Color Me Your Color

I was going to pull away to tell him so when he cursed and shoved my head further onto his cock. "Fuck. Yes."

I felt him tighten and jerk, His balls were heavy when I squeezed them, and my touch seemed to finish him off. Cum cascaded out of his cock and down my throat in a rush. I choked a little and eased off. He stepped back and let the last two spurts of his orgasm run over my face.

"Shit." He desperately shoved his cock into my mouth one more time. Then he stepped back and quickly dressed himself.

He handed me a tissue to wipe my face off. He watched with delicious fascination as I cleaned him off my face. I straightened out my dress and tried to think of some joke to make to diffuse the heavy air between us. I couldn't believe what I had done, but I also couldn't summon even a little regret. What was happening to me? I could continue to pretend to be the wide-eyed innocent, or I could admit to myself that I was a call girl now and that my behavior was quite fitting for my new profession. He certainly didn't expect us to sit around and play Monopoly, and neither did I. The twinge of guilt I felt for acting a little slutty would go away.

He touched my elbow and I turned over my shoulder to look at him. He watched me for a minute, waiting for something. Then he gave me a kiss, the kind of kiss I could feel in my toes. My body trembled, wanting more.

He stepped back and smiled. "Time to go back to the ball, Cinderella."

*****

It was weird for us the rest of the night, but not unbearably so. I felt awkward, but he only seemed quiet. I figured maybe he was tired.

He dropped me off with a kiss and a promise to call me in the next few days. When I came back into the apartment, Morgan only smiled. I expected another lecture, but she only went to bed.

I went to bed completely frustrated. Not even just sexually, but because something was forming between Tate and I (or I thought so, at least), and something was dreadfully wrong with Morgan. And I couldn't do anything about any of it.

Tate called me three days later. I surprised myself when I saw his number on my phone and felt the amount of relief I did.

"Tate. Hi."

I heard him laugh. "Hi. How are you?"

I flopped onto my bed. "Tired, but good. How are you?"

"Excellent. Never better."

I struggled to think of something to say, something brilliant or funny. Of course I couldn't think much beyond yay, he called me!

"So, I'd hoped we could see each other before my trip but my schedule doesn't permit it. Hopefully you're okay with that."

My heart sank. "Trip?"

"Yeah. I'm going to Japan for two weeks. I'm leaving Tuesday."

I wasn't his girlfriend or anything but it upset me that I didn't know this very important detail. Then again, I had to face the fact I didn't really know him at all. Thoughts of my rapidly emptying bank account pervaded my mind. I didn't know how this thing worked. Did he give me a whole bunch of cash regularly, or just when he utilized my services?

"Don't worry, I'll have some money put into the bank for you."

"I wasn't—"

"Shut up. I can smell your desperation over the phone."

"Thank you," was all I could say.

"If you want to see anyone while I'm gone... that's okay. It just has to end when I get back. Understand? Things get messy, otherwise."

"I understand," I whispered. The conversation was so incredibly surreal. He was giving me permission to see other people while he was out of the country? Did that mean he was going to see other people, too?

"Is there anything you want me to bring back for you?"

I was a little touched he thought of that. I glanced at the promiscuous new underwear sprawled over my bed and recalled Morgan's words: that I could be whomever I wanted to be. I could be a fierce bitch, a warrior, a goddess, a little innocent wallflower. It was my decision, and it wasn't final either. Maybe two weeks from now Tate would want a vixen who could break his heart. Maybe next month he'd want a pseudo virgin.

Tonight I decided to play into what he seemed to like so far. I smiled when I decided what to say.

"Could you bring me back one of those kinky schoolgirl outfits? And maybe a really nasty sex toy that would be banned in the U.S."

He was still laughing when I hung up.

*****

The next day I was putting on my last intact pair of jeans when I heard an unmistakable tearing sound. I yanked them off frantically and saw a gigantic hole in the ass.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Morgan poked her head in. "What's wrong?"

Tears ran down my cheeks. It might have been an overly dramatic response to the circumstance, but I was tired, stressed, and fucking broke. "My last pair of jeans ripped," I sobbed.

She rolled her eyes and waltzed in. "So? You have $2,000 left to buy a new pair."

