LATCH (11 page)

“Fuck her, Scott, while I stretch her some more.”

He starts to move, slowly, and the room is filled with her noises. Stroking my lubed cock once more, I hold her ass cheeks and he stops so I can slide into her. She’s stretched and ready, her ass clearly wants me. “Ready?” I ask her.

“God, yes,” she cries out letting me ease into her. My balls burn, her ass is so warm and tight as she clinches my dick, letting me work her real good. “You like being a slut, don’t you?” I ask her.

“More than anything!”

I pick up speed, as does Scott, both of us move at the same pace and I feel my release. Fire rages through me from head to toe as my fingers dig into her tight ass cheeks, gripping her aggressively.

I hold on to my cum as long as I can, but the moment Tracy begins to convulse around my shaft, screaming louder than ever, I let go, with a loud grunt followed by my white. Each pump of my cock fills the condom inside of her sweet ass and I relish in my orgasm, finding myself reminded of my first real client. She loved anal and was dirty as fuck, just like Tracy. She taught me a lot, first and foremost, that whatever she asked me to do, I needed to take it one step further. Lately, I think I’ve lost a bit of that, being so distracted by Abby, that I’m not even sure that my clients are completely satisfied.

Heading home from dropping Darrell off to meet with his team, I feel relieved. For the first time in days, the noise in my head has stopped. I’m hoping that this time apart will provide me with the answers that I need in order to make the right decision for my future.

Darrell wasn’t happy that I stayed home, but he really didn’t have a choice in the matter, seeing as I didn’t give him one.

Looking down at my phone, I feel terrible for bailing on Latch. He called and texted me, clearly upset. It killed me to not go and meet with him, but I couldn’t. I had to keep up the fake persona for Darrell, to get him out of town. And honestly Latch and I are done.

Deleting the messages from Latch makes me feel queasy. Thinking of truly never talking to him again is hard, but it’s what I need to do. I have to put myself first for once in my life. I’m sure he is already over me and off fucking God only knows how many women all over New York. If I thought I couldn’t trust Darrell to fuck around on me, what would it mean to be in a relationship with a fucking escort?

I wish now more than ever that I had my parents to turn to. Even though I was adopted, I was blessed to be chosen by two amazing people. Both of them were so loving and accepted me as their own from day one. I’ve felt their loss every day since they were ripped from me in a tragic car accident that ended both their lives instantly.

Tears gloss over my eyes and I wipe them away, knowing that nothing is going to bring them back.

Part of the reason I’ve stayed with Darrell as long as I have is because if it weren’t for him, I never would have gotten through the grief of losing them. And in that process, I became frightened of what another loss would do to me, I don’t want to imagine what’ll happen if Darrell and I divorce and I’m on my own. So I’m willing to stay with him for that shred of security. As foolish as it might sound, I don’t want to end up alone.

I thank the driver and walk back inside the lobby to our condo. Taking the elevator up to our floor, my phone vibrates – it’s Darrell.
Things went well with the coaches. I’ll text you as soon as we land, thank you for everything.

Fly safe,
is all I text back, not sure what else to say to him. Entering our apartment, I flip the TV on, knowing that I need to keep busy, ’cause if I don’t keep my mind occupied right now, I might go crazy.

Changing out of the stupid outfit that I had to wear to put on a show for the paparazzi feels so good. I hated being fake, going out with Darrell, letting him have his hands on me, while I waited like some trophy wife for him to sign autographs and snapped pictures of him and the fans. All the while, I acted like everything was fucking normal and had a big stupid ass grin on my face, when all I really wanted to do was curl into a ball on the couch. Now, I finally get to do just that; taking a seat I flip the TV on and aimlessly get lost. I find serenity in this moment of solitude. I never knew something so simple could mean so much to me.

I must’ve drifted off as the sun has set and the TV is showing cartoons. Blinking a few times, I rub my eyes and then an excruciating pain hits me in my stomach. It knots and cramps so bad, worse than anything I’ve ever felt before.

What the fuck? I’ve barely eaten lately.

I take in a few deep breaths and adjust myself on the couch, watching the creepy bunny on the screen as it chases a car while riding a skateboard.
What the fuck is wrong, am I dreaming?
I ask myself, but the room around me suddenly spins and I barely make it to the kitchen sink before I get sick.

I stand, gripping the edge of the granite countertop, so sweaty and hot. Dry heaving a few more times, there is nothing left and everything inside of me burns. Then the room begins to morph into blackness. I brace myself, afraid that I am going to pass out. Tears stream down my face and I fear that Darrell has done something to me.

I gasp for air, keeping focused on the soap dispenser as it comes in and out of my view, puffing rapid, short breaths.

I need to dial 911 and I search for my phone, but my body can no longer stand, and slowly I slide down the cabinets, crying – afraid – panicked. As I lay flat against the smooth cherry wood floor, I look up at the ceiling and close my eyes to stop the room from spinning, letting the tears flow.

