The nervous thrill intensified, imagining sex with someone whose face I’d never see. A stranger’s hands touching me intimately. Noncon or reluctance fantasies weren’t uncommon and had never been scary in my experience. The guys who were upfront about that being what they wanted were always deliberate about consent because they were being clear that it was only a fantasy.
“I assume if you’re bringing it up with me, there’s nothing I need to know about this guy. Is he someone I’d have a moral objection to?”
She paused long enough to make me wonder if he was that right wing podcast dude I hated or something. “O?”
“A moral objection? No. You’d have a good time with him and he’s a fundamentally decent guy. I’d be willing to take him if he wasn’t a day job client. But I’ll tell you who he is so you can make the call if you want.”
My curiosity ratcheted up, but that made the fantasy hotter. “I’m fine with not knowing.”
Some people take baths to feel better. I sunk into an alter ego and fucked anonymous strangers for money.
I couldn’t deny the appeal, but also couldn’t deny that I was in no shape to take a client unless I somehow managed to get some sleep.
I groaned. “I’m a mess, O. I don’t know if I’d be doing it for the right reasons.”
“Sugar britches…what are theright reasonsfor doing sex work? You’re overthinking this.”
Holy hell, who even am I anymore?
Was there anything I didn’t overthink?
“Do it for money, do it for shits and giggles, do it for the power rush, do it because you’re bored. Do it for that good dick…and I’m pretty positive he’s top shelf. Who the fuck cares as long as it’s what you want to do?”
It wasn’t that simple because nothing in my life was simple anymore.
Just as I was about to tell her I couldn’t do it, the stupid song started to creep back into my head. I wasn’t going to lie here one more night fighting myself not to sing it, not to think about him. If I was sleeping with someone else, I’d make sure I wasn’t thinking about him.
So instead, I said the three words that would change my life.
“I’ll do it.”
7
MAIA
9 Years Ago
* * *
“Come in…” The deep voice that beckoned me into the hotel room sent shivers down my spine.
There was a brief moment before I met new clients when the nerves almost got the better of me. Once I was in there, I was committed. Not that I couldn’t leave if I was uncomfortable, but there was something about crossing the threshold that made it feel real.
That voice I couldn’t even assign a face to would soon be telling me private things, sharing pieces of himself he didn’t share with most.
I went through my ritual: Raised my chin. Straightened my spine. Relaxed my jaw.
I became Helen instead of Maia, something Ophelia had taught me before my first sessions. Anything that happened in this room was Helen. She didn’t carry Maia’s baggage and insecurities. Helen was uninhibited and adventurous. And Maia didn’t have to feel any shame about it afterwards.
I pushed the propped door open and let my hips swing as I walked into the room.
My composure wavered and all I could do for a second was stand there and blink at the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
He was so much younger than any of my previous clients, late twenties maybe, with shoulder-length dark hair and arresting blue eyes. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt that had the collar undone and the sleeves rolled up roughly, like he’d started with everything buttoned and then opted for comfort.
He blinked back at me until I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and extended my hand, irrationally nervous to touch him.
You’re here to fuck him, silly. Get it together.
