Both of Her Page 3

  A low burn starts between my legs as I begin to think about the diamond tear drop earrings I recently saw at Tiffany’s. A quick pang to my stomach flashes as I think of my body in a satin gown with a glass of champagne in my hand. A hot flash comes over me as I ponder those earrings and that gown discarded as I take in a strong and wealthy man that meets all of my needs.

  Shit. I need a fix. All I have to do is get through this day and find my next man.

  TWO

  “Oh look, her limousine awaits! Must be nice to have a driver take you to the airport.” Leo’s high pitched squeal that sounds like a little girl who just saw a puppy startles the shit out of me as we exit the building after a non-stop day of phone calls. My mouth has been running all day answering questions to our newest client, Evan Myers about how we’re going to pitch his campaign for his financial company to the investors he has lined up for next week. The man is a genius at the age of twenty-five, with a face that leaves a stain on my chair from my panties getting soaked every time he leaves, but at the same time, the man is starting to get on my last nerve. I may sound like a bitch at times, I assure you I’m not. I’m fun, energetic, and willing to try anything once. Except drugs. Drugs are way too dangerous, addictive, and not to mention, they mess with your mind. I need to be in control of my mind at all times, especially on the weekends where I leave town to become the desirable Lucia Westwood. But I swear to god, if he doesn’t let me do my job, which I do extremely well, I’m going to throttle him and it will not be in the way I have fantasized about many times before.

  “Hello? Sex in heels?” Colin snaps his fingers in front of my face.

  “What?” I bite back.

  “You zoned out there for a second. Your luxury chariot awaits.” The dork stands with the back passenger door to the limo wide open, and swipes his hand for me to enter.

  “You know you can use the company car for anything you want, don’t you?” For some reason, I suddenly feel a slight bit terrible I use it all the time for my personal use.

  “Nah, this isn’t for me. I’d rather pick up chicks with my dick, instead of picking them up in a Lincoln.”

  I stand there observing the little puffs of carbon dioxide coming out of his mouth, only noticeable due to the freezing cold air. I wonder what kind of girls find Colin attractive. He is like a little brother to me, although I know he is my age. We’ve never really discussed our extracurricular activities and I cringe at the thought of his.

  “You’re such an ass.” I roll my eyes for the second time that day, before smiling at the thought of the comfortable relationship I have with my driver. Colin must know something happens when I go out of town, seeing as I come home with double the luggage every single time. He always has this real smug look on his face when he places the extra bags in the trunk and smacks my ass like the flirt he is.

  “Get in so I can get you out of town,” he growls as he practically shoves me in the back.

  “Have a good weekend, and for Christ sake, bring some of that warm weather home with you. This shit is making my dick shrivel up.” He leans in, placing a kiss on my cheek, before he slams the door closed. Propping my head back on the headrest, I laugh at how crass he is. I laugh even harder because he has no idea, what so ever, exactly how warm I will be staying all weekend. Warm in bed, with a new man, who I plan on fucking until both of us feel like we’re sweating half to death.

  “Thanks for taking me to the airport, Colin. I know how nerving this rush hour traffic is.” Slipping my Jimmy Choo’s off, I prop my legs sideways on the seat, settling in comfortably for the ride to the airport.

  “You pay me to do this, Luca,” Colin says, glancing at me in the rear view mirror. One of the things I ask of all my employees is to call me by my first name. Miss so and so sounds too uptight to me. Besides I consider them my friends.

  “That I do. However, we both know Chicago sucks when it comes to driving. Anyway, I have a file to look at. I’m going to put the divider up. Let me know when were close?” I’m eager to take a look at the man Carl hooked me up with for the weekend, that I barely register Colin’s comment about all work and no play. If he only knew what kind of play I’m about to get into this weekend, those small lines starting to form at the crease of his eyes would spread to his hairline faster than my legs plan on doing tonight.

  Taking off my sunglasses, I toss them in my bag, before running my fingers through my shoulder length blonde hair. I open up the file Carl sent me of the man I will be spending the weekend with.

