Amply Rewarded (8 page)

“This isn’t about you. It’s our first time together so, if you don’t mind, have the decency to be patient and we’ll make it worth your while.” She didn’t give him a choice in the matter.

He complied with gratitude, leaning back and stroking my skin gently. “Whatever you like, Veronica. I’m just glad to be here.”

“It’s Mistress Veronica to you,” I said to him. “And she’s about to fuck me with your cock so if you don’t mind…”

“Sorry,” he said, cupping my ass with his palms and letting us share the moment I’d been waiting for weeks to experience. He wasn’t in the way, though. I actually liked having his shocked face behind me. Picturing his expression was a huge turn-on for me, probably because I was equally shocked and pleased and in suspense.

Kelly placed a soft cushion in front of me and knelt down where I sat, straddling Mr Rutherford’s cock. She brought her tongue closer and I could feel her saliva lubricating his shaft, making it easier for me to ease onto him. Her breath provided a rhythmic slowness that I needed, and I lowered myself completely and felt him stretch me in a way that I had wanted. Kelly was gentle and caressed me sweetly, which was pleasant and almost sentimental. For a moment, it seemed as though she slipped out of the Mistress Veronica character and touched me with the kind of tenderness specific to Kelly. I wanted this terribly and maybe I just imagined it. I wanted to see her as taking me.

I lifted myself up and down and watched as Kelly licked my clit. Forcefully, I did exactly as she had done, pounding myself onto him harder and harder. He said he couldn’t take it any longer, held my hips in place and shoved himself deep inside me. He pulled out just in time to release his hot liquid all over my back. Then he sighed in utter relief and rested himself against the pillows propped up on the bed. Normally, this is where a session would have ended, the male climax being the most coveted of moments, but Kelly took me and tossed me onto the other bed in the room, as though Mr Rutherford were out of the picture completely.

“I want you to come,” she said.

Her words went straight to my clit and I almost felt myself tremble just at the sound of them. On the bed, I lay flat on my back and Kelly forced my legs apart and massaged my pussy with her tongue. She gave me the gentle touch I longed for. Back and forth, up and down she went until a massive explosion built within. I felt it surface, felt the world disappear once more as I gasped for air and felt my heartbeat race. Then waves of bliss came crashing over me. Kelly stayed with me, holding me.

I felt triumphant. Kelly kissed me again and I kissed her back as best I could. It was my way of showing my dedication to her. She had done everything right.

That night, Kelly and I each made Mr Rutherford come once more, which resulted in a heavy bonus. I knew from the start of the evening that any money we received would pale against the satisfaction of experiencing Kelly. A couple of hours later, we took a cab home and stopped off at the convenience store for instant noodles and fashion magazines. We stayed in her suite and slept together in her bed. She cradled me and held me from behind. I slept soundly against her.

* * * *

Sometimes, sitting at my dresser, applying powder to my face to cover the redness the last client had left in preparation for the next, I’d make eye contact with myself and, for a brief moment, picture myself at law school, or medical school, or business school. Then working at an office and taking care of Kelly, providing everything she needed. She wanted to be an artist, she’d told me once, while drunk, then had never spoken of it again.

One evening, while we were hanging out in Kelly’s suite casually painting our toenails and flipping through magazines, as though we were just like the sorority girls on campus, I tried to tell her how I felt.

“You know what, Kelly? Sometimes I just feel so grateful for knowing you.”

“Aw, thanks, sugar.” She smiled. “Hey, what do you think of this colour?” She held up a peachy pink opalescent nail polish.

I nodded. Talking about feelings is hard at the best of times. What had I been thinking, anyway? Kelly loathed that kind of thing. The closest I could ever come to her was sleeping with her.

That night, when she crawled into bed with me, I kissed her. It wasn’t like the other time—the gentle, innocent time. And it wasn’t the over-the-top, exaggerated kisses she’d given me for Mr Rutherford’s benefit. It was better. It was firm, juicy and real. It was the way I had kissed Tommy, but more intense.

