Blurred Lines (Blurred Lines Volume 1) Read online

  BlurredLines

  Volume 1

  Breena Wilde

  www.breenawildebooks.com

  Blurred Lines

  Copyright © Breena Wilde

  Breena Wilde Books

  ASIN:B00DSW0B9M

  Digital Edition

  This book in its entirety is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the author, Breena Wilde, P.O. Box 1408 Bountiful, UT 84011.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by: Breena Wilde Books

  Design copyright @2013 Steven Novak www.novakillustration.com

  Interior design by: Breena Wile Books

  Blurred Lines

  Volume 1

  Hooking has four important rules.

  Cash only.

  Use protection.

  Carry mace.

  Don’t fall in love.

  Twenty-year-old Cadence is a prostitute and she lives by the rules. They keep her alive and they keep her heart protected. But when she agrees to take one last job to get out from under her pimp, she discovers some of the rules might be worth breaking.

  Cover

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  Copyright Information

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  “I’ll take the money first,” I say, walking into the skeevy hotel room and turning to meet the businessman’s gaze.

  “Fine.” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket. While getting out the bills, I study him. He’s a little soft around the middle, the norm for men his age—early thirties. He’s slightly balding and overly tanned, like he spends a lot of time on the golf course, and he’s short. Like five foot six, which is my height. With my heels on, I’m taller.

  “Here. Count it.” He hands me a hundred bucks and I do count it. I sure as hell don’t do this job for free.

  “Awesome.” I fold the crisp bills and stick them in my sparkly black purse. “Now that’s taken care of, where do you want this to happen? The bed? The chair? The floor?” I notice he’s already sporting a hard on. The tent in his pants gives him away. He doesn’t seem to care though. Neither do I. His sexual readiness just means our encounter will be over sooner rather than later.

  I charge by the hour, but there’s rarely been a guy who can go that long. And once they’re satiated, they can’t make me leave fast enough. Yeah, I’m the dirty little secret.

  He sits on the edge of the hotel bed. “I get whatever I want for the hour, right?”

  I nod, stifling a sigh. This may take longer than I thought. “As long as you’re wearing a condom, yes.” That’s one of my rules: always use protection.

  He pulls one from his pocket, but I shake my head. “We’ll use one of mine.” I’ve heard enough horror stories of guys poking holes in condoms to give the girl some horrible disease. It’s not going to happen to me.

  “Fine,” he agrees, slipping off his shiny wingtips.

  I reach into my purse, pull out several condoms, and set all but one on the chest of drawers across from the bed.

  He takes the condom, places it on the bed, slowly removes his navy suit jacket, and hangs it in the closet. He’s obviously in no hurry. Once he’s naked—except his black socks—he turns to me.

  “Now you,” he says, sitting back down, the condom already over his hardened cock.

  “Any particular way?” I smile seductively.

  “I don’t give a shit how the clothes come off, just get out of them,” he barks.

  I flinch, but keep my features stoic. Some guys get a kick out of scaring girls. While that’s fine, I can pretend as good as the next girl. I want to know what he has in mind first. “You got it.” I slip out of my black heels, and step out of my tiny black skirt. My top is a bandeau and I slide it down my stomach and off. Then I turn away from him and place my things on a desk with my bag underneath.

  He’s suddenly behind me, his cock pressed into the cleft of my ass.

  I cringe slightly but force it down. “Is that what you want, baby? To come in my ass?”

  “Not yet. First I want your pussy.” He slides into me. After three hard thrusts he comes. “Now go lay on the bed,” he commands.

  I obey and watch him throw the used condom into the trash and grab another. He’s still semi hard and he slides it on.

  “What now, baby?” I keep my eyes hooded, pretending I’m into him. My knees are up and I’m spread open playing with myself.

  He climbs on the bed and smacks my hand away. “Don’t touch yourself. This isn’t about your pleasure, it’s about mine.”

  I rest my hand on my stomach, ignoring the slight sting.

  “Roll onto your knees and stick your ass in the air. For touching yourself you get ten spankings.”

  Oh, he’s one of those, I think, shifting my persona into that mode. I roll onto my knees. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I say, sounding contrite.

  He grunts. “Call me Master.” Then he smacks my ass hard, again and again and again until tears fill my eyes from the pain.

  After ten, he stops. “I’m going to fuck your ass now.” He spits several times and rubs his saliva over my asshole before sliding inside. “Moan for me, whore. Show me how much you like it.”

  “Yes, master.” I moan loudly, acting as though he’s the best lay I’ve ever had. “Oh, God. You’re fucking me so good.”

  “Yeah whore. I know how to fuck. No one is ever going to be better than me. Say it!”

  “You’re the best fuck I’ll ever have, Master.”

  After several minutes, I feel his body tense. He’ll come again soon. “Can I touch myself, master?” I ask, hoping he agrees. “Please. I want to come with you inside me.”

  He slaps my ass again. “Yes, whore. Touch yourself, but only come once. I’ll know if it’s more.”