She had a point. I had money now, and more coming, too. Tate gave me the account number he'd set up for me via text and promised to put in a generous amount as soon as possible.

Her eyes flicked down my body and then she moved closer to me."You'll see him again, Johanna." She had mistaken my silence for melancholy. Maybe I was a little melancholy.

"I know. He's going to Japan for two weeks, though."

"Work?"

I nodded. "He knows my father."

Something strange crossed Morgan's face. She hid it before I could comment on it and I was too upset to investigate it further. "Shit."

"Exactly."

"Well, Tate isn't afraid of anyone, so don't worry about that."

"I'm not. I'm more worried about my father being a scumbag and exposing me. But whatever, it's out of my hands." I heaved out a long breath and sat on my bed.

Morgan blinked at me and gave me a small smile. "Wow. I'm really digging this new side of you."

"What do you mean?"

She just shrugged and laughed. "If you get bored over these two weeks... or if you get horny... I have someone in mind for you."

"Morgan!" Even though Tate had given his blessing, it was too bizarre. Besides, I didn't want to see some other guy.

"Knowing Tate, I'm sure he told you it was okay. Don't think he won't be fucking some Japanese pussy on his trip, Jo."

The idea troubled me for some reason, so I put it out of my head. Okay, it more than troubled me, but I didn't have anything I could do about it."I told you. I just can't."

She grinned. "His name is Dylan. He's a lawyer and he's fuckhot. I only had him once, but I was shaking for a week."

"I said no!"I put a pillow over my head but she kept talking.

"You're going to want more. I saw you that night, Johanna. You fucking loved it. And if you're going to be bad, be bad with someone who will still be good to you."

"No! I'm staying home and waiting. There's no reason for me to—"

She interrupted me with a raised hand. "Do you want to be in this life forever? Because no matter how much Tate gives you it's going to take you a really long time to save up money and go to school. You know that, right?" She touched my leg. "Trust me. You want to do this. You might not have another chance to pick a back-up if Tate meets the woman of his dreams at some goddamn cocktail party."

It felt like she fired a sling-shot right at my heart. She stood. "Just think about it. He's one wild guy who will give you probably the greatest time of your life. I should warn you that he's a bit of a playboy, but you can handle him." She giggled to herself and left the room.

I picked up my phone. There was no text from Tate, and why should there be? He was on a business trip, probably having sex right then and there. I wasn't anything to him and I had to stop treating what was going on between us so tenderly. My programming when I was with a guy was to act like we were headed somewhere. I just needed to reprogram myself and I would be fine.Morgan's words played over in my mind, per usual. What better way was there to reprogram myself than by having meaningless sex with another guy? A guy who was supposedly amazing in bed, and who would pay me? Was I crazy saying no? Was I crazy saying yes?

I settled on the fact I was crazy either way.

Morgan was painting her toenails when I came out.

"Give me this Dylan guy's number."

She smiled, and I couldn't fight impression I had that she was relieved.

****

He wasn't at all like I thought he would be. He was courteous and quiet. He was far kinder to me than Tate had been.

He must've noticed halfway through our appetizer that I was watching him, waiting for the seductive sleaze to come out. A wry grin spread across his face, giving me a hint of what he could be like when he wanted to.

"I see someone has been talking about me."

"What?" I dropped my buttered roll on the floor and apologized profusely to the waiter who darted over to pick it up.

After Dylan finished laughing, he shook his head at me. "Don't bother denying it. I know Morgan and her big mouth quite well."

He winked at me and took a sip of his Malbec while I got red in the face. The once-over he gave me was purposeful and heated.

"I've changed a bit since I was last with her. I'm afraid I'm not the same dick she once knew. Something changed me unexpectedly. Most unfortunately. I have a feeling you'll prefer me like this, though. All wounded tiger-like."

I tossed around some potatoes. "Why, did something happen with your dick?" He snorted and I laughed a bit, loosening up. "So how come? I mean, are you just adapting because you think I can't handle the real you?"

Dylan's smile wasn't genuine when he repeated, "The real me. What a concept. To answer your question, no, I'm not adapting for you. I'm far too selfish for that. I just don't have the energy I once did to be the bad guy Morgan likes." His eyes were hypnotizing when he flicked his gaze up at me beneath his lashes. "Again, I think you'll prefer it this way."

