At Your Beck & Call

  “No, ma’am. I don’t smoke.”

  “Well, you smell like it,” she said suspiciously, then sighed. “I’m trying to give up smoking.”

  It was the first real thing she’d said, and it made me smile.

  “Perhaps I can help you forget about that for a few hours?”

  “God, yes!” she said, and hooked her fingers into my belt loops, dragging me inside.

  She wasn’t a talker.

  And she was stronger than she looked, shoving my chest hard so I fell backwards onto the bed.

  “Fuck, I’m horny!” she cried out. “And hungry!”

  Then she reached over to the bedside cabinet and picked out two pieces of candy from a dish.

  “Strawberry praline—the Swiss really know how to make this shit.”

  And she shoved one in her mouth and one in mine, nearly choking me. From the way her pupils were dilated, I’d guess she was high. Either that or she really, really got off on chocolate.

  “Best goddamn thing next to sex … or strawberries and cream,” she mumbled over a mouthful of candy that was so sweet I could almost feel my teeth melt.

  Then she straddled my legs and stuck her tongue in my mouth and scooped out what was left of my candy, too. It reminded me of Wendy Dupont and her notoriety in ninth grade for stealing a guy’s gum when she French kissed him.

  While my client was still chewing, she ripped open my shirt, sending buttons skittering across the wooden floor of the Stateroom.

  Damn. I really liked that shirt.

  “Yum,” she murmured, licking a sticky trail up from my chest to my chin.

  Then she flopped back on the bed.

  “God, I’m too tired. You do it.”

  I sat up, unlacing my shoes and shoving my socks inside so I could find them easily later. I got the impression she was the kind of woman who’d kick me out as soon as she was done with me.

  She turned to watch as I tossed my ruined shirt onto a chair, sliding my pants and briefs down together, pausing to retrieve the condoms and leave them on the bedside table. Then her eyes dropped to my dick, which had withered under the assault.

  “Jeez! You’re not even hard! What kind of gigolo are you?”

  “You’ll find out,” I snapped, trying to rein in my temper. I really hated that word.

  “Oooh! This one’s got attitude! I like!”

  I prowled around the bed, staring her down.

  “God, your eyes! They’re like blue fucking ice!” she hissed. “You look mad. Are you going to punish me?”

  Which was a giant clue as to the kind of sex she liked. I picked her up off the bed and dumped her on her stomach, slapping her ass as I did it.

  “Yes, I’m mad,” I said, tightly.

  She giggled, then turned her head to watch as I climbed onto the bed behind her, and gave her clothes the same rough treatment that my shirt had received.

  The sight of her full, round, peachy ass soon softened my irritation but hardened my dick.

  I knelt on the bed and pulled her onto her knees, her ass cheeks squeezing against me.

  “Ooh, that feels promising,” she giggled, again.

  I bent down and mouthed her neck firmly.

  “Don’t mark me!” she snapped, “I’m seeing the boys tomorrow.”

  “Boys?”

  I had a sudden vision of a harem of guys like me being led down to her dungeon in chains.

  “My sons,” she breathed.

  “Oh okay. No teeth.”

  “I didn’t say that! Jeez! Pay attention! Just don’t mark me anywhere it can be seen.”

  I didn’t reply, but felt irritated by her orders and air of entitlement. I massaged her breasts too roughly and she groaned with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

  “Ooh, you have great hands … um, what’s your name again?”

  “Hallen.”

  “Huh, weird. It doesn’t sound American.”

  “It’s Swedish.”

  I couldn’t be bothered to explain that I was Canadian.

  “Oh, Swedish,” she smirked, looking over her shoulder at me like I’d just announced Hershey bars were on sale. “I’ve never had Swedish before. I like blonds—natural blonds,” and her eyes dropped to my junk.

  I got tired of her talking, so I pushed her onto her back, using my weight to hold her down, then pulled her chin towards me and kissed her hard. Her long fingernails scrabbled at my shoulders and scored my chest painfully.

