Selling Satisfaction (3 page)

Walking out to my pickup truck, I grab a few boxes I kept close by incase anything happened. As I walk back into the building I watch as the men moving my mattress in hits a female, causing her to fall back. It doesn't look like a light fall either. It pisses me off no one apologizes or helps her, in fact I'm not even sure they notice her, or the fact her phone goes spiraling across the floor, probably breaking from the hard marble.

I drop my two boxes and rush over. She gets up before I get there, so the least I can do is pick up her phone. She leans down as I pick it up, then her gorgeous green eyes narrow into mine, probably thinking it was my negligence that she got knocked down. Although it wasn't at all my fault I still feel bad.

"Sorry about that," I say. "Are you okay?"

She almost looks confused as she reaches around and rubs her ass. “"A bit bruised I'm sure, but otherwise I'm fine." I can't help but look her body over. It's small but she has all the right curves, especially in her tiny white bikini. My throat tightens at the sheer thought of seeing her in anything less. Which isn't the first thing I should be thinking about when I meet someone.

I have to bite the urge of telling her she is in fact fine, but that'd make me a little too arrogant. If it weren't my first day in this town or as her neighbor- or at least, I assume she lives here- then I'd probably say a little more of what I'm thinking. I settle with announcing, "That's a damn shame. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

With a feisty little attitude, she pulls her phone from my grip. "My phone will be enough, thank you."

She turns quickly and marches away, swaying her hips as she goes. I have to make sure I get a chance to talk with this woman at least once more. There is no denying she sparked something inside me... or rather, in my pants.

"I'm Everett by the way," I yell. When she doesn't make any effort to tell me her name, I know she'll be a tough shell to crack. It's the fierce ones that drive me absolutely crazy- and the sweet southern twang in her voice only adds to it. Which means, I should probably be cautious.

"I'll take a Tequila Sunrise,"
I tell the bartender. Sliding my ID her way when asked, giving the false statement that I'm twenty two instead of twenty.

"Guinness," a man says, settling onto the bar stool next to me.

The bartender walks off and I place my focus onto my phone. I'm supposed to be meeting a new client in fifteen minutes, just enough time to finish off my drink.

"Come here a lot?"

I look over the guy next to me. He looks... familiar. "No," I tell him. It's the truth. The hotel across the street, however, I visit often. Kandy has cut a deal with the owner, so we do a lot of business there. I hardly ever drink before meeting with clients, not wanting my inhibitions to be lower, but all the news she informed me of this past week has been wallowing with me. It’s a great way to distress by having a five o'clock cocktail.

He cocks his head to the side. "You live in my condo complex, don't you?"

That is why he looks familiar. This time his hair happens to be slightly slicked back and he's dressed in better clothing. Far more suiting than his carelessness yesterday. "Yeah, the one your movers knocked down." I look back down at my phone but he doesn't stop talking.

"Well, how does your ass feel?"

"Firm."

He chuckles. "I'm sure it does. I meant, does it still hurt?"

"That's a little personal, don't you think?" I peak over at him with a smile.

"So she smiles," he says teasingly.

"It'd appear so." I place my phone down in time for my drink to be set in front of me.

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes." We both take a sip of our drinks simultaneously. I'm hoping that'll end our conversation. I'm not sure how many hints I can give him that say I'm clearly not interested.

After a few moments of silence, he decides he isn't done speaking. "And what is it?"

"Why?" I look him square in eyes, wanting an honest answer. I have no intention on being this guy's friend, or anything more than that. I hate when guys ask me for my name, or any personal information for that matter. I'm not looking for a relationship, not even a hookup. My time is occupied with my job, and the freedom to do as I please beyond that.

He fidgets for a second, obviously caught off guard by my question. Of course he manages to come up with a sleek response though. "Well, we are complex-mates after all. What if I run out of sugar one evening and need some. Do I knock on your door and say,
hey girl with a name I don't know, may I borrow a cup of sugar?
Seems a little rude to me." He flashes a ravishing smile, knowing he earned a few points.

Good thing about being raised in foster care, is that I can quickly quip out a worthy comeback. "Well, if you know which complex is mine, the least of my concerns is the rudeness of you not knowing my name."

