The whore caters to her clients every desires. Their wants become her own. Not this time. Not this client…
A London socialite, a daughter’s infamous alter-ego, the whore has but one desire to escape a haunting past, only to find herself face to face with the man that can bring down the carefully crafted world around her.
Back with a single burning desire, the politician wages battle to reclaim the woman he loves, but failed once before. He lures her under the guise of a john to know once and for all if they can never be.
"I thought I'd have to spend my entire life wondering what touching you would be like. If you are amenable to the encounter, I won't have to."
Did he believe I would falter? Worse, that I'd be flattered? Someone had told him about what I do. His father would be one of many with something to gain from revealing my secret. But not the only one…
"I don't see why not, given you've paid handsomely for the privilege." With my index finger, I traced his pursed lips.
No change in his expression, which only told me he didn't like the pile of shit he'd stepped into. If he was going to stand here and act like this was about sex, did he really think that I should treat this any differently? He'd get what he paid for.
His stare never left mine. "We both know you want not."
"That is where you are wrong. All I am is want." I turned my head toward the ornate timepiece on the wall and stared. "And your meter is running."
He released me. Not surprising. "Money isn't an issue."
The Carrington holding mirrored my own family's wealth. "But time is."
"Ah, yes. The matter of two and a half hours." He searched my eyes.
More than he needed for a sexual encounter. I always allotted two and a half hours the first time with a new client, and most needed much less. It allowed time to feel each other out and see if we wanted to proceed. Even for those clients that required pillow talk, there was usually time left on the meter.
"You never seemed the type who needed to pay for sex." So why was he paying for me?
"I want the pleasure of you, and you are only available to me in this manner." He slid out a chair for me. I, in turn, sat. Textured fabric brushed my outer labia. I could only hope I didn't cream a wet spot. After he sat next to me, he filled my glass then his own. "So I'm getting what I want by whatever means it is available to me."