  She may not have wanted me to mark her, but she couldn’t care less that she was doing exactly that to my body.

  I gripped her wrists and forced them away from me. She bit my lip in retaliation and I tasted blood. I veered away and she laughed loudly.

  My temper ignited. I crushed her hard into the mattress, then tried to capture her flailing hands again. I really hoped she’d start to calm down before she injured me even more.

  She kicked and writhed, trying to buck me off. It was difficult concentrating on sheathing myself up with her flailing around. She caught a nail across my thigh, drawing blood.

  Growling with anger, I flipped her onto her stomach again and shoved her flat onto the mattress, grinding my elbow into her back, making her squeal.

  “You want this?” I grit out.

  She stopped fighting and turned her head to glare at me.

  “You want a fucking invitation?”

  I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward me, entering her roughly.

  “Yes!” she screamed, damaging my hearing for the next decade.

  I pounded hard, taking out my frustration and fury on her body—and she loved it.

  I didn’t even try to keep from climaxing. Usually, I did everything I could to delay coming. Marco said he used condoms lubed on the inside with numbing gel. I tried them once but it was the weirdest feeling so I didn’t try that again. Tugging my balls helped, too, if I wanted to hold back. You’ve got to get it at the right moment, just when you feel your balls tightening—best to do that one yourself—for obvious reasons. Edging worked, too—maintaining arousal without coming, or counting fucking sheep, if I had to.

  But not tonight. Tonight I was taking out my pleasure on the bossy bitch.

  Then I remembered she was a high paying client, so I made sure she came a second before I did. It was easy—a quick pinch of her clit, and she was howling with pleasure.

  As soon as I’d emptied, I pulled out sharply, enjoying her gasp of pain. Served her right.

  I staggered to the bathroom, tossed the used condom in the trash, then washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face.

  Emma was still face down on the bed, puffing and wheezing. I stretched out next to her, waiting for her to recover.

  Eventually, she rolled onto her side and faced me, resting her hand on my stomach.

  I tensed, my eyes on her long, red nails.

  She gave a low laugh.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I just had a lousy day—I really needed that.”

  Then she sat up, letting the sheet pool onto her thighs.

  “So, Hallen, did you say?” I nodded. “Well, Hallen, let me explain the schedule for the week. Tomorrow is unusual because I’m seeing my boys. You’ll have the day free up until 5PM to do whatever you want. I’m definitely going to be in a foul mood when I get back because I’ll be seeing my asshole of an ex. Make sure you’re in my bed and waiting. Don’t expect me to be gentle.” She snapped her gaze to mine. “Are you keeping up so far?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. I sleep alone, so don’t fall asleep in my bed—I hate that. Just screw me until I pass out and leave.” Then she gave me a flirty smile. “Really, I’m not that hard to please. Not if you can keep up. You look pretty fit.” Then she giggled, sounding like the 25 year old she claimed to feel like.

  A reluctant smile spread across my face.

  “That’s better,” she laughed. “You’re gorgeous when you’re grumpy, but that smile could make the angels weep.”

/>   She swung herself across my legs and pressed a kiss onto my lips as her breasts flattened against my chest. I let my hands massage her soft thighs gently.

  She sighed happily and leaned forward, her hair tickling my cheek.

  “Thursday is that fucking tedious fundraiser,” she whispered into my neck, trailing kisses up to my earlobe, nipping it lightly. “But we’ll have some fun at the casino first. Then all you have to do is fuck me morning, noon and night. Clear?”

  “Crystal, ma’am.”

  “Call me, Emma.”

  “I’m at your beck and call, Emma.”

  “I know.”

  She kicked me out four hours later, drained and exhausted.

  My torn shirt fluttered in the early morning breeze as I leaned over the yacht’s guard rail, cooling my scored and overheated skin. I stared unseeing across the water, wondering how a stranger would view my life. Was I lucky to be here, living in the lap of luxury, selling sex to strangers? The money from this appointment would pay off over half of my outstanding student loan, and I’d only graduated a year ago. There weren’t many people my age who could say the same.