  “Holy fuck,” I blurt out to myself when my eyes come to rest on the photo of Heath Landon. Twenty-five years old. Sandy blonde hair. Dark brown chocolate eyes. Square chiseled jaw. Heat instantly pools in my core like a thousand angry volcanos ready to erupt, causing me to shift in the seat.

  “If he fucks like he looks, this is going to be one hell of a weekend.” I look down to my pussy as if to make sure she heard me. Flipping through the rest of the pages, I make sure everything I always ask Carl for is intact. He has never failed me before, yet I always try to know as much about the men I spend the weekend with before I meet them. That means a health screening check, a marital status check, and a criminal background check. Those three things are a must for me. They must be cleared of any diseases, not married, have a girlfriend, or any type of criminal record. Safety is a must. I always demand the use of a condom even if they ask for a blowjob. As far as asking for a criminal check background goes, that pretty much speaks for itself. No way in hell will I put myself in jeopardy the way some women do. These men I spend my time with have to be free of all three of these first and foremost. I may like to fuck a complete stranger, but I will never put my life in danger. I trust Carl with the men he hooks me up with. It’s them I don’t trust. How can you fully trust someone you really don’t know? You can’t. That’s why this is a two way street. All this information they provide me with I provide them with as well.

  “I wonder what he does for a living. Please be something exciting.” My body explodes in elation when I skim to the last page and see he is a chef. Jesus Christ the ideas I have running through my mind right now. Will he want to fuck me on his counter where he chops up all his food? Will he use some of those handy triple X kitchen gadgets that are utensils and sex toys all in one?

  Closing up the folder, my body is on fire. There’s no way I’m going to make this two and a half hour flight to Savannah, Georgia without relieving myself.

  Tucking the file firmly back in place in my Louis Vuitton travel bag, I stretch my legs in front of me, planting my feet firmly on the floor. My ass seems to lift off the seat on its own, as I try to unzip my tight fitting skirt by gliding down the side zipper. Relief hits me in a big whoosh the minute I shimmy my skirt up past my stockings and garter belt exposing my naked thighs. Instantly, I’m thankful for going sans panties this morning the moment my fingers reach my aching bare sex; smooth to the touch from my recent waxing.

  “Oh god,” I moan. Sensation courses its way from the tips of my toes to the top of my mound when my finger glides easily through my slick heat. No need to worry about how cold it is outside anymore, because it’s scorching in here. Hotter than the lava from those thousands of volcanoes I was just thinking about.

  Closing my eyes, I start fantasizing about the different things Heath and I could do this weekend. The way his fingers will caress me, the same way he would stroke the smooth end of his favorite knife. Or how he will palm my ass with his strong hands while he drives his large cock into me from behind.

  Sloping down further into the seat, I begin to knead my breast through my coat. Why the hell didn’t I take it off? I make quick work of unbuttoning the top two buttons, before sliding my hand under my silk shirt and bra. Grasping ahold of my already perked nipple, I pinch it to the point of eliciting the pain I love so much. There’s nothing in this world as tender as my nipples. I love having them sucked so deep into a man’s mouth that the pain shoots pleasure to every erogenous zone in my entire
body. It’s Heath’s mouth I see in my mind's eye nipping and licking my breast; pressing them together, while sliding his cock in between.

  “Get there, Luca. Fuck yourself,” I moan. Thankful for the blackened out shield separating Colin and me right now, because I’m going to shoot off like the grand finale of fireworks over Lake Michigan on the fourth of July.

  I find my clit. Already a tender hard nub, protruding and eager for my touch. Rubbing in quick, hard circles over and over while lapping up my wetness from my folds. My pussy screaming for any type of penetration.

  Spreading my legs as wide as they will go, my finger easily slides down my walls. The sensation is overwhelmingly powerful once I begin to move in and out. The sounds of my slickness bounce off the small interior of the limo.

  “More I need more,” I pant. Inserting a second finger, I hooking them both back toward myself the best I can, trying to reach that sensitive spot to push me over the edge. “Fuck yes.” I pump in and out in quick successions. Foreign noises escape my mouth as I push myself closer to the edge.

