AllFreeNovel
Share Us
19
Cady
“Do you use the plane often?” I don’t want Max to keep talking about foreplay—I’ve already got the images of his kisses branded on my brain. He would be such a good kisser, as long as he could give as good as he says he can.
If he can… and that mouth can move like it should…
I don’t remember the last time I kissed a man, kissed him so that I lost control of what and where and why not.
I never lose control.
“Only when I want to impress someone,” Max says with a grin. “Don’t want to talk about kissing anymore?”
No. I did not.
I slept with men for money. Before that, I took off my clothes and let them grope me in the private rooms. Men didn’t want me because of the way I kissed.
But I wonder what I’ve been missing. When I was younger—pre-Spider’s Den—I had kissed boys.
I’d like to know what it would be like to kiss a man.
Sometimes I look at a man, watch his mouth as he speaks, and think about what it would be like to kiss him. The books I read—those suggested by Malcolm’s book club—describe the first kiss with so much detail and heat, that how can I not think about what I’m missing?
Listening to Max, watching how his lips form the words—I know I’m missing something.
“What was the best kiss you’ve ever had?” Max presses.
He needs to stop talking because all I can see is his mouth slotting over mine, moving in a way that would make me need to kiss him back.
I’ve never needed to be kissed before.
I glance down at my empty champagne flute, debating. Do I want to get into this? If Max is trying to seduce me, like I suspect he is, he should know the truth, as harsh as it might be to hear.
It might stop this talk about kissing.
“I don’t do a lot of kissing,” I tell him.
Max studies me. “No, I can imagine not. That would make it too personal.”
“I don’t do personal.”
“How did you get into… your line of work?”
“When men first started slipping me an extra fifty in the private rooms for a hand-job, or a hundred to bend me over the chair, I thought it was a good deal. Then I figured out I was worth a lot more.” I can hear my voice say the words, know I sound unemotional, that I don’t care, but the truth is that I’m fighting to keep it all inside, bundled up in a ball.
I’ll tell the basics to anyone brave enough to ask, but there are some things I won’t go into detail about. And I was one of the lucky ones. I started selling myself, made a lot of money, and got out. I moved on and took what I learned to help others.
But there are things, things that happened with clients, that I never want to mention because then I would have to remember.
“How much more?” Max taps his fingernail against the champagne flute.
“Five hundred for an hour, and I would get fed. It was easy to make the jump from simply taking off my clothes for money. No one fed me when I was dancing.”
An expression that I can’t read flashes across Max’s face. “Five hundred? That’s… and what did they get for that price?”
“Whatever they wanted.” My voice is cold, and harsh. I don’t hide where I’ve come from, but I don’t go broadcasting it either.
“And you?” Max asks. “What did you get?”