He bows his head in factitious shame, and I can't help but smile once more. This time it’s less forced than before.

"I would assume by your obvious reserve that you were in a relationship, but since you're at a bar, drinking alone on a Friday night, I'm thinking that isn't the case. So is it something I've done, or are you just... not interested?"

Polishing off my drink, I slide it forward and look down at the phone. I have three minutes to meet this new client. Kandy showed me his profile so I know what he looks like. I look around but don't spot him yet. When I look back at the persistent man, I believe he said his name was Everett, I give him a tight lipped smile. Most definitely forced, a bit bitchy looking, too, I'm sure.

"I'm not looking for a relationship, or a hookup, or anything else for that matter. If my reserve is that obvious, maybe you should take the hint and not be so incessant."

He chuckles while twisting his bottle around in his hands. The dark gray of his eyes look me over for a minute as he nods his head in agreement. "Well, in all fairness I was only looking for a new friend, since I'm new in town and all. I wouldn't be...
disappointed
... with a hookup, but it wasn't my intention at all." His eyes drift over my body, settling back on my face with an arrogant grin.

My eyes naturally narrow at him but I respect his honesty. Maybe I'm a little more condescending than I realized. Spotting my new client in the distance, I look at Everett and say, "Brenna."

Throwing a ten dollar bill down on the counter, I walk away from the bar towards Winston Marcella. The founder of Driftwood Country Club, a location for all the wealthiest in the tri-surrounding areas. I've seen him in papers before, but he hasn't been in the public’s eye over the last couple of years, since he sold the country club.

He is dressed sharp and extrudes pure confidence. "Winston?"

"Chasity, I presume."

"Yes," I answer with a smile. I wrap my arm around his elbow as he leads us towards the exit.

Before our hotel room door is even latched shut Winston pushes me against the wall. His lips brush against the curve of my jaw, pressing hard into my soft skin. He kisses and suckles until he reaches my ear lobe, biting down with force. "God you're more beautiful than I imagined," he whispers in my ear.

His hands reach behind me, unzipping my dress, stripping it from my body. It falls to the floor at my feet, and seconds later Winston makes sure my underwear is piled within the fabric as well. His fingers reach between my legs, wasting no time to show me pleasure.

As my body heats up from the inside out, his pushes his fingers into me, sliding them in and out. His thumb pushes against my bud, making sure I feel desire all over, and continues to do so until everything in my body tightens.

A few soft moans escape my mouth but when he continues his pleasuring assault on my body, the moans get louder. I feel myself release around his fingers as his pushes them deeply inside of me. "Fuck, I love that sound," he whispers with his mouth still against my ear.

My body relaxes against the wall, but not for long. Winston has me on the bed in just a few minutes, completely exposed to him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. I would have never known they were in there. He tosses them on the bed next to me as he undresses himself. Once he is in his naked glory, he reaches down to grab the handcuffs once more.

"Against the bed frame," he orders.

I obey, as I'm paid to do.

He locks my wrists against the wood. Being restricted always makes me a little nervous, mainly for the sake I'm worried a client will get a little too rough, but part of my job is trusting that they won't ever cross a line they're not supposed to. Thankfully Kandy always reserves the rooms, so she knows to come check on me if I don't check in within a few hours.

He spreads my legs with his hands, looking at my pussy with delight. "I want to pleasure you," he whispers. "I love feeling a tight pussy around my fingers. There is no better taste than of a juicy cunt on my tongue. I can't wait to make you come over and over again."

Something in the way he talks and appreciates my body is definitely different than what I'm used to. Most clients make it about themselves, not about me. It frightens me how much I'm enjoying this right now, especially as I watch his thinning gray hair lower between my parted legs.

The entire hour of our time together is spent with him focusing all his attention between my legs, bringing me to multiple orgasms. Probably the most I've ever had in one night. When we're almost finished, and my body becomes weak, he holds onto his erection, keeping it in my view.

His fingers reach down with one hand as he continues to disburse pleasure to me, while the other hand runs back and forth along himself. When my body reaches its peak, my hips arch against his fingers, allowing another intense orgasm to take over my body. My stomach becomes coated in his warm release as he gets off mere seconds after me.

My body sinks into the mattress as my eyes instantly become heavy. Winston leans down and kisses against my jaw once more. "You have an amazing pussy, Chasity."