  I feel it burning inside of me, begging to release itself from my body. Squeezing my eyes shut tighter, I imagine what Heath’s cock will look like, what his lips will taste like, how they will feel when they lick up my center. In my mind he is devouring me like he tastes his greatest creation. I explode like those volcanos. My orgasm rips through me. Hot and wet onto my fingers. With one last pinch of my nipple, I remove my hand from inside my shirt. Exhaling loudly, I pull my soaked fingers from my greedy pussy. Quickly, I clean myself up with the package of tissues I always carry with me when I travel. I correct my clothes back in their proper place and I lay my head back, watching the Chicago skyline fade away in the distance. A smile graces my face after my release. “Carl,” I say to myself, “I do believe you’ve done it again, my friend.”

  ***

  “Shit. It’s freezing out,” I roughly tell Colin, as he hands me my bag out of the trunk of the limo. “It’s the first of March for god’s sake. Shouldn’t it be spring?”

  Colin laughs beside me. “It will be soon, Luca. In the meantime, you’re about to spend two days in Savannah, Georgia.”

  “I know. I looked up the weather last night while watching television. It’s in the mid-seventies down there. Which means, if you don’t see me walking out of the terminal Sunday afternoon, I’m not coming back,” I tell him jokingly.

  “Whatever, Luca. Enjoy your flight. Get inside before you catch a cold and can’t enjoy yourself,” Colin says, chastising me like a child. He’s been my driver for two years now and was just like the brother I never had. Being an only child could be lonely at times. My parents were attentive, always supportive; I couldn’t have asked for a better set of parents if I handpicked them myself. Yet I always desired to have a sibling to share everything with. I sound selfish. My parents are good people.

  You miss them, I tell myself, and I do, too. I miss them terribly. If they knew I was going to be so close to them this weekend, they would be pissed at me. I should call them, and tell them I’m attending a business meeting all weekend in case they try to call. My mother fills my voicemail up whenever she can’t get ahold of me, which is often. As soon as I get checked in, I’ll call them while I lap up the luxuries the Delta Sky Club lounge has for me. The club is one of the many perks of flying first class as much as I do. I fly not only for pleasure, but business as well.

  My reputation in business speaks for itself. I did not become a millionaire by strictly keeping my talents in Chicago. Over the years I’ve branched out and have clients all over the world, just about on every continent.

  After telling Colin goodbye, I hoist the handle of my bag up making my way into the airport. I’m able to check in without any effort at all, since all I have is my carry-on, purse, and an extra bag. Once I’m through security, I walk to the closet sky lounge. With my head held high and my shoulders back, I enter the lounge and quickly relax into the soft cushions of a leather chair tucked in the corner.

  “Hi, mom.” I speak enthusiastically into my phone after the waitress hands me a glass of Trimbach Riesling, my absolute favorite.

  “Hi, honey. How are you?” she ask in her sweet southern voice. My mother was born and raised in Nashville, Tennessee. She met my father on a family vacation at the age of sixteen in Florida. They spent the entire week together, laughing and soaking up the sun. When the week came to an end, they promised each other they would write or call as often as they could. They kept this up for two years until they graduated high school. During those two years, they fell deeply in love with each other. My father was extremely impatient when it came to seeing my mom again, so he drove to Tennessee, proposed to my mother, securing her as his wife. They were married months later at nineteen, and now almost thirty years later, are still happily married, living off my father’s salary as a foreman for a construction company. Material things mean nothing to them. That’s the one thing the three of us have never seen eye to eye on. I may be the combination of the two of them, but I’m nothing like them at all when it comes to money.

  I want luxurious things. No, I take that back, I need them. I may not wear them like I should, as all the gowns I receive hang in tightly sealed bags in a separate closet in my apartment. All of my favorite jewels are locked away in a secret safe in my bedroom. On the snowy and dreary rainy days, I bring them out. Taking them into my private bathroom, I place the diamonds and emeralds around my neck to watch them sparkle and glisten from the lights up above. My favorite piece is a royal beauty. It’s the most innovative ring I have ever seen in my life. It was given to me ten years ago by a pilot I met. God, he was the best sex I’ve ever had and the man who showed me this life style. The ring was an unexpected surprise, a complete bonus after the sex he gave me. It’s set in an unusual 14K pink and platinum gold band, with pink and white diamonds encrust the entire way around the band. In the center sits a 2.0 Karat princess cut diamond, surrounded by small diamonds in the square setting. This is the only piece I wear in public and I wear it daily on my right hand. It’s the closest ring to a wedding band that will ever grace my fingers. I’m a woman fated to be alone, left to drown in my own selfishness. Not that I’m extremely selfish, except for when it comes to myself. I donate to charities and attend events when I can. The question I’ve asked myself, and others have asked at least a million times, is why won’t I settle down with just one man. The simple answer is I can’t. Both of these lives I lead are an addiction. I have to have the men and the adventure they provide. It’s like a drug flowing freely through my every vein, pumping fiercely to keep me alive. That is why I will be alone, always relying on nobody but myself.

