“BUTTERCUP,” SOMEONE HISSES IN MY ear. I actually sag. This is my third John tonight. I want to cry. I don’t turn around immediately, taking a moment to find the energy to put up another front. Being here is eating me alive. I want to run, but I have no choice. Nino’s threat keeps ringing in my ears. He reminded me again tonight. He’s keeping me on a short leash, and I hate it.
I finally turn around, fake smile and all as I come face to face with the one person I never expected to see.
Tears immediately well in my eyes.
“You don’t look happy to see me, shortcake,” he says just loud enough for me to hear. “What’s the going rate for a subscription call girl these days?”
His tone is as sharp as a blade that effortlessly slashes me wide open. I don’t respond because I have no words.
“Let’s go.” He grabs my arm tightly—so tightly it actually hurts. “Show me what all this back room hype is about.”
I nearly burst into tears. He pushes me, and I walk reluctantly to a hidden door in the back that is painted black, same as the wall. It’s virtually undetectable unless you know it’s there.
I push it open while CJ keeps a firm grip on my arm. We walk down a short corridor where there are more doors, each leading to a private room.
I find one that’s open, and we slip inside. The room is nothing spectacular. It’s small, with a mattress on the floor and a couch against the wall. The lighting is a shitty dull yellow that enhances nothing. The nicest thing I can say about it is it’s clean. Whore is definitely the name of the game. Guys pay to be with a girl they could never pull in real life. That’s the niche. A jacked-up fantasy fuck. That’s why my hair is over curled, my makeup is too heavy, and my skirt is too short. My worlds blur together at the irony. CJ wanted me to be his fantasy girl, and here I am, in the fucking flesh.
CJ backs me up against the wall with rage burning in his eyes. He doesn’t utter a sound, and I think the silence scares me more than anything. I would prefer him to yell. Confirming what a god-awful person I am. But he just breathes erratically, like a raging bull.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak out, not knowing what else to do or say.
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” He sounds disgusted. “You have no fucking idea what sorry is.”
He spins me around and slams me against the wall. “You were fucking lying to me this whole time. How many other fucking guys, Tara? How many did you let fuck you while you were with me? Huh?” he shouts.
The thought of answering that question turns my stomach.
“Answer me!”
“None until tonight.” Oh shit, that sounded so bad.
“Until tonight?” he seethes.
“CJ, please,” I beg, pathetically, because I am pathetic.
“Please? Please what? Is that what all your Johns like to hear? You begging?”
I don’t answer.
“Tell me, Tara!” He crushes me against the wall with his body.
“Do they savor you like I did? Do they inhale your scent and caress your body?” He touches me roughly, and I can’t believe it, I actually feel him getting hard.
“No, no one touches me like you.”
It’s the truth.
He grunts like I triggered something. “No one touches you like me?” There is so much anger in his voice. “You’re goddamned right, no one touches you like me.” He gropes my breasts and bites my neck, twisting my nipples until I’m writhing.
He scoffs as he palms my ass, discovering that I’m not wearing any underwear. He squeezes my cheek so hard, I can feel the fury biting through his fingertips. Then he sinks a finger inside me, and I hear the confliction in his growl. “How many men have been in this pussy tonight?”
I close my eyes and bite my lip. I won’t answer. Why does he want to know? Just to escalate his anger?
“How many?” he yells as he fingers me. I’m so confused. He’s mad, but he wants me?
I hesitate for a beat before I answer. “Two,” I whisper. “Only two.”
“Slow night?” he responds scathingly, as if he loathes me.
I press my face against the wall and fight back the tears. CJ was the one good thing in my life, and I’ve ruined it. Not on purpose, but because I was trapped.
“I’m sorry,” I force out, my tone brittle. It’s all I can say. It’s all that’s left to say.
“You’re sorry?” he snaps at me. I then hear him rip his pants open, taking me by total surprise. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he hisses enraged right before he slams his cock into me, burying himself directly to the hilt. We both expel a choked moan as he fucks me right up against the wall. No reason, no regard. He takes all of his aggression out where I can feel it the most, right between my legs. I should hate him for this, but I don’t because I know this is the last time CJ Carmichael is ever going to touch me. So I’ll accept his displaced anger as my parting gift. He pounds into me again and again every so often muttering, “Bitch.” I absorb every brutal punch of his cock, my pussy tightening involuntarily around him. This is not just some rough fuck—it’s a primal, no-holds-barred, brutal hate-fuck. He hates me. It destroys me that I drove him to this, but in all its fucked-up-ness, it’s some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I claw at the walls as he thrusts so hard he lifts me right off the ground. It’s loud, sweaty, and ruthless, and in all honesty, I’ve never felt so turned on and like such a whore in my entire life.
CJ hits me square in my sweet spot, and I moan like a feral cat. I’m so fucking close and wet there are squelching sounds echoing around the room.
CJ grabs my hair and fumes in my ear. “You going to come for me, baby?
“Yes!” I answer in a state of heady lust.
“Because I’m the only one you come for, right?” He resentfully throws my words back in my face just as I’m hurled over the edge. I cry in disgrace at the same time mewling with pleasure as my womb spasms out of control.
Right in the middle of my climax, CJ pulls out, and I gasp as the tremors dissipate, leaving me achy and wanton.
I whine miserably as I feel CJ explode, shooting hot cum all over my bare ass. He moves quickly after that, pushing off me and zipping his pants.
“Whore,” he spits in my ear, before he reaches around and rips off the necklace he gave me. The necklace I love with the treble clef charm.
I crumble after that, collapsing onto the floor in a pile of shame.