Page 66 of Whispers and Wildfire

My gaze flicked to the other girl. Her head lolled to one side. My companion for the evening—I wasn’t going to call her by name yet—glanced at her.

“Hey,” she said, her voice sharp. “You okay?”

The other girl’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“You’re never going to get any business like that.” She shook her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

My patience was wearing thin. “Let’s go.”

“I’m coming.” She gave me what she probably thought was a sultry smile. It emphasized the harsh red of her lipstick and the thick makeup on her face. “And you will be soon.”

I didn’t bother replying. That wasn’t the sort of role-play I needed. “Just be quiet.”

“You’re the boss.”

With her walking next to me, my mind wandered to what it would be like to have her. Not this trash, the onlyherwho mattered. What would it be like when I could take her out and walk with her. Would we ever reach that level of understanding and trust?

In the beginning, she’d need to be restrained. She was far too spirited to be trusted without chains.

That aroused me far more than the hooker walking through the dirty street toward my cheap motel.

To help set the stage—heighten the experience—I took her wrist in my hand. The hooker didn’t protest.

“Good girl,” I whispered.

She didn’t seem to hear me.

When we got to my room, I kept my grip on her wrist while I unlocked the door, only releasing her so she could go inside. She went in and took a few slow steps, looking around as if she hadn’t been to this same motel a thousand times with a thousand different men.

“Not bad,” she said. “Been a while since I got to work in a room. It has a bed and everything.”

I closed the door behind me and locked it.

My voice was monotone. “Clothes off.”

“All of them? Some Johns like me to leave certain things on.”

“All of them.”

She shrugged. “Have it your way.”

I watched while she stripped. She didn’t try to make a show of it. I wasn’t paying her for that. She peeled everything off and set it aside, then stood in front of me.

“Well? What can I do for you, John?”

My eyes swept up and down. She was almost too thin. Not enough in the hips. But no one was perfect.

No one else washer.

She’d do.

I pulled an elastic band out of my pocket and held it out to her. “Put your hair up. Ponytail.”

She smiled like she thought I might be joking. “Really?”

“You’re too blond, but I don’t want to pay you to dye your hair. So put it up.”

“Oh, I see.” She started gathering her hair into a ponytail. “I’m standing in for someone, aren’t I?”

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