Read BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance Online
Authors: Glenna Sinclair
BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance
All Rights Reserved
. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
His hands caress my thighs. I can feel the coolness of his wedding band brush against my skin. I let a perfectly timed moan fall from my crimson lips. It’s a regular Friday night. The man between my legs thrusting away, breathing heavy, face flushed, while I put on an Academy Award-winning performance.
And the award goes to…Katie-Lynn!
No one knows me by that name anymore, though. These days, I go by Angela. I’ve always liked the taste of that name in my mouth. Angela. Shorten it to Angel and you’re a porn star, but Angela has a certain sophistication to it.
Escort, call girl, prostitute, whore. I’ve been called everything in the book; feel free to pick one. It doesn’t bother me anymore because I like what I do. For an evening, or a week at most, I have the illusion of being the pampered girlfriend without ever actually having to be one. No left up toilet seats, million questions, or lies. Just money
That’s why I got into this: money. It was too good to pass up. When I first started, I was like every other woman who does the same. I refused to sleep with the clients, refused to even kiss them, but one night, when I had no other choice, I caved. That’s when I realized that if I wanted real money, I’d have to really work for it.
The man on top of me grips my breasts. He pops a nipple between his pink lips before he’s sucking on it as though he’s trying to pull my soul through it. I want to scoff, but instead I arch my back, point my toes. My tongue runs over my upper lip. I can see from the look of concentration on his face that he won’t take long.
Money in hand, I kiss his cheek before I saunter out of the door. Another successful night. I stretch lazily as I get behind the wheel of the red little convertible that I love so much. Pulling out of the parking lot, the only thing I can think of is a hot, relaxing shower. Usually, he doesn’t mind if I use his, but his wife was on the way up from her parents’. There’s no way I want to be caught in the middle of that.
The drive home is a relaxing one. I don’t live far. I could never live too far away from the glitz and glam of the bustling city. Los Angeles. I’ve lived here all of my life, barring a few exotic vacations with some of the more generous gentlemen I’ve encountered, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I like the busy streets, amazing food, and the few people who I’ve come to know and love.
Pulling up in front of my building, I lock up my car and hop out. My heels click against the concrete as I walk up to my building. I sigh. It feels good to be home. I like my high rise building, with its gold accents, marble flooring, and sleek accessories.
“You’re out late again,” a bright voice pipes up from behind the counter.
“Yep, I lead a busy, busy life.”
The gray-haired woman cocks her head, those blue eyes examining me closely. “In that?”
I look down at myself. The black dress that I’m wearing is form-fitting, hugging my curves as if for dear life. The front plunges down low, showing off a mound of olive-toned breasts. Black hair cascades over my shoulder, tickling my skin lightly. Tall heels make me look way taller than I actually am. Self-consciously, I grip the black leather clutch in my hands more tightly. Good ol’ Anne, always the observer.
“Yes,” I nervously chuckle. “It was a party for my friend.”
The woman nods. “Well, you have a good night.”
I wave lightly as I walk towards the row of stainless steel elevators. Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I can see Anne, shaking her head in disapproval. I sigh.
“Well, that was fun.”
My apartment is my sanctuary. It’s a large, loft style apartment decorated in sophisticated red, black, and creams. Downstairs, there’s a large cream sectional couch and a glass table in front of it. The kitchen sits in darkness, as it often does. I haven’t stepped foot in a kitchen in five years; the last time I tried the fire department was at my door.
Upstairs, a large bathroom and huge bedroom take up much of the space. Beside the bedroom, however, is one of my favorite places. My library. It’s stocked full of everything, from self-help to chick lit to the classics. There’s nothing better than curling up in that big red chair, pulling my hair into a bun, and diving into a good book.
I kick off my heels. My feet have a small throb in the soles that I massage lazily. A growl shatters the silence of the room, and I moan. Food hasn’t been on my mind since earlier in the evening, when I was being wined and dined by Mr. Moans-a-lot.
