Page 19 of Elicit (Decadence After Dark)

London inhales and exhales deeply as I thoroughly attend to her. Using the slickness of the soap, I slide my palms over every inch of her head, neck, shoulders, and back.

“You’re an extremely beautiful woman.” It’s not a come-on. It’s an observation. An appreciation. I love beautiful things, whether they are objects or people. And London Erickson is the upper echelon of beauty. Her eyes fly open at my compliment, an enigmatic expression marring her ethereal face.

Our gazes lock as I rinse the soap from her hair. It’s a fierce test of wills. An in-depth exploration of authenticity. Eyes are the window to the soul, and my sincerity is there for everyone to see. Give trust to gain trust. It’s as simple as that.

I have nothing to hide. Well, nothing to hide when it comes to genuinely caring. I want London to see that. Feel that. I’m as real as I can be. There’s nothing to fear. I run my fingers gently through her hair as the suds wash away.

“I’ve heard that my entire life.”

“What? That you’re beautiful? It’s the truth.”

She finally drops her eyes. Her mood drowning in the hot water. I continue with the conditioner. Using the creamy consistency to detangle her knots, I comb through the entangled tresses, hoping to assuage her grief on some unconscious level.

Silently and soothingly, I rinse the conditioner from her hair. Wrapping the long locks around my wrist, I wring out the moisture, resisting the urge to yank. Sooner rather than later, I’m going to have her bound, in my bed, shouting my name.

Perks of being the boss.

I get who I want, when I want, however I want.

London drops her head with her hair still wound around my wrist. The look in her eyes is haunted, but her face is pure perfection.

“I was tied to a bed once,” she unexpectedly shares. “I don’t know for how long. Could have been hours. Could have been days. I was blindfolded so I never saw who they were. But there were a lot of them. They were all different. Smelled different, felt different, sounded different.” Her face is impassive. “All just coming and going.” She smirks darkly at the bleak, offhanded double-entendre. “Tonight was nothing.” The depth of oblivion in her gaze is actually frightening.

I release her hair, impulsively running my thumb lightly down her cheek. My heart beats faster from the simple touch and the non-effect it has on her.

I could say a million shallow things, but I refrain. I’m sure even attempting would insult her intelligence.

“You always have a choice here,” I reassure her. I know that’s probably hard for her to believe. It’s probably hard for anyone to believe. That a person in their shoes, who sells themselves for sex under the roof of an employer, ever has a choice. But my girls do.

I know what you’re thinking—“employer” is a code word for pimp. And I guess on many levels that’s true. My business makes its profit from sex. It’s the ugly truth. But at least I can sleep with a clear conscience knowing I choose who walks through the door. I choose the clientele my women hand themselves over to, and I allow them to decide. I give them power and I empower them.

I’ll empower London, too. If she’ll let me. I can’t change her past, but I can definitely influence her future. Her sharing that little tidbit gives me hope. Proves my methods work. Keeps guiding me in the right direction.

“Let’s get you dried off.” I deliver a warm smile.

She nods silently in agreement.

Once I have London wrapped head-to-toe in Egyptian cotton, I pull out a nightshirt for her to wear. The armoire in her room is chock full of clothes. I keep the girls’ rooms stocked with sweatpants and T-shirts and shorts if for nothing more than normalcy.And that time of the month.For the most part, they prance around in designer jeans, tight tops, and expensive shoes.

Leaving little for her to do, I dry her body with rapt attention, leaving no drop behind, using the opportunity to examine every curve and slope and delectable pathway.

Once she’s dressed in the soft gray T-shirt, I lead her to the vanity and have her sit in front of the mirror. “Last bit.” I wink as I pull a hair dryer from the drawer. The look on her face is priceless. It’s one I’ve received many times from many women. Thewhat is this man doing?I’m used to it by now. It’s all part of my master plan.

I flick the on switch and proceed to eliminate the wetness from her hair, sending her red strands flying all over the place in a playful way. This she seems to like, pulling her leg up in a relaxed position and throwing her head back into the stream of hot air.

It’s over all too quickly, and before I know it, I’m urging her to bed. But as I tuck her in, there’s no indication of exhaustion on her part. In fact, her eyes are wide and alert as if it was midday.

“Not tired?”

London looks up at me with big, bright, captivating eyes. The moonlight peeking through the window highlights her incomparable features.

“It takes me a little while to wind down.”

“Would you like me to stay until you do?”

There goes that inscrutable look. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? I’ll only offer once.”

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