“Yeah?” He runs his hand up the latex of my dress. “Kinky, filthy fuck-doll?”
“That’s a good one.” My fingers are shaking as they glide down his neck. “Not only can you call me anything, you can do anything. Anything you like. I’m all yours.”
“Sure thing. I read your naughty list. I know every box you’ve got checked.”
“You must know which ones you like, then.” I lick my lips. “Come on, won’t you at least give me a clue? Which are your favourites? Help a kinky little fuck-doll out when she wants to earn six figures in one night.”
He laughs. “Nah. That’s not the point. Connor told me what a kinky bitch you are. I want the authentic experience. I want Ella, not Holly.”
Something about that sentiment makes my stomach flip. Being Holly is… safe. It’s got a level of persona to it, focused on whatever my clients want of me and playing to their filthy tune. Their desires guiding and stoking mine.
Being Ella, just me, with Vinnie Hampton is a whole other league. Like it was with Heath. Only with Heath I was with Josh. I was Holly to him first, before the walls came down, and I was safe there, at Josh’s side, even though I was fangirling so hard I could die.
This isn’t safe.
It’s wild.
Crazy.
A surge of adoration from my youth comes to life.
I wanted Vinnie so bad when I was younger, just like I wanted Heath. He’s the thing of legends, his songs scorching my soul.
Sinking into that teenage fangirl zone sends my body into a frenzy. I tip my head and land my lips on his like I would have done when my obsession with his music was at its peak. I moanagainst his mouth as his tongue pushes its way to mine, and I grab at him, hands on his chest, roving down to his leather trousers and the bulge in his crotch.
His abs are ripped. His hips thrust like they do on stage. The bulge in his pants is awesome.
I kiss him like I mean it, because I do. I want to taste him, want to fuck him, want to get pounded like a teenage dream.
He guides me backwards until I slam against the wall between two mirrors. He puts the whisky bottle down on a side table, and lifts me up, my stilettos still on as I wrap my legs around his waist. My hands reach around his shoulders as I grind against him, desperate for his skin, touching him in pure disbelief as he keeps on kissing me.
Time stands still. It doesn’t exist here. I can barely stand it. I want to scream with excitement. Pure disbelief.
“You’re even more beautiful in the flesh than you were in the videos, which is saying something,” he says, lips puffy and smeared in my scarlet lipstick. His own eyeliner is nothing but a smudge under his eyes in his trademark style. It’s so familiar that I’m wide eyed as I run a thumb down his cheek. I know his face so well.
“Your eyes are incredible,” he tells me. “So blue against your hair.”
Thank you, Mum.
Vinnie’s eyes are a metallic shade of grey. I’ve seen them up close on pictures. They have flecks of pale green, like a dusting of moss on stone. It’s a similar contrast to my style, light eyes with such jet black hair. His cheek bones are sharp in contrast to his full lips. His chin is strong in contrast to the softness of his eyes. An anomaly that fits perfectly.
A rock legend.
He always belonged on the Billboard charts.
Vinnie lowers me to the ground slowly, grinning as his bulge nudges at my tummy, and then he takes my hand and pulls me back into the centre of the foyer with alet’s check you out, girl.
He twirls me in a spin, letting out awoahthat makes my heart leap.
“Worth every fucking cent.”
“You haven’t even sampled the goods yet.”
“I’ve sampled enough to know I’m in for a damn good time.” He raises an eyebrow. “Want a drink,kinky fuck-doll?”
“I’d love one, please. What have you got on offer,rock god?”
He gestures to a door off to the left.
