Page 5 of Our Elliana

Forcing my lungs to take a deep diaphragm-filling inhale, I lean back and brace myself with my arms. Hearing Sia’s Unstoppable power anthem pouring through my brain, I bring my knees up, touching the tiny spikes of my heels to the sofa cushion for just a second before deliberately splitting my legs in a maneuver only my dedicated yoga routine enables me to pull off. This exposes that my high-cut undies aren’t just skimpy, they’re crotchless.

Go big or go home, boo.

I receive three distinct reactions.

Tristan says nothing but his scrutiny goes from my face to my bare pussy and stays there as if I glued his head in place. I don’t change position, and predictably, his pants develop a prominent bulge. Extremely prominent.

There’s something I’m looking forward to.

Noah avoids peering in my direction altogether. Rather, he gazes down at his hands which he’s rubbing together as if to manufacture some friction against the cold. Considering that it’s ninety degrees outside and seventy-two inside, I can’t help but think this a peculiar gesture.

Last, but not least, I take in Jackson. His smirk widens into a wolfish smile as he openly strokes his hardening cock over his tight and artfully ripped white jeans.

Then, he murmurs with clear desire in his voice, “Fucking Christ, girl.”

This quiet exclamation causes Noah to peek over at me, and as soon as he detects my nude flesh his eyes double in size. His jeans tent so high that people can probably camp under there, and his neck turns as crimson as my fingernails. He tears his focus away as if scandalized, and I recognize his response as authentic. But this poses a problem for me.

If he’s truly this tentative, how much experience can the kid have?

Aren’t these men established sex workers?

Baffled by this unexpected hiccup, and not sure I’m up to dealing with someone displaying the same nerves I’m trying so hard to conceal, I decide to make my choice between the other two. That makes it either the intense one or the leering one. It’s clear that both are eager to be of service, so in the end, it’s an easy decision.

“Tristan, I’ll take you first.”

THREE: For More Than Some Crumpled-Up Singles

TRISTAN

I don’t bother to so much as throw a glimpse at the other two yahoos as I step forward to follow in my prospective client’s wake. At forty, I more than know my way around a woman’s body, and as Elliana Pinkerton sashays up those stairs and into her bedroom, I go right on in without hesitation.

This part of the assignment shouldn’t be difficult. My years as a stripper have left me in good stead when it comes to knowing what women want visually and physically. Yet I’m not doing any sort of cheesy bullshit unless she specifically requests it.

This isn’t some drunken bachelorette party or a screeching bunch of co-eds living out their Magic Mike fantasies live and in person. This is a goddamn real-life client with a hell of a lot more to offer me than some crumpled-up singles.

I’m going to score this gig with her no matter what I have to do.

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