Although she seemed to enjoy it, too, she pulled away. “What are you doing? There’s no one but us here.”

It was heartbreaking, though I didn’t realise it at the time. I just felt awkward and clammy, as if I had done something really bad. The thing about Kelly was that she naturally called all the shots. She could do whatever she wanted. But it didn’t work that way for me. She looked at me quizzically, and I didn’t know what I could do.

“Sorry,” I said, and got out of her bed. I went to the bathroom for solace. I didn’t know what I had been expecting. Was it sex? Was that what I wanted? Well, the short answer was a resounding ‘yes’, but the long answer was harder to fathom. Would we then be a couple? Would we do what normal couples did and build a life together, and buy a house together and all that stuff I’d loathed so much back in the Tommy days? I didn’t loathe thinking about doing all that stuff with Kelly. But it was pretty clear that she wasn’t thinking of me in that way.

I sat on the toilet and cried. Part of me hoped she would come to the washroom and get me, and take me to her bed, and comfort me. Another part of me didn’t want her to know I was crying.

I slept in my own bed that night, and every subsequent night thereafter. Like all the other things we never spoke about, we buried that kiss in a secret abyss. We didn’t do more evenings with Mr Rutherford.

I couldn’t quit this job for another month without getting a heavy penalty from Carla. Kelly and I kept to ourselves after that. We still greeted each other and were congenial, but I had managed to kill the one thing I wanted more than anything else.

My priorities shifted. I couldn’t wait to move on. I told Carla that I would be leaving at Christmas and that I’d help her find someone to replace me. She didn’t seem surprised. Then I pocketed as much money as I could and kept it in a savings account. I didn’t know what I would get up to after that. It was enough of a challenge, at that point, just to get through the days and nights.

School finally let out mid December, and I was free to go without destroying Carla’s precious illusion.

On the morning I left, Kelly came and knocked on my door. It was a strange sound, since we had been accustomed to leaving our doors open and, during that last month, just not talking. I opened the door and she came in and sat on my bed, next to my suitcase.

“So this is it, huh?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” I was surprised by my own attitude.

“Well, you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, so are you, sooner or later. So what?”

“Well, Merry Christmas to you, too.” She shot down my belligerence with her more refined sarcasm.

“Kelly, what do you want?” I asked, straight out.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were teary and she looked apologetically at me, even though I felt as if it was me who should apologise.

“I don’t want it to end like this,” I said.

She stood up and hugged me. We embraced for several minutes. Her hair smelt so familiar and so right to me, and I couldn’t understand what I was doing leaving her behind. I couldn’t go on and live my life without her, but I couldn’t stay here and work it out with her either. What was there to work out? What could I possibly say to her?

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered.

“I will. You, too.”

“You know I will,” she said.

We both kind of laughed, but not really. It was the saddest goodbye I’d ever experienced. I’d felt no remorse leaving the farm I’d lived on my whole life, but leaving the room across the hall from Kelly’s, where I’d been for three months, made me break down and cry. But not until I’d reached the comfort of my hotel room, where I knew I was safe and alone.

Chapter Five

San Francisco, again

I knew I would miss Kelly terribly. But I also knew that I would see her again. I knew that in a parallel universe we could be lovers, and that I might eventually convince her to come with me if I carved out the right situation for us. If not, she had also taught me—and would therefore understand better than anyone—that my own needs were foremost.

I took a cab to the most exclusive hotel I knew about, had the attendant bring up my bags and paid, for the first time, for my own comfort. My room was luxurious and I decided that I would become accustomed to such luxury immediately. The farm was a world away and now Carla’s would be, too. I would not go back to the house. I was, after all, in the constantly changing and opportunistic world of plentiful gifts and trinkets. I knew how to get what I wanted on all accounts, except with Kelly.

I stayed in bed the first night, feeling as if I didn’t have a friend in the world. It felt like starting over again. It felt as though I had just arrived in San Francisco and didn’t know anyone.