  “Yes, Master.” I touch my clit. Massage it until the tension starts to build. And then I come, the orgasm racking my body. He comes quickly after. It’s always faster for the men if they can feel me come.

  He slides out of my ass and rolls onto his back. “Get another condom and suck my dick until I come again, whore.”

  “Yes, Master.” I climb off the bed and steel myself. This man will definitely go the full hour. He obviously wants his money’s worth.

  Chapter 2

  The alarm goes off at seven o’clock, not a.m., but p.m. It’s a hazard of my job: sleep all day and take care of business all night. But I’m already awake. Lying in bed, preparing for what tonight holds.

  “Turn that fucking thing off. It’s hurting my brain.” My roommate, Jessica, tosses her pillow at the nightstand, sending the alarm clock crashing to the floor. It’s still ringing, though. “Holy fuck, turn it off.”

  I get out of my twin-sized bed and handle the clock.

  Jessica sits up. “Is tonight the night?” Her hair is a frizzy mess of blond curls. They’re standing all over her head. Makeup from last night streaks her face, including some red lips
tick. When she’s put together she’s very beautiful, willowy. Tall with a killer body and eyes the color of creamy caramel.

  Jessica came to Los Angeles to be an actress, as did eighty-five percent of the prostitutes in L.A. County. There’s no way I would ever become an actress; my life is already way too full of drama.

  Anyway, Jessica did a commercial and a few small speaking parts, but that doesn’t pay the bills for very long.

  When I found her she was nearly dead from starvation. I took her in, gave her a place to stay, food to eat. When she found out what I did, she wanted in. She’s definitely better at it than me, but I’m persistent, like a dog with a bone. If I want something, I won’t give up.

  Prostitution isn’t the best job in the world, but it keeps me from being homeless. Sure, there are tons of people who say it’s an evil occupation and that everyone who does it or takes part in it is evil as well. I say they can suck it. We all work to earn a living, I just do mine on my back.

  As a businesswoman I want to be my own boss. Get out from under the thumb of Fileze the Sleave, my dirty-no-good-pimp.

  I swallow the jittery moths climbing my throat. “Yep. Fileze says if I do this one last job, he’ll let me go. And then I’ll be my own boss. I’ll be able to dictate with who, how far, and how much.”

  “Yeah, but you know Fileze isn’t going to make this easy. It’ll probably be one of his asshole drug friends.”

  “I know,” I say throwing my pink comforter across my bed in an attempt to make it. Grabbing my shower bag, I walk to the bathroom in our tiny one bedroom apartment. “You working tonight?”

  “Of course. There’s no rest for the wicked.” She laughs and throws her baby blue My Little Pony at me.

  I catch it and toss it back. “K, I’ll hurry.”

  My pimp told me to wear a party dress. The only one I have is tight, lacy red, and cuts about mid-thigh. I style and dry my hair until it’s shiny and curls gently at the ends. When I’m finished I walk out of the bathroom.

  “What do you think?”

  Jessica, who’s still sleeping, rolls over and groans. She pushes her hair off her face and smiles. “You look smokin’ hot. Dayum. I’d tap that.”

  “Thanks. Which shoes though? The red ones?” I hold up seven-inch platform shoes. “Or these black ones.” They’re also seven-inch heels and patent leather.

  “The black ones, for sure. They’ll look perfect with your outfit and hair.” She climbs out of bed. She’s wearing a black thong and a white tank.

  I slide on the shoes and grab my black bag.

  “You got enough condoms?” she asks, taking her shower bag into the bathroom. “I bought a new box yesterday. They’re under my bed, or maybe on my bed.” She shakes her fingers through her hair. “They’re somewhere over there.”

  “Thanks, Jessica. I’m still good.” At the door, I pause. Jessica turns on the water. The automatic coffee pot—our one splurge—kicks on and I sigh contentedly. When I come home in the morning, I’ll no longer be someone’s bitch. I’ll be my own person, obligated to no one. That one thought pushes out any worry about what Fileze has in store with the man I’m seeing tonight.

  Chapter 3

  It’s nine o’clock. The night air is warm and breezy. Salt from the ocean gives the air a little bite.

  My apartment complex is snuggled between The Bean Barn and a barber shop. I stop in at the coffee shop and get an iced coffee and a blueberry scone. Bob, the manager, doesn’t charge me for the coffee and I thank him.

  Slide into a booth, open the paper already sitting on the table, and find the business section. The DOW is down and the NASDAQ is up. Wall Street is a mess. I peruse an article. Some guy is giving his two cents on trends in the market.

  Lame, I think and pull out my phone. Fileze said he would text the address by ten tonight. It’s nine thirty, so I wait and watch the people pass by The Bean Barn’s big window.

  On a giant billboard across the street is a movie poster. The actress has dark hair, is holding a knife, and appears to be fighting her way through a jungle. Behind the billboard is the ocean. If I listen hard I can hear the waves break and smash against the sand.

  That’s one of my favorite things about L.A.: there’s a variety of people and something for everyone. Of course the elite of the town are the actors, but the truth is they’re just as fucked up as I am. Their form of prostitution is just a lot more visible than mine.