I smile weakly, unable to do much of anything in the moment. He reaches up and unlocks the handcuffs, freeing me of the restraints. My hands collapse next to me. I'm far too exhausted to do much of anything. He walks into the bathroom and comes back out a moment later with a damp washcloth. He first wipes at my slits, then washes his release from my stomach. I've never had someone take care of me that way before either. It feels commendable.

I try not to think about the fact he is older than what my father would be.

"Thanks," I finally mumble once he stands from the bed.

He winks in my direction then grabs for his clothes. "I should be thanking you."

A small chortle leaves my mouth. "Right... for laying here." I close my eyes and smile. My body is still on a high from the satisfaction I received.

He places an envelope next to me. I believe it's the first time I didn't receive the money
before
. I was too occupied in everything. I open it up and look through the hundred dollar bills. There is over four thousand dollars, which is almost double the agreed upon amount. Being a new client, he wasn't supposed to be charged as much.

I let him know I'm confused when I shake the envelope in front of his face. "What's this?"

"Well," he says, not looking at me. "I was hoping it would all be enough to take out you each night this week." He peaks over at me hopeful I'll say yes.

Sadly for him, I have a strict policy. No more than once a week per client. Not because I'm that busy or anything- although, I usually do have more than enough customers- but because I don't want to risk getting involved with anyone. I don't want feelings of any kind between any clients and myself... ever.

That is only one of my semi long list of demands and restrictions. Kandy is understanding of them all. In fact, she gave me the idea of most of them. She wants to protect us first and foremost- as she proved earlier this week.

With a sigh I sit up and shake my head. "Sorry, I don't have an opening until next Tuesday."

After a second of simply staring at me with disappointment, he nods his head. "Then I'd like to reserve that night please. But for two hours this time. I want to take you out to dinner first."

"I'll let Kandy know," I assure him.

He leans forward and presses his lips against my jaw. He likes kissing me, I can tell, but thankfully there is a policy against kissing my mouth. It's another rule that helps save against feelings stirring up. "Until then, Ms. Chasity."

Winston stands from the bed and starts to walk towards the door, fully dressed, while I'm still too feeble to stand. "Do you want the money back?"

"No, you were worth every penny." He turns to give me one last look of approval.

I don't know where Winston came from, but he can certainly become a regular of mine.

After Brenna walks away to
some dude that looks old enough to be her father- in fact, I'm hoping it
was
her dad- I wait for my new partner, Jeff, to meet up with me. Chief O'Riley called me earlier to let me know that I'll be partnered up with one of oldest detectives. He is retiring this year, so I'm not exactly sure why I'm being partnered up with him.

"Burke?"

I look to my left at the older male with white hair, which is starting to bald. He sits down on the stool that Brenna was just occupying a few moments ago, placing an old cowboy hat on the counter top. He is wearing tight blue jeans and a black button up. I wouldn't picture my new partner to be a cowboy, but it'll do.

Reaching out his hand, he says, "I'm Gunther. Jeff Gunther."

"Everett Burke," I tell him. "Nice to meet you."

"You as well." He nods his head towards the bartender and sticks up two fingers, indicating two more beers. "There isn't much business to discuss today, but I feel that if we're going to be partners, we should get to know one another on a more personal level. That is how I find a better connection with my partners."

"Sounds about right," I tell him.

I've only had one partner- Parsons. He's been my partner since we both started five years ago. We basically became brothers, but lately we had been bumping heads. Of course, it all only makes me feel guiltier about what happened with our newest case. I hate that I got him shot. I've called him over a dozen times since but he hasn't answer nor called me back.

"So you've been doing this five years. How old does that make you?"

"Twenty six."

"No offense, but that seems young."

I get that often, mainly because on average it takes someone anywhere from a year to three years to become a detective after college, which would make me closer to thirty if everything were lined up accordingly. That isn't the case for me though. "I graduated high school a year early, then got hired at the police department within five months of graduating from college. I was the youngest junior detective at Richmond Police Department."

"Impressive. You've had a good turn around rate as well, from what Chief O'Riley told me. How is Richmond compared to Pensacola?"