A small smile stretches the corners of my mouth as I think about this. All of my clients, I’ve given nicknames. Mr. Handsy, who always has to grab my ass every second that we’re around each other. There’s Mr. Nose, who not only has a huge nose, but also tries to stick it into my business whenever possible. And there’s Mr. “Dominant.” I have to scoff. He’s the worst of them all. He insists that I call him sir and sit on my knees, and I comply because the stack of cash he gives me at the end of the night is more than enough to forget all of the idiotic things that he says.
I bite my lip. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, a real man, who knew how to bring me to my knees. Who knew how to
make
me serve him. I miss that. Although I try to stay as far away from dating as possible, I can’t help but to crave that.
A solid touch. A certain glance. A whispered word. Then, BAM, I’m on my knees. The smallest of moans escapes my lips, and I glance around in embarrassment as if there’s someone else staying there besides me. I sigh. What I want, I can’t have. Regular men don’t get me; clients want, more than anything, to possess or own me. I don’t want that either.
I can hear my phone ringing in my bag, sitting on the counter. The buzzing stops, then starts up again. I groan. It can’t be anyone but Zoey. I push myself off of the couch before digging into my bag. Zoey’s name glows.
“What happened now?”
“Nothing happened,” she says, loud music blaring behind her. “I just wanted to see how your ‘date’ went. That, and I wanted you to come grab drinks with me.”
“No can do. I’m exhausted.”
“Come on, you’re such a pain in the ass lately. Come have some fun for once! You deserve it.”
I roll my eyes. “You always say that.”
“I always mean it, babe.”
“Let me take a shower and I’ll think about it.”
Zoey squeals. “That’s a yes.”
“It’s an ‘I’ll think about it!’”
“See you in thirty!”
I sigh as the sound of the phone hanging up rings in my ear. A smile creeps onto my face. Zoey has been my best friend since eighth grade. She knows everything about me, even the escorting, and still loves me for who I am. I can’t help but chuckle as I shed my clothes and head upstairs. Zoey is the opposite of me. I may be outspoken, but she’s obscene. She’s short, with beautiful brown skin and a firecracker personality. On top of that, she’s smart. I mean
really
smart. She’s an attorney and can outsmart everyone she comes up against, but she still loves to party.
As the water washes over my skin, I sigh. Steam rises, filling the large bathroom in no time at all, until I’m waving my hand in front of my face when I step out. Picking up a thick red towel, I wrap myself up in it before I walk out of the bathroom and into my large room.
The closet is definitely my favorite part of my bedroom. It’s a huge walk-in with row after row of clothes, shoes, accessories, and makeup. Custom building it was a pain, but worth it in the end. I reach into the closet and pull out my favorite dress. It’s a deep, dark wine color that dips low between my breasts and stops mid-thigh. It hugs my curves lovingly, and the material slips over my skin like a dream.
I wiggle into the dress before I reapply my makeup. I run my fingers through my black hair, happy that for once it falls into place effortlessly. Heels are on my feet before I’m rushing out of the door to meet with Zoey. No lie, I could use a drink. I’m sick of the faceless bastards that I’m forced to hold conversations with day after day. Real conversation, that’s my craving. Or maybe just a real nice fuck.
That thought perks me up. Yes, a nice fuck. I want a guy to throw me down, rip off my clothes, ravish me, leave me trembling… I shake off the thought as quickly as it comes on. The tell-tale dampening of my lacey panties tells me that this needs to become a reality, soon.
The drive to the club isn’t far, but it’s packed. I get in easily, but looking for Zoey is another event entirely. Frustrated, I sit down at the bar, cross my legs, and order a margarita. Glancing around the club, eyes trained for Zoey, I sip on my drink.
There’s a handsome one. He’s tall and clean shaven, but the bald head kills it for me. I like to run my fingers through a head full of hair. My eyes land on another guy. He’s muscled, the outline of them almost straining against his white shirt. His dark brown skin, deep, brown eyes, and wide smile are almost enough to make me tremble with delight, until his girlfriend wraps herself around him. The small, shapely blonde throws me menacing daggers before she turns and wraps her arms around him.
