Page 67 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Hello?”

Defeat slumped my shoulders and curved my spine. He’d ended the call. The yearning plagued me for nine days straight and four days before that returned.

Fuck. I contemplated dialing him back but decided against it. I had a long night ahead of me. My team was counting on me. Sitting in the parking lot in my feelings would not help us solve the case we’d been working tirelessly to end.

“Hello. It’s me–” Bradford teased.

“Cut it out, Bradford. Stay out of her personal shit,” Jack demanded.

“Please!” I added.

With my nose piercing the air, I strutted through the parking lot, reaching the door in only a few seconds. When I approached the dressing room, I was rushed into makeup and wardrobe. An artist lightly polished my face for fifteen minutes. The final five, I was given a two-piece and a full-body suit I was to choose between. Because I loved the way the bodysuit hugged me, I settled with it.

“I love it. I’m not as half decent,” Rachel complimented as we both made our way into the dressing room.

The room was brimming with good energy, sex, and determination. The depths the girls were willing to go to please customers that didn’t etch away at their character, value, or principles were almost as admirable as it was concerning. They were born caretakers, even if it wasn’t the medical or childcare field they specialized in. The people they took good care of were men, very wealthy men who simply wanted part of the fantasy created effortlessly at Roulette.

“You look beautiful, Rach.”

She was dreamy in the two-piece with earrings that dangled on her shoulders and rhinestones glued in the small inner corner of her eyes. More were in a scattered pattern from her temple to her cheeks. Loads of blush made her appear bashful, slightly younger, and perky.

“Thanks, Giselle.”

Pet names. Names that didn’t make much sense. Unique names. They weren’t allowed in Roulette. We were given a simple alias if we couldn’t supply one of our own. The goal was to be memorable, even by name.

Rachel. Giselle. Brandy. Ash. Lola. Irish. Jamie. Valerie. Simple names that wouldn’t easily slip the elderly clients’ minds and didn’t sound like something out of a wildlife magazine. It made the task enjoyable and not as difficult as I’d imagined. In some life, Giselle fits the persona. Fit the description of the woman I was when I entered through the back door. Fit my own personal fantasy.

I prepared to exit the dressing room. We’d been instructed to meet in the Red Room where we’d be given details about the expectations, rules, and specifics for our guests. Tardiness wasn’t accepted, so I began to make my way down the hallway before the others.

“Jack,” I whispered. “You guys there?”

“Yes. We’re here, Johanson.”

“Good.”

I made my way down the never-ending hallway. My heels slapped against the tiled floor. I could feel as I shed my skin, transforming into Giselle with every step I made. And just before I turned the corner to enter the Red Room, my body was snatched in the opposite direction, behind a long black curtain, and down a separate hallway. One I didn’t know existed.

And then, finally, after making it only a few feet down the extensive hall, I was pushed against the wall. Long hands roamed my body. Familiar lips pressed into mine. Labored breathing stole oxygen right from my lungs.

My eyes lowered with lust, with desire, until they closed completely, submitting to my fate. It was a beautiful one, just like the man responsible.

Our tongues danced as his hands caressed every inch of me within reach. I melted in his embrace. My fingers curled around his shirt, hanging on as if he’d disappear.

He felt surreal. So did the moment. I wanted a do-over. And over. And over. And over. I could have him six-hundred-thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough. I could overdose on him and die happily.

Sultriness streaked his words, lessening mine. He whispered in my right ear, reminding me I had a device in my left.

“I don’t want to end anyone’s life tonight, Choc. But, if you go in there, you’ll leave me without a choice. I’m hungry and my dick is hard. Come with me. No fussing. No fighting.”

He stepped back, taking me in and fucking me with his gaze. My center pulsated. My body burned. And as he completed his statement with words that matched my desperation, I died a hundred times. To know he felt it too stripped me of life and then reimbursed me almost immediately.

“I miss you bad.”

I can’t fuss.

I can’t fight.

Not tonight, Chem.

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