"Different," I tell him, trying not to laugh. That is much of an understatement. "I haven't gotten to know this city all that well yet, though."

"Well, it's pretty laid back for the most part. Makes our job easy. Sometimes boring."

Comparing the crime rate for the two towns, I'd say that is an easy assumption. My job is to help turn the misconduct around, regardless to how big or little the crime is. I find a peace of mind when I rest my head at night, knowing that I have possibly saved a person, or a few, in that day or made even the slightest difference in someone's life. With the turn of the world and all the pent up anger, rallies, and riots going on, I can truly say it's nice to know that I'm making a better difference in the world. Although sometimes I don't see the larger picture until later on, I know I'm on the road of doing right.

Jeff and I continue speaking about our history with our careers, until he picks up his phone and realizes what time it's getting to be. "Well I'll be damned. If I don't get home in the next ten minutes, my old lady will have my ass. She's been slow cooking a pot roast all day."

I give him my hand for a firm shake goodbye. "I'll see you Monday morning then. Drive safely."

"Sure will." As he opens his wallet for money, he pulls out two pieces of paper and hands them to me. "If you don't have other plans tonight, I won these last week. Some local band just got signed and they're having a concert tonight. I'm too old for those shenanigans." He nods his head before settling his cowboy hat back onto his head.

"Thanks man. I'll be sure to check it out." Although I'd rather not go to a concert by myself. I don't say that part out loud though, not wanting to be rude.

Jeff throws down two twenty dollar bills to cover a large portion of our bill, then walks out of the bar leaving me to drink alone.

I can't say that I'm entirely too lonely being on my own. Back home, although I had my group of friends, it wasn't often we had the same schedule to go out and enjoy a brewski after work. Sometimes Parsons and I would, but that was only when we weren't in the middle of an investigation. We couldn't get caught being together too many times.

A short, skinny broad with long brown hair saddles up next to me on the empty stool. Flipping her hair back over her bare shoulder, she looks me up and down. Her painted on cat eyes look seductive, but I can't get past her overly orange skin due from far too much tanning.

"I'd love to have a Mango-Peach Sangria," she tells me flirtatiously.

I figure why the hell not, and nod my head to the bartender. When he comes over, I order her the fruity drink that probably costs the same as five of my beers.

She reaches over and wraps her fingers around my wrist. "Thanks," her voice purrs. "What's your name?"

"Everett," I answer.

"I'm Jailyn. I haven't seen you around here before."

"That's because I just moved here."

"Oh. Where from?" She takes the drink the bartender slides over, wrapping her painted lips around the straw. I can't figure out if I enjoy her being attentive to me or not. She definitely isn't the type of chick I'd go after, but it's been a while since I've been laid. My last assignment took up too much time.

In fact, my ex Jessy was the last person I got intimate with, and that was almost two months ago. My job tends to get in the way of my relationships. Maybe it's time I have a one night stand. She's pretty, minus the horrible hue of color on her skin.

"Virginia," I answer her question.

"I'm from Georgia. I moved here three years ago with my parents."

I start cough-choking on my drink. She can't be legal drinking age if she was living with her parents three years ago. "How old are you?"

She giggles profusely, like it's some kind of joke that I just purchased an underage female a cocktail at the bar. I could lose my job, and so much more, by that stupid fucking mistake. With the amount of makeup caked on, I could have sworn she was in her mid-twenties.

"Nineteen," she says with an eye roll. "Age is just a number though. I'm still legal, if you know what I mean." Her eyes suggest things I can't even fathom any longer.

Pulling the drink from her grip, I slide it away from us. "It was nice to meet you Jailyn, but I think you need to leave." I try to keep my cool, when everything inside of me is telling me to scare the fuck out of this chick from ever getting someone to purchase her another drink. Knowing that I could get in trouble is the only thing allowing me to keep my cool right now.

"Wow," she says with an annoyed tone. Standing up, she adjusts the strap to her oversized purse and bumps her hip into my side as she walks past, leaving without an argument.

This has been enough for me for one night. I should probably head home and start unpacking the boxes left around the condo. I got a few done, but definitely not all of them. Not even close.