How did he do this to me?

I try and think back and then it all makes sense, his sudden niceness, cooking for me for the first time ever, and his persistence that I come on the road with him. Dammit, I should’ve kept up my guard better. I ate the food he cooked me and drank what he gave me. Regardless if we switched plates or not, he still could have put something in one of my drinks.

Even through the pain, as unbearable as it is, I will myself to get up, fighting, knowing my phone is close and determined that Darrell is not going to win. But the pain is something fierce and hits me again, causing me to fall to the ground. My body stiffens, the cramping so bad. My insides are on fire. A storm is brewing like no other in my stomach. This is a pain I’ve never experienced, and then the dry heaves take over again, and right now, I am more scared for my life than I have ever been.

Drying from the shower, I check my phone and see a text from my grandma,
So how did it go?
she asks, referring to my attempt to see Abby.

Not good.
I text her back heading into my closet.

What happened?
she asks. I look at her message for a minute before setting my phone down. What happened is the question of the fuckin’ day. I can’t bring myself to go there right now. She just wants to help, but there is nothing that anyone can do to help. My insides are filled with agony. Normally, after fucking a client I am on a high, ready for the next, but not tonight. The high quickly left me after I came. I thought pushing the limits was the answer, but it was only a brief one. Knowing that things are truly over with Abby…is just killing me.

I slip on a change of clothes and head for the kitchen, and the sight of my couch hits me hard. I ignored it when I first came home, but now, it’s right here in my face and there is nothing that I can do to erase the memory. The memory of Abby and I as we fucked and then how she laid in my arms as we both drifted off to sleep.

Fuck, I wish I could have her in my arms right now.

Pulling my eyes away from it, I grab a beer from the fridge and pound it, then grab a second one. I decide to go through my list of missed calls to schedule some fuck therapy, it’s all I have to help.

Where do I even begin?

There are so many that I have just ignored which is not what the girls are used to. Usually, I am all over my phone and schedule things right away. Glancing at the couch as I take a swig of the beer, I dial the last call on my missed log.

“Hey, can you hold on one second?” Natasha answers in her sweet tone.

“Of course, baby.”

Natasha is an editor for a local magazine and is always working, which she says leaves her no time to date, but she’s always up for a good, hard fucking, which is exactly what I want.

“Sorry, I had to step into my office. Thanks for calling me back.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I was getting worried. It took you longer than normal and I have needs, you know.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. So, you miss me?” I ask her.

“Mmmmhhh.”

“How much?”

“A lot. How could a girl not?”

“Why don’t you come and fuck me right now? My cock is so hard for you.”

She giggles and questions me, “Okay, where?”

“My place.”

“Really?” she sounds surprised. I’ve never let clients come here – I always go to them – but looking at that fucking couch, I know it’ll help me feel better to fuck her on it.

“Yes, I want you to come to my house so I can fuck you. That’s what your pussy wants, right?”

“God, yes.”

“I’ll text you my address. I live in Crown Heights; can you be here in the next 20 minutes?”

“Yeah!” I glance at the clock. It’s 6:07 now. If I give us ’til 7:30, then I can schedule another client after we’re done. Having them come here might be the answer to my problems. This house used to be my space away from everything, my solitude, until Abby ruined it all.

“See you soon, sexy,” I tell her and hang up.

Going through the call log, I pick a few of my favorite fucks before Natasha arrives, scheduling out the rest of my night and even tomorrow morning. All of my clients are surprised by my request to come to my house, but they seem intrigued. Most of these girls I’ve been working with for years, so I’m sure they are interested to see a more intimate side of me.

Grabbing my bag of toys, I set everything I’ll need out on the coffee table, and then look at the spot where Abby and I last slept. It was my own mistake to let her into my heart. I’ll wash away any memory of her tonight by fucking some of New York’s hottest women in the spot that for some stupid ass reason stands as a trigger inside of me.

Natasha knocks on the door, right on time, and I pull my shirt over my head, knowing she loves my tattoos. My cock is already throbbing, ready for her. Opening the door, she is dressed in her work clothes and looks up at me with those big eyes and a smirk on her face.

“So this is where you live?”

“Yup.” I grab her hand and pull her to me, slamming the door behind us, as my tongue invades her mouth, showing her who is in control. That is what Natasha likes. As I hold on to the back of her soft blonde hair, she drops her bag and wraps her body around me, her arms clinging to me, and she is grinding her pussy against my cock.

Pulling back, I look at her with a smile on my face and say, “I can’t wait to fuck you!”

“Me too,” she responds and I walk us to the couch throwing her body down. She laughs, landing on the plush fabric as she looks over at the table of toys. I blur away the couch focusing only on Natasha. “You know, you live like five minutes from my work. We should do this more often.”