"What happened to mellow you out?"

"Oh, that's a boring, every day, normal kind of story. A more exciting question would be: how long have you been in the business? You don't see the type, and you still get all pink in the face."

My cheeks grew redder. "That's a nice way of putting it. Um, a few days."

He laughed hard, startling the waiter who was placing our dinners in front of us. "Oh, God, I do love myself an honest woman. Morgan told me you'd been doing this as long as her."

Shit. I couldn't decide if he was pissed or not. He waved off my worried expression.

"I like it, don't worry. You remind me of someone." Dylan's smile was slow and playfully taunting. I was finally getting what the fuss was about.

"Is that good?" I breathed.

He swirled around his wine, his gleeful expression fading somewhat. "Depends on the mood I'm in. Right now it's good. I could use some forgetting. She wasn't as interested in dinner with me as you are. Then again, I never offered to pay her."

He smiled to let me know he was kidding, and not making a stab at me. My lips slid open and my breath came fast. He was certainly gifted at making a woman aroused. I was about to say something smart back when I noticed my cell phone buzzing beside my dinner plate. It was a text from Tate.

"Would you think I was really rude if I checked that right now?"

Dylan smirked and shrugged. "Probably, but you'll do it anyway. Go ahead."

Unable to resist, I checked it.

No schoolgirl hooker outfits just yet. Sure you don't want just wind chimes or something?

I smiled and typed back. Hold out for it. You will be surprised how much patience pays off.

I pat myself on the back for my response. Then I heard Dylan mutter, "Oh, no."

When I looked up at him I saw him shaking his head with a peculiar smile on his face. "I've lost you, haven't I?"

"Pardon me?"

"You're into someone. It's written all over the way you can't touch your food and the fucking gleeful smile spread across your face. I take it that," he nodded to my phone, "was him."

"Um, I'm not. He's not in love with me or anything and..."

"It's okay. I don't mind. I just want to warn you that this—you and me—won't help you. It makes the time away from that person tolerable, and yeah, we can get up to some amazing fun and you will have some extra cash around. But I have a feeling that wasn't your motive tonight, am I right?"

I didn't know what to say.

Dylan took my hand and circled his finger over my palm. "You can come with me to a room tonight and I can make you forget for a few hours. I can make it amazing. But you won't be there, really, and if I'm being honest, neither will I. Someone that was important to me didn't love me enough. She left and here I am, paying for someone to have an exciting conversation with." He smiled wryly. "If you need the money, by all means let's go and have great orgasms. It won't be any hardship for me. But if you're doing this as medication... Sweetheart. Buy a vibrator and wait until he mans up or you find someone else."

The check came over and he smoothly put his credit card in the folder. "You've been fun tonight, no matter what."

"You're right," I whispered. "I should go home."

Dylan was totally cool about it and even snuck some money into my bag when I wasn't looking after I refused it ten times.

"Really, it's just dinner and good conversation that I enjoy," he said when I was getting ready to step out. "Sex you can have with anyone. Funny how you have to pay to talk to someone, now."

He drove off after making sure I got to my door. I wondered what the hell happened to him that made him so strangely sad, and why the hell I turned down his offer. I had no doubt he knew how to please me, that it would be outstanding sex.

But he was right; it wouldn't be enough.

*****

I thought the next two weeks would be drawn out and unbearable, but they passed in a blur of me working at my shitty diner, ignoring Morgan and her warning words, and rubbing two pennies together in the hopes it would make more money. Iggy had been a little MIA and I was worried that it was because he was too busy judging me. I had texted him after the whole spat with my father, but he never responded. I texted him again when I realized Tate would be gone, but there was still no answer.

Tate left me with more than enough for rent and for my own entertainment, but I wanted to save some. Believe it or not, I didn't want to be doing this the rest of my life. I didn't think my heart could handle it, either.

It was time for Tate to arrive. He texted that he would pick me up soon and that I should dress my very best. Unfortunately I was a moron and didn't go dress shopping, so all I had was a boring black dress I wore to my cousin's wedding two years before and a spring dress that was out of season and had a huge stain on the side.

Morgan watched me desperately flipping through my closet, willing something to appear. "I have a dress you can wear, Cinderella."