As I pull into the parking lot I see Brenna walking in through the main entrance. She is alone and somehow I feel relief. Maybe it was her father she was with after all. It’d make me feel a little better, because someone so young and beautiful shouldn't go after someone that has graying hair. Maybe my attraction for her is a little too much for not even knowing anything about her.

Shaking anything about Brenna from my thoughts, I head in and go straight for my own place. I don't need her distracting me from my new job. I need to divert my attention to... anything else.

Opening the first box, I pull out several picture frames. Some of them are empty because the pictures of Jessy and I are ripped up and thrown into the fire pit at my old apartment. The rest of the frames are filled with pictures of my family. One by one I place them on my mantle. I don't have a knack for decorating. This needs to be someone else's job, but I'd rather my walls and shelves not be entirely bare. I do my best as I get each box emptied.

Less than an hour passes and I've emptied three boxes. The rest are annoying me. I have OCD but no knack for decorating, so I can't quite figure out where to place any of it. Knowing something will probably end up breaking out of irritation, I decide that I’m done for today.

As I take off my jeans, my wallet bounces on the floor. Remembering the tickets Jeff handed me, I pick it up and look at them. I'm not sure where Bayfront Stadium is, but the concert hasn't started yet. I guess I could go, even if I don't have anyone to go with.

Pulling up my jeans once more, I pocket my wallet and head for the front door. Walking down the hall, I find myself looking at the mailbox directory instead of walking out the front door. The name
Brenna Konners
is bold, calling my attention. I'm sure she's still home, unless she actually has a life unlike myself.

Not allowing myself to debate over it, I walk to the elevator and hit the button for her floor. There are only two condos on the entire sixth floor, which means she must have one double the size of mine. I assume she must be from money, either that or she works her ass off. She seems a little young to be able to afford a place like this on her own.

I knock on the door and wait. When no one answers right off, I give it one more try. If she doesn't answer it this time, I'll just go it alone, even though it doesn't sound too appealing. Better than unpacking more shit.

The door creeks open and in front of me is a breathtaking view of long legs, perfectly tanned skin, and hard nipples poking through a silk night gown. I can feel my dick twitch at the sight of her. Knowing a fucking boner wouldn't be the best idea after the stupid bar speech of being
just friends
I focus all my attention on Brenna's alluring face. She smirks in a way that is obvious she knows she's killing me softly in that intoxicating piece of... lingerie.

"Yes?" She asks, placing her hand on her hip in that feisty manner of hers.

I hardly know what comes out of my mouth after that. I stutter a bunch of bullshit about how I won tickets at the bar and need a friend to attend the concert with me. I can't exactly tell her the truth about what I do for work, or that I
do
know someone other than her to attend with me. Thankfully she surprisingly accepts my offer to join me tonight after a little persuasion. At least, I think so. I'm still a little mindless at what I said to her.

I need to repeat to myself not to let her distract me.

When Brenna turns to walk back to her bedroom, I can't help but stare at an ass that fills out her selective nightdress perfectly. My cock needs to think of something other than getting cozy with her, so I walk into her living room to look around. I tend to try to know something about the people I'm becoming friends with anyways before I hang out with them. To my surprise she doesn't have any pictures of family or friends, except for one that looks like an old photograph of her and possibly her mom, or an aunt maybe. None of her dad, or whomever that man was that I saw her with earlier.

I look up when I hear the floor creek. Brenna walks out from her bedroom with a tight white Aerosmith tee-shirt on, allowing just a hint of her stomach to poke through above her jeans. It doesn't seem to matter what she wears, rather it a bathing suit, a nightgown, or a fucking tee-shirt, she is captivating.

"Is this your mom?" I ask, turning the picture in my hand to face her. I'm sure she knows what photo I'm talking about, since it's literally the only one she seems to have in her living space.

Her body turns towards the kitchen, obviously not wanting to talk much about it. There is a story here I can feel myself needing to find out. I guess it's a part of me, needing to know the details of everyone and everything. Everybody has at least one story they like to hide, usually for good intentions. I'm not always resilient at leaving anything alone.

My love for mischief and mystery started before I could remember, and boy did my parents and sister hate it about me. As I grew up and become a dedicated detective, their annoyance turned into pride.

She finally answers as she opens the fridge. "Yeah. You ready?"

I guess that is my cue to put the picture back and forget about it until a later date.