Blake Law Barrington
The knock on the Lanesborough Suite’s door is firm and unhesitant. I glance at my watch. Very punctual. I like that. I open the door and… My, my, she is a beauty: waist-length, straight blonde hair, gorgeous big eyes. And scarlet lips. Lana almost never colors her lips so red. A pity. She is wearing a long, white coat belted at the waist and really, really high heels. They remind me of the shoes Lana wore the first night I met her.
She is chewing gum, though. I hate that. She must watch too many movies about big-hearted hookers. I put my hand out, palm outstretched. For a moment she looks at me, clueless. I raise my eyebrows and she hurriedly takes the gum out of her mouth and drops it into my hand. Then she raises her own eyebrows and cheekily stretches her hand out.
‘Don’t you want to come in first?’ I ask, amused but not showing it.
‘Of course,’ she says and walks past me. Her accent is odd. She must be making it up as she goes along.
I close the door and watch her walk ahead of me. She has a good walk. I like a woman who can walk with grace. She stops in front of the low table where there is a platter of fresh fruit and a bottle of champagne cooling in an ice bucket, and turns around to face me. For a moment I am distracted by the picture she makes standing in the agreeably English decor of traditional prints and chintzes teamed with bold choices of acid greens and Schiaparelli pinks. I put the gum on the sideboard.
‘I’m sorry, what’s your name?’
I smile. The name suits her. She looks like a rumor. Couldn’t possibly be true.
‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’
She lifts one foot and lets it swing back. It is impossibly erotic. ‘I’d like to be paid first.’
I don’t react to the provocation. ‘The money is by the lamp.’
She glances at the neat pile of money as she works the two buttons on her coat. The coat lands on the sofa behind her. She is wearing a very short white dress. Wordlessly, she turns away from me and bends from the waist, so her ass is pushed out and her skirt rides up to where her smooth thighs indent and I glimpse the other thing I had specified—a freshly waxed pu**y. The lips are already swollen and reddened, and as I watch moisture starts to gather.
Immediately I am hard as hell.
Slowly, holding that position, she counts the money. The desire to ram her while she is counting her money is strong, but I resist. She puts the last note on top of the pile she has counted, and turns to face me.
‘Yeah,’ she says slowly, her acquired accent undergoing another change. ‘All there.’
I move towards her and put my hand between her legs. Obligingly, she parts them and my fingers start to play with the soaking flesh.
‘So Rumor, what shall we do with you?’
‘Blake,’ I say persuasively, as I continue to explore the silky, wet folds.
She takes a steadying breath. ‘Blake, we can do anything you want to do, so long as you remember anything kinky is extra.’
‘What kind of kinky things are on offer?’ I plunge my middle finger into her.
She gasps and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. I watch with amusement.
‘You’re the customer. Tell me what kinky things you want and I’ll do them.’
‘Have you been on many callouts?’
‘Not really. Just one other time.’
‘Tell me—what did he do to you?’
‘He f**ked me really hard.’
‘So hard I was too sore to go to my next appointment.’
‘Have you got another appointment after this?’
She turns around, lifts the heavy curtain of golden hair and offers me her zip. I pull it down and she wriggles out of her dress. It falls on the pink carpet. I run my hand along the nude flesh. She shivers. I turn her around to face me. Her body is very beautiful and her pupils are so dilated that her irises are almost black. I lift her up—she is as light as a feather—and carry her into the lavish, blue bedroom. I lay her down gently on the king-sized, four-poster bed. I look down on her pale body. I have bought her. For the next hour she is mine to do anything I please with. The thought electrifies me.
‘Open your legs,’ I command.
Immediately she lifts her knees and lets them fall open so her swollen reddened sex is exposed to me. I have one hour to f**k, and that is exactly what I do. I f**k her until she is panting, her slim young body slipping against mine. Until she screams. She lies on her back, her eyes closed.
I cup her breast in the palm of my hand. It fits perfectly. ‘That was great. Thanks.’
She sits up. I watch the curve her waist and hips make and I feel like pulling her down and having her all over again, but I have an appointment in less than thirty minutes. She goes into the bathroom.
‘Don’t wash,’ I tell her.
She says nothing. Just nods.
I hear water running. By the time she comes out I am already fully dressed.
‘I’ll book you again next week,’ I tell her.
‘Sure. Arrange it with the agency.’ She seems oddly shy.
‘I need to use the toilet.’
By the time I come out she is fully dressed and waiting in the sitting room.
‘Do you need a ride back? The hotel offers a complimentary chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.’
She shakes her head.
A thought. She is wearing nothing under the dress. ‘Lift your dress.’
She doesn’t appear surprised, just quietly parts her coat and lifts her dress, and exposes her sex to me. My seed is still leaking out of her. I walk up to her, gently cup her bu**ocks and drop to my knees. I look up at her. She is watching me curiously. Bending my head I lick her slit, puffy with engorged, glistening flesh. She moans. I could have her again if I wanted to. I pull her dress back down and walk her to the door.
‘See you then,’ she calls.
I close the door and go to stand at the triple-glazed, floor to ceiling window. It has a marvelous view of Wellington Arch. I look at my watch and I catch sight of the pile of money sitting on the low table. I pick it up and put it into my jacket pocket, then I take my mobile out, and call her.
‘You forgot your money.’
She laughs. ‘Give it to me tonight,’ she says.
‘You’re spoiling my fantasy,’ I tell her.
‘Oh yeah?’ Her voice is challenging, full of life.