What the hell’s going on? Raine is taking me to his apartment, and it’s not because I’m beaten up or cold, not this time. Not because I owe him something, either, but because he wants…

He wants me.

No, I correct myself and barely refrain from hitting my head against the dashboard to sort my stupid thoughts. Not me. He wants a blowjob. He wants sex. He wants me to pleasure him.

Like every other guy.

He could have picked any hooker, that stupid, hopeful inner voice insists. And he picked me.

Jesus, no. You know how this works. He came to you because he knows you. It was easy. His brother probably told him where you hang out, and…

But my mind stops there. The thought of Raine asking his brother where to find me for paid sex is too much, even for me. Ocean seems so protective.

I lean my head on the window, the coolness soothing on my forehead. As if I really know Ocean. Ocean is protective of his brother, not me. Sure, he has been helping me out, and I’m so fucking grateful. But I’m not… not his. Not family.

My throat closes. What the fuck. I must be more tired than I realized if the thought hits me so hard. I knew this. I do know it. But Raine kinda makes me wish for things. Things I can’t fucking have, or even dream about.

Bastard.

I glare at him for good measure as he keeps driving, but look away when he glances at me.

He’s a paying customer, I remind myself, and it just goes to show how fucked-up I am if I have to keep reminding myself of this simple fact.

Cut the crap. Relax. Smile. Act nice.

Easier said than done. It’s like I’m a mass of boiling resentment and confusion and need, and since when can’t I keep it bottled inside? This endless drag with Simon, the stress and the beatings sure aren’t helping.

But when we stop at a traffic light, I can’t help but look at him again, and that delicious tingle down my spine starts again, enough to make me shift uncomfortably in my seat. He’s staring straight ahead, his profile serious, those full lips pressed together, the dark brows drawn in a frown, his jaw tight. I mean, yeah, he’s handsome. We’ve established that.

A handsome bastard.

Doesn’t change anything.

When he parks and turns toward me, I’m already opening my door and climbing out, to avoid his gaze.

I can do this. I really can.

Hell, I have no fucking choice in the matter. It’s swim or drown, and giving up ain’t in the cards until I get my whole gang out of this town and somewhere safe.

After that, all bets are off, and I try not to think too hard about that as I follow Raine up to his apartment.

“How do you want me?” I ask, throwing my jacket on the back of the sofa and rubbing my chilled hands together to warm them up. “Shall I strip?”

I want this over with. I’m scared of the way my body reacts to Raine, and not only that. I need more customers, and the quicker I finish up tonight, the better. I’m bone-tired. As the warmth of the apartment starts to seep into me, I have to stifle a yawn.

So not sexy.

Raine hasn’t said anything yet, and I’m still avoiding his gaze, so instead of asking again, I drag my light blue tank top over my head and let it drop to the floor. He’s turned on the lamp in the corner again today, and in its faint light I hope he won’t pay too much attention to my new bruises. Don’t want a repeat of the other night.

I have to remember to hide them, maybe with some make-up base. Mayleen could hook me up, she’s got the biggest make-up stash I’ve ever seen, and not all of it stolen.

Shaking my head, I trail my hand on the back of the sofa, walking around it. Not every customer likes having sex with a bruised whore, much less—

“Jason.”

His voice stops me in my tracks, and my shoulders hunch. Dunno why I’m bracing like this, my muscles tensing.

Okay, not true, I do know: I always tense, my nerve endings burning, when I’m with a customer, and the latest sessions with Simon and Company have done a number on me. It’s just too much. No reprieve. No breathing space. And the itch for the drug is getting stronger, getting out of hand.

This is fucking bad.

Not all customers hurt you, I tell myself and repeat the words in my mind like a chant, but tell that to my body that’s braced for pain. My hand clenches on the back of the sofa, the other curling into a fist.

“Jason?”

Plastering on a smile, I make myself release my death hold on the back of the sofa and turn toward him.

My mind goes quiet. A different tension runs through my body, because shit, he’s hot. He’s shed his jacket, and the way his soft gray T-shirt molds over his broad chest and shoulders is short-circuiting my brain.

Not to mention the worn blue jeans hugging slim hips and long legs, or his face… Damn. The dark scruff on his jaw suits him.

I blink. Lick my lips. That tingling sensation is back, warmth flooding my insides, pooling behind my balls.

Christ. What was I doing? Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?

My job. That’s right.

“Jason.”

“Present,” I whisper, and hope my voice sounds sexy and not fucking raw. I run my gaze up and down his body for show, then have to drag it away when it snags on the bulge between his legs, my throat going dry. “And accounted for. What will it be tonight?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. I’ve managed to confuse him, it seems.

Good. I make my move before he puts his thoughts into words. Easier this way. Push them in the right direction, give them what they want before they get creative and think up fucked-up ways to get it.

Sucking them off is the easiest. If they go along with it, they won’t even get it up for a fuck, and it suits me just fine, even though fucking makes me more money.

I haven’t even told him how much I charge. What’s wrong with me today?

“Tell you what,” I say, keeping my voice low, soothing and hopefully sultry as I stalk toward him, trying to decide if I should push him against the wall or have him sit down for more control. I pat the condoms stashed in my back pocket. “Just for you, a blowjob just forty bucks.” Because I’m an idiot. Normally I charge ten bucks more.

“Jason… Listen.”

But that would be a fucking bad idea, whatever he has to say. I grab his hand and drag him toward the dark blue sofa. The furniture is so conservative, so male. So normal. I give him a small shove, and he lets himself sink against the big cushions, his eyes wide.