Bitch.
Okay, so maybe I was staring at her boyfriend. Still, she doesn’t need to be so mean. I turn my attention to the room once more. I just know Zoey’s tucked into some little corner, a strong arm around her shoulders as she smiles and dazzles the people around her. She’s always had that ability. To be honest, I’ve always been a bit jealous of that.
I finish the margarita off quickly, already feeling the warm, comforting buzz of the alcohol coursing through my system. I’ll find Zoey, but after that, I have a plan. A fancy dinner, expensive gifts, I don’t need any of it. The only thing I need is a night of unbridled, blazing passion.
“Angela!”
Or maybe not. Zoey waves me over frantically, her hyper energy making her more adorable. I grin as I walk up to her. Of course she’s sitting in the middle of two equally hot guys. As they introduce themselves, I can hear the Swedish accents.
Zoey’s always had a taste for the exotic.
They’re nice enough. Both shake my hand before they continue to dote on Zoey. I’m used to that though. I might be the tall, leggy, dark-haired vixen, but my social skills are lacking if I’m not working. I don’t care for small talk, don’t give a shit about the newest pop sensation or the hottest fashion trends. Places like this, though, that’s always the center of the conversation.
“Angela,” Zoey says, tucking a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear. “Rian was just telling me that his friend is looking for a date next Saturday night. Think you’re up for it?”
I groan. “Really? Is this work-related?”
Zoey shakes her head quickly, her curls bouncing around her face. “Not really. I mean, it can if you want it to be I suppose. The guy is
really
hot though. Who knows? Maybe it could turn into something more.”
I scoff. There’s only one major rule in my life, and I’ve been following it for about ten years: don’t ever mix business with pleasure. Clients are not eligible for dating, no matter how sweet or attentive they seem. At the end of the day, men who chase escorts have a type. They don’t want a commitment, they want easily accessible and agreeable. Trying to get into a serious relationship with them is nothing but bad news.
“You’ll like him,” the blond on Zoey’s left says over the loud, throbbing music. “He’s a really cool guy. Kind of boring, but cool.”
Great. Apparently I seem the type to like the ‘boring but cool’ type. I raise an eyebrow at Zoey’s companion before the waiter thankfully comes around and saves this guy an earful. I order another intoxicating margarita. Screw it. The night can’t get any worse; maybe drinking will make it better.
“Oh, there he is,” Zoey says with a wide smile on her face.
I can feel the dread work its way up my throat. Lovely. Let me guess: he’s a forty-something, slightly balding, pudgy gutted business executive who somehow thinks God crafted him by hand. Zoey waves him over. Giving in to the inevitable, I turn around.
How can I describe that feeling? My heart dropping? My panties wanting to quickly follow suit? Yeah, that’s about right. I’m not all about looks, but this man is not crafted by God. He
is
a god. Tall, taller than even my five-seven frame, which seems to be hard to find. There’s slight stubble on his chin, making him look tough, rugged. His eyes are a startling shade of sea foam green. The tailored charcoal gray suit he’s wearing fits him like a glove. He runs a hand through thick, black hair. His thumb runs over his lip as he picks up a cup from the waitress’s tray. The way she looks at him as he winks sums up the way I feel about him pretty well. I’m possessed.
“Zoey,” he says as he effortlessly slides next to me on the plush blue velvet seat. “You’re looking amazing, as always.”
I can see Zoey blush even under the dim lights. “Thanks, Connor. This is who I was talking about earlier. Angela, this is Connor. He’s partner at the firm and highly sought after.” She leans forward, cupping her hand around her mouth as if she’s telling a secret. “And he’s a bachelor.”
Connor glances at me, and I feel my legs shake. Is that normal? I’m pretty sure that isn’t normal. I clear my throat before I extend my hand to him.
“Angela,” I say stupidly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says.
Connor’s voice is like deep, rich butter. It slips into my ears and seems to caress my breasts, because my nipples harden, poking against the material. His eyes look me over quickly as he seems to assess me.
