles I’d noticed before bulged through the material. He looked like a dream. I could see a small bump along the ridge of his strong nose, giving him a unique side profile.
He was staring at me, one of his eyebrows quirked, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.Fuck me sideways.
There, on the left side of his mouth, was a single dimple that appeared when he moved his lips just right. I was on the brink of losing my ability to think completely. Any strength and control I thought I had was wavering just from being in front of him, and now that I knew he had a fucking dimple? Just one, not two. It was practically impossible to think right.
I should turn around. Walk right out of the door and forget about him. I had been calling it a night and walking home with a stench of defeat to follow me when he stopped beside me.
Why did he want me soft and slow? Did he just say four hundred bucks? Fuck. That would cover the rest of my shared bills with Willow. I was stunned in place, fighting back and forth with myself while Price’s face stayed the same.
A widening smirk. Searching, fierce eyes. He was waiting for a response, and I didn’t have one yet. I was stuck trying to remind myself of why I didn’t do nice clients. I was desperately reaching for the motivation to leave and let go, like any other client I’d dealt with. But it was so tempting. So, so tempting to know what the man with amber eyes felt like against my skin.
“So?” Price questioned, breaking me from my thoughts much faster than I was ready for.
The overly bright hotel lighting caught the sparked flame of his eyes, and for a second, I was afraid to look into them. I was prepared for violence or a deep shade of primal desire. I knew, though, that if I looked at him, I wouldn’t see that. Something worse than anger would be there—something far closer to compassion than I was ready for.
With a shake of my head, I made a decision and stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t do soft. Sorry to waste your time, but if pretending I’m some long-lost lover is what you’re lookin’ for, then you’ve picked the wrong whore.” If Willow were here, she’d slap me for using that word.
Price didn’t look all that happy, either. He stumbled over his words for a second. “I’m not looking for that. I don’t—That’s not—I don’t like rushing or yelling or hitting like the other sick fucks obviously like to do. I’m not like them.”
Was he sheltered, or clueless? I scoffed and rubbed a hand over my face. I tried to push away the water slowly rushing over me, chilling me from head to toe. I wanted to flail my arms and gasp for air. I didn’t know how to swim, and here I was, suddenly drowning with no way to get out. “Honey, do you know who I am?”
“No? Is there a reason why I should?”
Putting on my best smile, I added a sway to my hips as I sauntered as close to Price as I dared. “I’m the whore that begs men to treat me like shit. The twink depraved assholes scour the streets looking for because my specialty is unlike any other.” Though it was shaky and slightly uncertain, I pushed a finger against his chest. “I don’t fuckin’ do soft. Hit me, bite me, pound me—I don’t give much of a shit how you do it, but you better leave bruises. I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not exactly in the business of feelin’ loved and cared for.”
Prince Charming didn’t look so charming when he wrapped his palm around my wrist, locking it in place on his chest. “I don’t know what your deal is either, but I saw you the other night. You were swaying on your damn feet from how beat up you were. Don’t tell me you actually enjoy that shit when you looked nothing but miserable.”