“Relax,” I tell him as I kneel between his legs, his muscular, denim-clad thighs on either side of me. “Sit back. Let me take care of you.”

His scent is stronger here, his musk filling my senses, and I’m at eye level with that fascinating bulge.

He mutters something, drawing my attention to his mouth. His lips part and a sudden, burning urge to kiss him blasts through me. I can almost taste him on my tongue, imagine his scent turning into taste, bittersweet and heady like a sip of Jack, imagine driving my tongue into his mouth, wringing one of those deep moans out of him.

God. I haven’t been able to get the sound out of my mind, and I shift where I’m kneeling, a hot current flooding my back, making my whole body clench.

He lifts a hand to my shoulder, fingertips trailing on my neck, and I flinch. Oh fuck, I’ve lingered too long.

“Let me,” I say again, attempt another smile and make the mistake of looking up into his eyes. They’re such a gorgeous blue with those long, dark lashes… I’m caught and sinking deep. “Let me,” I whisper and reach for his zipper.

But his hand on my shoulder tightens, keeps me still on my knees. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Slow down. I just… wanted to talk.” He swallows, shadows shifting in his gaze. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

“You liked it just fine last time,” I snap, quite reasonably in my opinion. Hey, I’m a hooker. This is my job. “And this is what you brought me here for.”

I cut a pointed look at the tent in the front of his pants, his cock so hard its shape is outlined in the soft denim.

And damn, this brings back again the memory of sucking him off last time—his size, his thickness, the way he gripped my hair, the way he moaned…

Fuck, enough. I lift a hand and grip his wrist, fully intending to free myself of his hold, do what I came here to do and go.

Before I make my move, though, he lets go with a sigh and sprawls back, observing me from under lowered lashes.

The irritation ain’t something new, but the sting of disappointment comes out of nowhere. It’s as if I wanted him to keep his hand there, to keep talking to me. To insist I stop, take my time. That it’s up to me, that it’s not business but—

But what? Seriously, Jason?

The real world comes back into focus, laser-sharp. When I reach for his button and zipper, I don’t fumble, and if my hands shake, I don’t even notice, all my attention on undoing his pants and freeing that impressive hard-on.

He may pretend all he wants that talking is what he brought me here for, but his dick tells a different story. Dicks don’t lie.

Oh shit. Condom.

I almost forgot, and that right there tells you how out of sorts I am. I whip one out of my back pocket and tear it open with my teeth. The taste of latex is familiar, and not all that unpleasant. I roll it carefully over Raine’s dick—a big dick, veined and thick and long and damn hot…

And there can’t be a repeat of tonight. Not with the way I get so distracted by him.

Not that he’s trying to distract me, not anymore. He keeps his hands lax at his sides and his eyes on me as I make sure the condom is rolled all the way, hissing a little when I pull at the tip. His thighs are trembling, and his mouth has gone a bit slack.

Good.

I wink at him, then sink low on my knees, grip his cock with one hand and deep-throat him.

“Oh fuck.” His back arches, and he writhes on the sofa, his legs splaying wider, his boots kicking at nothing. “Slow… slow down.”

Again with that? Goddammit. I’m proud of my skills. Weren’t easy to learn and perfect, and I give damn good head, so what’s his problem?

I ease back anyway, until only the tip of his cock is in my mouth, and lift a questioning brow at him.

He’s still arched, his head thrown back, eyes closed, his throat exposed. His broad chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I’m hit with a devastating need to push up his shirt and lick my way up that flat stomach to his pecs and then to his throat, to bite until I leave a mark, to press my chest to his and rock against him.

Taste him.

I wish I could chuck this condom away and suck on his bare dick, taste his salty flavor, suck him until he comes down my throat, until he howls with pleasure and loses all control.

My breathing is choppy, my pants suddenly too tight and my head too light, but instead of drawing back, I take him deep once more, tonguing the underside of his cock, sucking on him as if my life depends on it. As if I can taste him through the latex.

“Oh God.” He arches again, straining, his hands scrabbling to grab hold of something and failing. “You’re trying to kill me.”

I hum, chuckling inwardly at his desperation, and aching. Aching with the pressure behind my balls, in my cock. In my chest. My groin throbs in time with my racing heart. I put my free hand between my legs and find my dick half-hard.

The hell. This never happens. I almost choke on his cock, unsettled, and graze the head with my teeth as I come up for air. That has him moaning, long and loud, and reaching for me.

“If you do that again,” he wheezes after a moment, during which I struggle to gather my wits, “I’ll come.”

“Well then,” I pant, sweat drenching my back, my dick getting heavier with every sound and movement he makes. “That’s the idea.”

My dick twitches, arousal making my balls heavy, and I dunno what the fuck to do with that. Not with the hard-on—fuck knows I’m an expert in that—but with the realization I’m hard for Raine. No, for a customer.

Never happened before.

So I take his hard-on back into my mouth and finish him off with my lips and tongue and fingers, dragging, stroking, massaging, until he’s crying out from between clenched teeth and pulsing in my mouth, a hot spill inside the condom.

I groan around his cock, the pressure in my balls too fucking much, a fine line between pleasure and pain.

What I want is to take my cock in hand and jack off until I come.

What I want is to run away from here, to deal with this new shit.

Fact is, I dunno what to do with myself right now.

And it only gets more confusing when he lifts his head, his eyes glazed with pleasure, and says in that rough post-sex voice of his, “I wanna touch you.”