I knew that, if I was going to survive this, I would have to thicken my skin, toughen up and move on. I couldn’t afford to dwell on possibilities. I had come here to make a life for myself and I was closer than ever. I had more money than I ever could have imagined in Idaho. I had a whole new set of skills and I had an extensive wardrobe to go with them.

The next day, I went shopping. I was determined to find a rich man to marry.

It’s a strange goal to set for yourself, but at the time it seemed my only option and, for that reason, I made it a good option. I ordered a cappuccino at the hotel, drank it slowly while reading the paper, and looked around for successful-looking men. Then I left the lounge and wandered up and down the streets, stepping into the fancy clothing stores. If this was my plan, I would have to look the part.

That evening, dressed in my decadent new dress and upholstered with my false yet realistic eyelashes, I sauntered to the bar in the lobby where I not only belonged, but radiated. All eyes were on me as I entered the candlelit room, found myself a little table against the back wall and waited for a suitor.

“May I join you?” was the first question the older gentleman asked.

I didn’t answer. I preferred to keep him uncertain and offered, instead, a small smile and a gesture to the adjacent lounge chair. Men are easy—sometimes extremely easy—to read. I looked him up and down. Without so much as an exchange of names or pleasantries, I pictured him like a cut of meat—sized, wrapped, garnished. From slaughter to serving dishes, I knew his sexual history and desires as if I had been along for every turn in every road. It was child’s play to me.

I ran my fingertips up and down my wet martini glass. He tried not to look, tried not to be affected, but he had been mine since he’d walked into the room.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Virginia.” If he had still been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it to me. His manners were impeccable, and his three-piece suit suggested not just money but old, conservative wealth. He looked like the kind of boy who had grown up on a parallel farm to my own but who hadn’t had to labour—who had been fawned over instead. He had grown up watching strapping young lads haul stacks of hay and plough through his overgrown fields, standing on his porch, unsure of why he was so titillated watching them.

The Southern gentleman is a girl’s best friend. He wants the appearance of something sweet and wholesome. What this man wanted more was one of the chiselled men to take him, rough as they are with their equipment, and force him into submission. I don’t know how I became capable of seeing these things, but there was no point in questioning it. This, absolutely, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I introduced myself.

“The city is so beautiful and magical,” I said. “It would be lovely to see it from high above.”

“If you don’t mind the suggestion, Miss Julie, you would be more than welcome to enjoy the view from my suite on the sixteenth floor.”

“Why, Mr Broughton, are you suggesting that I visit the suite of a man I barely know?”

“Forgive me. I have been too forward. My intentions are pure.”

Perhaps they were. It wasn’t an outright lie. He seemed interested in the company of the fairer sex. I could easily slip into his life like gold cuff links, an extravagant adornment for him to show off to the world. Whether I was the centre of his fantasies or not, he had something that was at the centre of mine.

“I am supposed to leave tomorrow. I’m catching a train back to New York.” I tested his dedication to what might be our mutual cause.

“Oh, what a shame. Is it urgent?”

“Not at all.”

“Then might I suggest that I rent the other suite for you on the sixteenth floor, and you stay here with me for a few days so that we may become better acquainted?”

“Why, that sounds lovely.” We clinked glasses. And with that I knew he was not only honourable, but also ready to indebt himself to me.

Mr Broughton—Hal—was an old-world gentleman, the kind I’d only heard of, never witnessed. He could have dropped straight out of the stories—he was handsome, powerful and charming. Just as in the stories, I imagined the nuances of complicated love affairs, family complications and career catastrophes. He struck me as the kind of man women would fawn over, melt in front of and do anything for. I think I projected these traits onto him because, even at first, he was only ever forthright with me. For all of his worldliness, he was the most mild-mannered, soft-spoken man I could imagine. It was almost a shame that he’d landed in my lap as untainted as he was, but I think it worked out well for both of us. He would have followed me like a lost puppy. Good thing I was ready to take the lead.

After a lovely evening of wine and bourbon and animated conversation, I moved to the room next to his, this time overlooking an even more spectacular view of the city. The next morning, he begged my acquaintance again.