  I knew there was a cost, but honestly, it didn’t bother me that much.

  Until I met you.

  I looked up, feeling eyes on me.

  A woman of about my own age was watching me, a friendly expression lighting her face. She had wildly curling red hair that flamed in the rising sun, soft, brown eyes, and her whole face was painted with freckles, making her look more tan than she really was.

  “Hello, I’m Abby.”

  Her accent was British, and she was wearing the now familiar white and gray uniform.

  “Hallen,” I said, holding out my hand.

  She shook it and smiled up at me sympathetically.

  “Rough night?”

  She inclined her head toward my ruined shirt.

  I shrugged, unwilling to discuss it.

  “Just look out for the Jacuzzi.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She drowned her last guy friend in there … nearly.”

  She laughed, and it was such a happy sound that I couldn’t help chuckling, too.

  “Oh crap, I am not going to make it through this week,” I said, shaking my head tiredly.

  “We keep the bodies of the ones she shags to death in the freezer,” she sniggered.

  “Jeez, a female Blue Beard. Just my luck.”

  She snorted and held her hand over her mouth, whispering conspiratorially.

  “Personally, I think her husband divorced her because he was afraid he’d disappear up her vagina one day, never to be seen again.”

  I almost choked I was laughing so hard.

  “I’m completely envious, of course,” she added. “She has an endless supply of hot guys with fabulous bodies who never get older. No offence.”

  I shrugged, the edge taken off my amusement. “None taken.”

  She smiled. “The staff breakfast is being served now. You could join us if you’re hungry.”

  My body couldn’t decide what it needed most: food or sleep. My stomach was completely empty, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open either.

  “Nah, that’s okay. I think I’ll just take a shower and spend some time being unconscious.”

  She tilted her head to one side.

  “I could make you up a tray, if you like? Bacon buttie?”

  “A what?”

  “Bacon sandwich: four rashers, two slices of bread, tomato ketchup?” My stomach rumbled loudly and she laughed. “I’d say that’s a yes vote!”

  “God, that sounds amazing. Thanks, Abby.”

  Grateful and touched by her kindness, I kissed her cheek. I was surprised to see the instant blush that swept over her.

  She mumbled something and hurried away.

  I slouched back to my room, my tired eyes barely noticing that my case was standing at the foot of the bed. I peeled off my clothes and staggered into the shower, almost falling asleep under the hot stream of water.

  When I heard a knock on the door, I draped a towel around my waist and opened it to find Abby with a silver tray, loaded with sandwiches and a pot of coffee.

  She winced as she gazed at the nail marks across my body.

  “Ouch! That looks painful.”

  I glanced down at my chest, seeing the parallel scratches that made me look as if I’d been wrestling Wolverine.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “Wounded in action,” and I raised one eyebrow at her.

  She laughed, blushed again and shook her head. “Come and find me in the ward room later if you need first aid.”

  She left the room still giggling.

  I picked up the bacon sandwich and took a bite. Ketchup dripped down the sides as I inhaled it greedily.

  With the last mouthful devoured, I wiped the crumbs from my mouth and lay back on the bed.

  “Happy birthday, Hallen,” I muttered.

  I was officially 22.

  Light poured into my cabin as I unpeeled my eyes to stare blearily at the time on my cell phone. It was nearly noon.

  A text message had woken me. Two in fact—both from my mum.

  ** Happy 21 today! Love, Mum **

  Then the second message, a few minutes later.

  ** I mean 22! Have a great day! Mum **

  I threw the phone back onto the bedside table, my mood soured in the first five seconds of being awake. Which pretty much summed up my non-relationship with Mum.

  I headed for the shower, wincing as the hot water hit the nail marks across my body. I’d have to take Abby up on the offer of first aid. I resented the ugly welts. Fuck, Emma might just as well tattoo her name on my ass or piss all over me as a mark of ownership.

