But very hot.
As they waited, she lay buck-ass naked on the bed with all the lights off. It wasn’t totally dark, though. This john with the heavy wallet had set up a big boxy flashlight across the room, over on the cheapie dresser. The beam was pointed so that it shone on her body. Kind of like she was onstage. Or maybe a piece of art.
Which actually was less weird than some of the things she’d done. Shit, if prostitution didn’t make you think men were nasty, sick bastards, nothing else would: Aside from your run-of-the-mill cheaters and the types who were on power trips, you had fuckers with foot fetishes, and those who liked to get spanked, and others who wanted to get pissed on.
Finishing up her White Owl, she stabbed out the stub and thought maybe this spotlight thing wasn’t so bad. Some jackass had wanted to eat hamburgers off her two weeks ago and that had just been gross—
The click of the lock turning into place made her jump, and she realized with a start that someone had somehow arrived without her knowing it; that was the door being locked. From the inside.
And now there was a second man over by the first.
Good thing her pimp was right next door.
“Evenin’,” she said, as she stretched mechanically for both of them. Her breasts were fake, but they were good fake, and her stomach was flat even though she’d had one kid, and she was not just shaved, but electrolyzed.
All of which was how she got to charge what she did.
Man . . . another big one, she thought as the second guy came forward and stood at the foot of the bed. Actually, this fucker was huge. Absolutely mammoth. And not as in fat and sloppy—his shoulders were so square they looked drawn on with a ruler, and his chest formed a perfect triangle into his tight hips. She couldn’t see his face, given the light that streamed from behind him, but it didn’t matter as the first john stretched out on the bed next to her.
Shit . . . she suddenly found herself turned on. It was the size of them and the danger of the darkness and the scents. Jesus . . . they smelled amazing.
“Roll onto your stomach,” the second one demanded.
God, that voice. The same foreign accent as the guy who had set this up, but so much deeper—and there was an edge to it.
“You really want to see my ass?” she drawled, as she sat up. Cupping her DDs, she hefted them and then squeezed them together. “Because the front of me is even better.”
With that, she stretched one breast up and extended her tongue downward, licking her own nipple while her eyes went back and forth between the men.
“On your stomach.”
Okay, clearly, there was a pecking order here: The guy lying next to her was sporting a tremendous erection, but he made no moves toward her. And Mr. Do-It-Now was the only one talking.
“If that’s the way you want it.”
Pushing the pillows off the bed, she made a show of the roll, twisting her torso around so that one of her breasts was still showing. With her black fingernail, she ran circles around the tip as she arched her lower back and stuck out her ass—
A subtle growling weaved its way through the stale, still air of the room, and that was her cue. Spreading her legs, she curled the lower halves up, pointing her toes and arching her spine again.
She knew exactly what she was showing the one at the end of the bed—and his growl told her he liked what she had. So it was time to take it further. Looking back at him, she put her middle finger in her mouth and sucked on it; then she shifted her weight up and took it down to her sex, rubbing herself.
Whether it was the weed or . . . shit, something about the men . . . she was really frickin’ horny all of a sudden. To the point where she wanted what was about to happen.
As he loomed over her, the one in charge put his hand to the front of his hips.
“Kiss her,” he ordered.
She was so ready for that, even though she didn’t normally allow it. Turning her face to the other one, she felt her mouth get owned by a set of soft, demanding lips . . . and then a tongue entered her—
Just as big hands latched onto her upper thighs and spread her farther apart.
And another set of hands went for her breasts.
Even though she was a professional, her mind went on a little road tr
ip, all the shit she usually preoccupied herself with while she was doing what she did fleeing—and taking with it things like, where were the condoms? What were the ground rules?
Buckle. Zipper. And then the sliding sounds of pants going down and the bucking of the mattress as something heavy got up on it.