I turned around and noticed that Morgan—irrepressible, irreverent Morgan—was sad. Sadder than I ever could remember her being. She was never anything but bitchy and funny.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," she sighed. She wasn't even wearing makeup! "Just trying to figure out what's next."

I had a strange desire to hug her but I didn't think that would go over well. "If anyone can figure out the answer to that, Morgan, it's you."

She walked over to me and tore the stained dress out my hands. "Let's put you in a real dress."

The dress she had in mind was a cream cocktail dress that glittered and glowed even beneath the piece of crap light she had in her room.

"It's you," she said with a slight smile. "Slightly virginal with something to it. Makes you want to unravel and see what's beneath it."

I took the dress from her, running my fingers down the soft silk. "You sure you don't mind me borrowing it?"

That melancholy echoed in her eyes when she shook her head. "No. You can even have it. Like I said, it's you."

*****

He was late. I paced in the apartment, peering at myself in our tiny mirror above our sofa. I looked so unlike me in the cream dress that I wondered if Morgan was trying to be helpful or devious. I looked much older in it. She had done my makeup, smearing coppery eye shadow over my lids that made my brown eyes pop. Natural glowing blush was applied to my cheeks and a nice, nude lip gloss made my lips shimmer. I had to keep telling myself to not touch my face, just one of my many nervous gestures.

Morgan came out in a red dress that displayed a lot more of her breasts than I'd ever seen. She must have applied some self-tanner because she looked much darker and luscious. The red against her skin was to die for. Instantly I knew she was going out to see someone, and I was sure, judging by the resigned expression on her face, it was a new "companion".

"What's he like?" I asked, foregoing beating around the bush.

"Old," she sighed. "The ones I find are always old."

"Why?" I knew she could do better.

"Because it's too dangerous if they're young for me. I could get carried away."

There was something in Morgan's tone that made me pause and I eyed her, wondering if those words were meant for me. A flare of irrational anger pulsed in my chest. She was the one who set me up with him! Then it occurred to me that maybe it had once happened to her.

A knock interrupted us and I went over, opening it to reveal a distinguished older man that looked me up and down before realizing I was staring at him.

"I'm here for Morgan."

"Are you?" she laughed behind me. I stepped back and let her pass, and for some unknown reason to me, I put a hand on her back. She stopped for a second and let it rest there.

The older man turned back and gave Morgan a puzzled smile. "You ready?"

She breathed heavily. My hand lifted and dropped with the movement. "Yes."

Then she walked off into the hallway, her head and shoulders high.

Tate knocked on the door five minutes later, impatient to go. "You look nice," he managed, flicking a glance at his watch. "We're going to be late for our reservation."

Okay. It wasn't exactly the reunion I'd hoped for, but I reminded myself to keep what this was before me. I couldn't afford to get lost with him, anymore.

"We wouldn't want that," I smiled. He blinked at me like I was a completely different person from the naive girl he'd messed around with two weeks prior. Perhaps I was.

I grabbed my coat and followed him out.The restaurant he brought to me was small and intimate. The impatience never left him. He twitched and fidgeted, opening and closing his menu without reading the words. Once our meal was served and I had some liquid courage in me, I confronted him.

"What's the matter?" I asked. I couldn't take it anymore. Was he preparing to dump me?

He let out a long breath and lifted his gaze to me. "I left your gift on my coworker's jet. I have to wait until tomorrow to get it."

"Seriously?" I laughed. "That's why you're so pent up? I'd hate to see you at work."

"That, and I'm incredibly turned on by that dress you're wearing right now."

I didn't quite know how to take that. I put my wineglass up to my lips to take a sip of the cool riesling. I realized Tate was watching and I quickly put the glass down.

"Don't stop," he nearly begged. A soft quality was in his voice that made me ache. "You're very pretty, you know. Even more beautiful when something is running down your throat."

I should have been aghast. I should have been repulsed. I should have thrown my wine at him and proclaimed him disgusting. Then I should've marched out of the restaurant with my head held high and a portion of my dignity intact. Instead I was frighteningly turned on. He was crude, of course, but there was something astonishingly liberating about having a man state exactly what he found attractive about you. To be honest, even at the risk of infuriating you. So many guys told me I had beautiful eyes, or soft hair, or that I smelled good, or a million other cheesy lines that really translated to I want to fuck you.