  The sound of my mother’s voice brings me out of my thoughts. It also reminds me of how much I miss them. “You better come see us before it gets to hot down here,” her sunshine voice begging.

  “I will, mom, I promise. I have to go now. I need to walk to my gate. I wanted to touch base with you in case you tried to call. I’ll be in business meetings all weekend.” I lie.

  “Good luck. We’re proud of you,” she coos.

  “Are you?” I ask my glass of wine before downing the rest of it.

  First class has many perks, however today my perks are not perky at all. I’m stuck next to a woman who is crocheting a fucking sweater. Good god, please choke me now, and not in the sexual way I love so much either. In spite of the fact I have a blanket wrapped around me and I’m sipping on a delicious hot cup of coffee with baileys in it, I’m stuck next to Grandma Jones go on and on about her dog and the sweater she’s making to help keep him warm in the snow.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I adore pets. I would love to have one of my own. A big yellow lab, to be precise, to cuddle up with at night, to keep my feet warm when I crawl in bed by myself. But there again comes in my selfishness comes in. I would never be able to have a dog for the mere fact I will never give up being an escort.

  THREE

  I have a maid that comes to my h
igh rise apartment every few days, but there’s something absolutely breathtaking about a penthouse suite at a luxury hotel. Everything is crisp, vivid, and obviously fresh. I walk in as a marketing professional and once I’ve seen the four rooms of pure wealth, I feel like a woman. A real woman with needs, wants, and the man, Heath, or whomever I’m set up with, to take care of me. Just me.

  “Has he scheduled my spa time for the morning?” I briskly ask the maître d’.

  “Yes, Ms. Westwood. Your massage begins at 9 a.m. sharp, followed by the complete spa package. It’s the best for our best.” He smiles softly with a nod.

  I pull out some cash to tip him and he refuses. “He has already secured my extra personal tips for you. Please, here is my direct extension that reaches me twenty-four hours a day. I am at your service for anything you need, Miss.”

  I smile at Heath’s generosity and his forethought. I already like him so much.

  “That sounds simply divine,” I say with a little flair of my pretend southern charm. I only lived in Jacksonville until I was eighteen, so I don’t really have an accent, but when I get into character, it comes naturally to me. How perfect is that.

  “Now, before I let you off the hook for the rest of the evening, be a dear and call up some cheese and vegetable spread. I am simply famished after that long travel. If you don’t mind, please have Heath…” I clear my throat. “Please have Mr. Landon call me at his earliest convenience.”

  I don’t have my client’s phone numbers and they don’t have mine. I keep all that nitty gritty stuff up to Carl. I made the mistake once of giving my phone number to a man who was delayed by a severe weather storm in San Diego. I was going to meet him in Phoenix, but he was days late so, I just sat around the hotel with my hand down my pants, charging direct movies, and expensive champagne to his hotel bill. When he called a week later to reschedule the date, I had a bad feeling that I shouldn’t have given my number out. Six weeks later and about sixty stalking phone calls for him to get his money’s worth from what I spent in Phoenix, I had to change my number. I was a fool. I try to tell the men I prefer not to know their numbers in case I enjoy how much they pleasure me, as I tend to be a bit stalker-ish when I’ve enjoyed myself. That appeases them somewhat, but still – I think most of them would prefer if I did keep them in my call log. No such luck for them. Repeat dates are very rare and when they are permitted, it has to take place in a different city. I don’t ever want to feel like I am doing the same man twice.