Page 16 of The Whole Package

"Yes," he says through gritted teeth, his hips bucking as Ryan's cock pumps into him. I can tell Ryan's close by the way his hands dig into Ryder's hips, his fingers leaving marks on the smooth skin.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he growls, and with one final thrust, he spills into his friend.

Ryder's not far behind, his cock pulsing inside me, and I feel the hot release of his cum filling me. He collapses on top of me, his face buried in my neck, and we lie there, our bodies intertwined.

It's a surreal moment; the three of us spent and satisfied. After a few moments, Ryder lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes full of emotion.

"Thank you," he whispers, and I'm unsure if he's talking to me or Ryder.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

E l e n a

Accepting clients late on weekdays always feels like a juggling act, but turning them down is something other than a luxury I can afford. Unfortunately, my financial situation leaves little room for choice. Bills pile up relentlessly, and my emergency fund hasn't recovered since my car's breakdown last month. The most significant expense, though, is Alex's school tuition. It's a hefty portion of my earnings, but I never question its worth. She's getting an education from the best, and her private school's secure environment gives me priceless peace of mind.

Despite the distance we've put between ourselves and her father, the fear of him reappearing lingers like a shadow. Every time we step outside, I instinctively scan our surroundings, ensuring we're not being followed. Everyone says I'm overly cautious, paranoid even. But they didn't see the lengths he went to before, the extremes he's capable of. My father's words echo: "It's better to be safe than sorry." I live by that adage, especially regarding Alex's safety. Taking these late appointments means sacrificing rest, personal time, and, sometimes, a bit of my sanity, but refusing isn't an option I can afford.

I hear the telltale sound of the door unlocking, the knob turning slowly, and despite years of this routine, my stomachstill drops. It's an involuntary reaction, a reminder that you never truly get used to some things. For me, sex has become a hollow act, stripped of meaning and connection. It's a memory tainted by countless nights spent enduring, rather than enjoying, the touch of a man who claimed to be my husband.

Lying there while he took what he wanted, those nights were a grim alternative to his wrath. I convinced myself it was better than facing his fists, but it was a cold comfort. Sex, in those days, was a duty, an obligation – not an act of love or passion. "Your duty as a wife," he would remind me, his words a cruel echo in the darkness. But the truth was, I never chose to be his wife. I was a transaction, a means to settle a debt my mother couldn't pay. I remember her words before the wedding, painting a picture of a life where I would be cared for and protected. How bitterly ironic those promises seem now. She handed me over to a monster, to a man who made my life a living nightmare, and then dared to make me feel guilty for resenting it.

In any case, I don't harbor hatred for this job. In a twisted way, it's been a saving grace — the unexpected means through which my daughter and I found a chance to flourish. Relying on government assistance was a temporary fix, a band-aid on a gaping wound. We shuffled through shelters, but the conditions were dismal, and maintaining a steady job seemed like an impossible feat while juggling the responsibilities of motherhood. So, when this opportunity presented itself, it felt like the best way out. It could have been better, but it was a means to an end. Lying down, faking pleasure as another man sought his own from my body, became a transaction — a necessary act for survival and stability. It was a small price to pay for the safety and security it brought us.

I'd take this over the sound of his screams, the feeling of his hands around my throat, the terror in my daughter's eyes as she witnessed the monster he became. These memories are mydriving force, never allowing me to forget what I've escaped and what I'm determined to protect her from.

"Hello," the voice startles me from my reverie as the door shuts. My gaze lifts, settling on the blonde woman who stands before me. She's undeniably gorgeous, probably in her late forties, exuding an air of sophistication accentuated by the expensive-looking pearl necklace and matching earrings she wears. Her style is impeccable, evident in the tailored pantsuit and elegant black heels that complete her ensemble.

"Hi," I respond, my voice steady despite the surprise that must be evident on my face. Her eyebrow arches slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the confusion that I'm hastily trying to mask.

"Not what you were expecting?" she inquires, her tone a perfect blend of softness and strength. It's an almost ethereal voice, effortlessly captivating and undeniably sexy. I find myself momentarily lost for words. Her presence is commanding, yet a warmth in her eyes belies the initial intimidation her appearance might have caused.

"Uh, honestly, no," I admit, feeling a twinge of embarrassment color my cheeks. Her presence, so different from my usual clientele, has thrown me off balance.

"Expecting someone younger?" She inquires a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Oh, no... that's not what I meant, not at all," I quickly clarify, stumbling over my words. The last thing I want is to offend her, especially not over something as trivial as age.

"Ah, I see. Expecting a man?" Her observation is astute, and I notice how she shifts her stance, casually placing her hands in her pockets. It prompts me to rise from the bed, suddenly conscious that I hadn't offered a proper greeting.

"I'm Elena," I say, extending my hand towards her. "And yes, I was expecting a man," I confess with a nervous chuckle, trying tolighten the mood. As I attempt to retract my hand, I realize she hasn't released it.

"Victoria," she introduces herself with ease. Her other hand comes up, fingers gently caressing mine before she gives a gentle tug, drawing me closer. The proximity is unexpected and intimate, sending a jolt of surprise through me.

"Have you ever been with a woman, Elena?" Victoria's question is direct, her voice smooth and laced with curiosity. It catches me off guard, the bluntness of her inquiry sending a rush of heat to my cheeks.

"N-No," I stammer, my voice barely more than a whisper. One of her hands now rests comfortably on my waist, anchoring me in the moment as the room seems to tilt slightly on its axis. This is different from how things usually go. I'm the one who leads, who seduces, who controls the narrative. But here, with Victoria, the roles are reversed, and I find myself in unfamiliar territory.

I can feel her breath against my skin, her presence enveloping me in a disarming and exhilarating way. Isn't this the effect I'm supposed to have on her? The irony isn't lost on me – the seducer becoming the seduced, the professional losing her composed detachment.

Victoria's movements are deliberate, pulling me closer until our chests are pressed together in a dance of proximity. Her hands explore with a confidence that resonates through my body, sparking a trail of goosebumps across my skin. Her lips hover near my ear, her breath a whisper against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you enjoy yourself," she murmurs, her voice a velvet promise.

"I-I think that's my job," I manage to whisper back, a mixture of surprise and anticipation lacing my words.

"I enjoy making my women feel good," Victoria responds, her tone laced with a thrilling and disarming authority. She gently pushes me back, guiding me towards the bed with a firmbut gentle insistence. "Lie down," she commands, and I find myself responding without hesitation, my body attuned to her direction.

As my knees hit the edge of the bed, I let myself fall back, my gaze fixed on her. She removes her blazer with a fluid grace, tossing it aside carelessly. Beneath, her blouse clings to her curves, accentuating her figure elegantly and provocatively. My eyes are drawn to the outline of her breasts, and I catch myself licking my lips involuntarily.

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