  The sun was blazing a white heat across the harbor when I looked out of my porthole window. It reminded me that I was a lucky bastard and some people would never have the chance to travel like this or taste a five star life. There was a cost—of course there was a cost. But I could always say no.

  I dug through my case for the loose cargo shorts that I liked to wear when it was hot, then discarded them with a grimace, opting instead for Oakley golf shorts, a polo shirt and tan boat shoes.

  Irritated, I realized I looked like a freakin’ country club advertisement. It helped if I forced myself to think of it as a uniform. It definitely wasn’t me. I hooked a pair of Ray Bans into the front of my t-shirt, picked up my sketch pad and shoved my wallet into my back pocket. I had a few precious hours to explore Monte Carlo before my leash was yanked tight again.

  I collected the dirty dishes from earlier and found my way to the staff quarters. Abby was sitting next to Mel watching a soccer match on a large flatscreen.

  “Hiya!” she said, with a smile. “Oh, you brought the tray—you didn’t need to do that, but thanks. Saves me a job.”

  “Sure,” I said, glancing at Mel who was stoically ignoring me. “Uh, you mentioned a first aid kit. Have you got any Bactine?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I have no idea what that is. We’ve got antiseptic cream—is that what you want?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Thanks.”

  She rummaged in a cupboard while Mel fixed his eyes on the TV which was now showing hockey—the Oilers were taking on the New Jersey Devils, with Zack Stortini kicking some serious butt.

  “He’ll never make that shot,” muttered Mel to himself.

  “Yeah, he will,” I contradicted him.

  “No way!” he jeered. “It’s a shorthand goal!”

  “Won’t stop Sortini.”

  Huggy Bear—aka Sortini—skated around the goal and slammed the puck into the back of the net. Kernkraft 400 by Zombie Nation blared out through the TV’s speakers to celebrate the winner.

  Mel shot me a look of pure hatred and folded his arms across his chest.

  “How did you know he’d score?” laughed Abby.

  “Because I’ve seen him take the same shot a dozen times and make it.”

  “Are you an ice hockey fan, H
allen?”

  “Used to be. Not so much now.”

  “Why not?”

  “He got a job,” Mel scoffed.

  I threw him an irritated look. “I stopped playing when I didn’t get picked up by a pro team.”

  “You … you played?”

  I smiled at her astonished expression

  “I’m Canadian. Everyone plays, pretty much. I was on the team all through high school and college. Like I said, I’m just not good enough to go pro.”

  “Sure you are, mate,” Mel smirked. “Just not that sort of pro.”

  Anger flashed through me and my fists clenched. I took a step toward him, but before I could take a swing at him, Abby pushed between us and started hustling me out of the room. Mel looked kind of shocked that I’d been about to punch him.

  “Hallen, out!” yelled Abby, elbowing me from the cabin. Then she turned and scowled at Mel. “Why do you always have to be such an arse?”

  She kept pushing me until she was sure I wasn’t going to try and get past her.

  “Don’t let him wind you up,” she said. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

  “Whatever!” I snarled, striding off.

  “Don’t you want the antiseptic cream?” she called after me.

  I didn’t reply, not stopping until I’d climbed down to the motor launch and jumped in. I was trying to figure out how to start the fucker, and was seriously thinking about swimming ashore if I couldn’t, when a member of the crew that I hadn’t seen before appeared.

  He was in uniform, too, but older than Mel—in his fifties, perhaps.

  “Abby said you need a ride, m’sieur.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, still seething.

  He nodded at me to sit and then threw off the mooring ropes, before starting the engine and easing away from the yacht.

  We didn’t speak again until he’d navigated his way to the wide jetty.

  “Can I get a ride back about 4.30PM?”

  He checked his watch, nodded and left.

  Still radiating anger, I forced myself to breathe deeply and concentrate on the enigmatic beauty that was Monte Carlo.

  I’d only walked a few yards inland when the narrow streets rose steeply, and I felt a trickle of sweat on my back. A faint breeze fought to dissipate the brutal heat that had built relentlessly during the morning.