  My phone buzzes.

  It’s Fileze. He texts me: The Hotel BelAyre. Ten-thirty. Room 1323. His name is John. He’s already paid. Your cut is your freedom. Don’t fuck it up and don’t be late. I’m counting on you.

  I snicker at the client’s name. John. Sure it is, I think. But, whatever. I text him back to let him know I received the message and finish my coffee. If I hurry, I can walk and make it in plenty of time.

  The Hotel BelAyre is swank, decorated in various shades of gold, white, black, and green. Lush plants are placed perfectly. The air is fresh and cool. Now I understand why he wanted me to dress fancy. Had I come in one of my regular outfits I would’ve stood out like an ostrich in a room full of penguins. As it is I still feel out of place, but I roll my shoulders back, lift my chin, and head toward the elevator.

  A girl at the front desk stops me.

  “Can I help you?”

  I swallow. Fuck. What if he didn’t tell the front desk I was coming? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The night will be ruined before it even gets started and I’ll still be Fileze the Sleaze’s bitch. Ugh. Realizing there’s nothing else I can do, I decide to tell the truth. “I’m meeting John in room thirteen twenty three. He’s expecting me,” I purr.

  She taps some keys on her computer, and I feign irritation. “Did you want a DNA sample?”

  She shrugs apologetically. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  I finish my walk to the elevator and push the button. It tings and the door slides open. Inside is a bellman. “What floor?”

  “Thirteen,” I say.

  He eyes me, taking his time with my thighs. I reach around him and press the button. “I haven’t got all day.”

  He clears his throat.

  When we reach the thirteenth floor, the elevator stops and the door slides open.

  “Which way to room thirteen twenty three?” I ask, peering out.

  “There are only two suites on the thirteenth floor. Thirteen twenty three is to your left.”

  Straightening my dress, I walk to the door. Before I knock I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and tell myself whatever happens tonight, it’ll be worth it to be my own boss. Then I knock softly.

  On the other side of the door I hear some rustling. The deadbolt unlocks and the door opens.

  Holy shit! It’s the only thought my brain can supply. He’s not what I expected. John is shirtless and with good reason. His body is glistening with sweat, like he’s been working out. He’s wearing bike shorts and ankle socks and shoes.

  A flicker of irritation crosses his features as he takes me in.

  “Can I help you?”

  I glance back nervously. The bellhop is standing at the elevator, watching. I lean in and whisper. “I’m here at your request, John. May I come in?”

  I see an assortment of feelings change his beautiful, chiseled face. Finally he holds the door open. “Of course.” Then he nods to the bellhop. “I’ll catch ya later, Devin.”

  “Thanks, sir,” I hear the bellhop say as John closes the door.

  Chapter 4

  John turns and smiles, flashing a dimple in his right cheek. I can’t get over how hot he is. My knees weaken of their own volition and I curse myself. Gorgeous doesn’t mean good. He could be a total asshole.

  “Everything’s taken care of. My only rule is you must always wear a condom.” The way he looks at me, like I’m a new and exotic bird, makes me nervous. But no matter what, I can’t break that rule. “Is that acceptable?” I hold my breath, waiting. Hoping, even.

  He steps forward. “Works for me. Do you mi
nd if I shower first, um… what’s your name?”

  When I first started this whole prostitute thing I debated going with different names with every guy, and I usually do. Just whatever name that comes to mind. But when John asks, the only name that comes to mind is my own.

  “Cadence,” I blurt, and blush.

  He steps forward and I realize he’s still a head taller than me, even with my seven-inch heels. I glance up.

  “You’re John, right?”

  He chuckles warmly. “That’s me.”

  “Awesome,” I say and breathe. John seems really nice.

  “I’m going to shower now. Make yourself at home. There’s wine and cheese on the table over there.” He points toward a wall, but it isn’t a wall at all. It’s windows. The curtains are open and I can see the glow of the lights from the city.

  John turns away and walks through a set of double doors.

  “Okay,” I respond. It’s strange that he seems nice. And I can’t help but wonder where the catch is. Fileze wouldn’t have made this easy on me.

  I check my phone. There’s another text from Fileze: You there yet?

  I quickly text back: Yeah. Gonna sign off for the night. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.

  Once my phone is off, I set down my purse and walk to the window. The view is kick ass beautiful. Dark sky against the bright city lights. It’s amazing and takes my breath away. I stare at the scenery, lost in my thoughts. Then notice the cheese platter. I take a piece and chew slowly. It’s good. Creamy.

  It seems like John has been in the shower for a long time. I walk to the entrance of the bedroom. There’s a king-sized bed with luxurious bedding and pillows covering it. The water from the shower is still running and I make a decision.

  Running back into the living room, I grab my purse. Then I kick off my shoes and unzip my dress, sliding out of it. I walk into the bathroom feeling bold. This is my last night as the bitch to Fileze the Sleaze. I’m going to rock this guy so hard there won’t be any excuses.