Page 3 of Caged By the Stranger
The door.
He’s…gone. He left.
I’m too beautifully sated to be disappointed, but still, something inside me caves and collapses. That was life-changing. Shaking my head, I scoff at myself as I manage to peel myself off the wall and tuck myself away.Life-changing—that sounds so sophomoric, but truly, I don’t know what else to call it. It was damn good, I guess.
I have to shake my hands out and catch my breath even after I’m put back together, before I can think of leaving the room. My legs are like spent noodles. I feel like I’ve been exorcised, lighter, a new man. All the planning meetings I have coming up next week don’t seem as daunting now. This was definitely what I needed.
This is what I’ve needed for a long time.
Walking back down the hallway toward the exit, my steps feel like they’re on clouds. Will he be back? I have yet to be paired with the same person each time I’ve been here. The dread that fills me is a crash to my high. I don’t think I want to go back to unskilled performers after tonight’s experience.
Stopping in the vestibule, I wait for the doorman to finish typing something on his phone. When he finally glances over at me, he raises his brows expectantly.
“The ‘new one’…” I gesture back toward the hallway with my chin, casually. “Will, uh, he be back?”
Shrugging, he glances back at his phone. “We never know.”
Fuck.
Some part of me scolds myself that it doesn’t matter. I can still come here to get off when I get to the point where I need more than myself to get off. Maybe the first two times were just a fluke. Maybe everyone after this guy tonight will be just as talented.
I don’t realize I’m still lingering until I hear the doorman again. “Couldn’t say even if I did,” he informs me with a smug smirk, like he can tell how much I enjoyed myself.
The prick. I wonder if he ever partakes in the establishment’s ‘entertainment.’ When a jealous shard stabs me over the thought of that man lavishing him the way he just did to me, I know it’s time to leave.
What the fuck do I care? It’s not like I need one specific person to give me pleasure. In fact, just the opposite has always been my thing. That’s why I started coming here.
Maybe I won’t be back for a while this time. It’s not like I’m not needy or anything.
CHAPTER 2
The following Friday
This week was brutal. Twelve-hour days. Phone calls every damn night. I must have put two thousand miles on my car. Granted, it’s the company’s car, but the people up at corporate probably give little thought to how much time an ass in a seat can drain a man.
Amor. What a joke that I work for a chocolatier company namedAmorand feel little love, except for my paycheck.
Tugging the zipper of my leather jacket higher against the cold, I take swift steps across the parking lot of Illusion. I know it’s only been a week since I’ve been here, but I’m headed to Sacramento first thing Monday morning to work my circuit there. There are only a few more weeks until Valentine’s Day, our biggest sales holiday. I’m going to sink this one in the bag this year. I want it to be my best sales quarter yet. My division is going to smoke all the others—I know it. Despite my exhaustion and mental burnout, it brings me a satisfied smile. Call me competitive. Whatever. It’s what I do. It’s all I have to do, even as much as I bitch about it sometimes. The only hang-up is…this. Sometimes a guy needs to blow off some steam.
Wrapping on the door, the privacy window slides open after a few seconds. This guy is slow on purpose, I swear. I tell him the codeword, and a moment later the door opens.
I don’t understand why he makes me show him my freaking ID each time. Does he think I have a twin brother?
When he checks his list to ensure that I’ve messaged ahead of time to reserve a spot and sent proof of my clear bill of health, he finally hands my ID back over.
“Back so soon? Liked your session last time that much, did you?”
I refuse to engage, refuse to ask him any questions. I’m realizing it’s a game he plays. My pulse is kicking with an answer, all right, and maybe he can tell given that amused twinkle in his eyes. I remind myself that when Wednesday night rolled around, I didn’t feel like talking myself out of coming back any longer. Only half a week before I’d caved and scheduled this visit. That’s a record for me. It has nothing to do with my session last time. Nothing at all. This is about being overworked.
It doesn’t matter who they send back there tonight, anyway. I’ve already accepted that it won’t be that amazing guy from last week. That’s not how these places work, is it?
I don’t care. I just need to get off and am in one of those moods where it’ll feel better if someone else does it for me rather than myself. I need to go to Sacramento with a clear head and a low stress meter if I want to clinch breaking my sales record.
“Room ready, or do I need to head to the lounge?” I ask, trying to sound unconcerned.
Smiling, he leans over from his stool and opens the door that leads to the private rooms. “Head on back. I’ll make the call.”
Waltzing through like I’m not in a hurry, like my heart rate isn’t accelerated, I head down the hallway. After a few steps, I realize he didn’t tell me which room number. I’ve always been in number three. Glancing to my left, the first two rooms have the red bar of occupancy showing on the locking mechanism. Maybe they give returning visitors the same room each time.
