Discretion Read Online Free PDF Page B

tight freelance operation.
    Nicole sidled up to the exec. “You’re so hot,” she murmured, smiling through the lie. She kissed his neck, pungent with the scent of cigar smoke, red meat, and Scotch. The men had apparently gone to a steak house before this. She removed his clothes with skillful efficiency, gently nipping the parts that she was baring. He was naked in under two minutes, pale and pudgy as the Pillsbury Doughboy. That was par for the course.
    She turned and gathered her long brown hair on top of her head. “Can you get this for me, honey?” He fumbled with the zipper onher back. When he finally got it, she let the dress fall to the ground. He inhaled sharply, which she appreciated. She worked hard to have a body that caused that reaction.
    With the dress off, Nicole wore black stilettos, a black bra and thong, a long string of pearls, and a delicate white-gold necklace with the name Bethany in cursive. She’d been told to return the necklace when she was fired, but fuck that. She’d earned it.
    She arched her back and rubbed her buttocks against him. He was erect as a double-A battery. Good. Some women wanted size or stamina, but in Nicole’s profession, the smaller and quicker, the better. You didn’t want to get sore, and you didn’t want to have to work for hours, grinding and licking and ooh-babying, to close the deal. She turned, ran bloodred fingernails down his squishy chest, and pushed him onto the bed.
    In other circumstances, she might have lingered over him more. The goal of every escort was to secure steady clients. Each new trick presented unknown challenges and dangers. There was less risk and better compensation if you could get a steady book of business. Regular customers were good. Getting set up in an apartment was better. Marriage was the ultimate goal. Girls who actually married johns were legends, often talked about and much analyzed, but with their true stories warped by time and exaggeration. Nicole knew that marrying a client was as rare as winning the lottery, but that didn’t stop her from buying tickets and hoping.
    She knew she had a limited shelf life. Today, at twenty-two years old, she could command up to five thousand a night, although circumstances had forced her to take much less lately. That kind of cash wouldn’t even be a possibility in her thirties. Tick-tock. Nicole was constantly on the lookout for Prince Charming or, if his white horse didn’t gallop over the horizon right quick, Prince Charming Enough.
    Tom (or Tim) wasn’t that guy. Married men could be fabulous clients: undemanding, apologetic, grateful. But he was from out of town, so he wouldn’t be a regular. And there was no way this mid-level auto exec had enough money to keep a girl the way Nicole wanted to be kept. She didn’t need to make him feel like he couldn’tlive without her. He just needed to have a good time and tell Bill. Quick and easy would do.
    She pushed him back against the pillows and unclasped her lacy bra.
    “My, my, my.” He sighed, cupping one of her bare breasts. “You are a beautiful little girl.”
    Something about the way he said it reminded her of Larry. She hadn’t planned to, but she leaned down and kissed his doughy mouth. She wanted to show him how good she was. She took the string of pearls off her neck: this was her specialty.
    Caroline was always going on about “the girlfriend experience.” Unless you were willing to service the fetishes, the girlfriend experience was where the money was made these days. It was about more than sex. You had to make the client feel like he was having the best date of his life. Chat, laugh, really listen. Act as if he were the most interesting person you’d ever met. Give the impression that being with him was the place you’d most like to be on earth, even if you weren’t getting a wad of cash to do it.
    That was why Caroline was so damn successful. She wasn’t that much prettier than Nicole. She just had a way of