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Beas Side Gig; Thrills and Regrets

But like any thrill, repetition dulled its edge. My hookups became less frequent, and the fire in our boudoir cooled. Many couples our age were just discovering the thrill of opening their marriage, and here we were, hunting for something even more taboo than swinging. That's when William entered our lives and took our recreational hotwifing to a whole new level.

William discovered our erotic stories online and begged to star in the next chapter; he didn't want to just fuck me; he wanted to own me for a night and was willing to pay for it. Ken and I had been searching for something to reignite our spark, but crossing the line from slut to whore? That just seemed crazy.

In retrospect, the decision was inevitable, but it took a few nights debating and fantasizing, for us to finally accept it. Then, after a couple more sex fueled nights negotiating terms, I jumped on William's offer, and we have not looked back (see 'Bea Goes Pro' for the backstory).

It began over a wild weekend, but then quickly took on a life of its own. The first time I actually did it; took money for sex, something clicked. It wasn't just the fucking, but the illicit nature of it, giving in to the delectable immorality. In the Lifestyle, "no" always means "no." But when compensation is tied to performance...well, that line begins to blur, doesn’t it? “No” I decided, was not on the menu I offered.

Mind you, this escorting gig is just that, a side gig. I don't do it often, but it is a damn hot diversion from my day job in corporate sales. I've learned both the boudoir and the boardroom, are places where men will pay handsomely for what they want, and some men have no problem blending the two. Honestly, I haven't literally opened my legs to close a deal, but I no longer rule it out either. It sometimes feels that is exactly what I do all day anyway, and it's not so different from the story I'm about to tell.

Let's rewind a few months...

I was waiting for my "date" to arrive and caught my reflection in the lobby mirror. I adored the woman staring back--an alter ego to my everyday self; composed, poised to perform on cue.

We live in a small community, so these "sales trips" are always a plane flight away, to places where I'm anonymous. I have the freedom to be this other woman without jeopardizing my ordinary life.

The blue velvet cocktail dress I wore was a gift from William the first time we met; my very first transaction. Its high neckline screams modesty while the fabric itself seduces, accentuating my perky tits and round ass beautifully. It's become my standard attire for these engagements--with its own secret history.

Of course, my husband approves of my moonlighting, but each time I pack the dress for a trip, he is reminded that he has never unzipped it himself, nor seen it drop around my feet in some fancy hotel room. That privilege belongs exclusively to the men William hires me to entertain; gentlemen within his select circle of associates, who he trusts with our secret and are willing to pay for the chance to explore what I’m wearing underneath…if anything at all..

That is my niche in this business. I’m attractive to men who value discretion yet mature enough to attend a charity event without raising eyebrows; a woman who can be whoever they need her to be in public.

I've been an "executive assistant" taking notes at a conference table, then, hours later, bent over that same table, lights dimmed taking something better than notes from the “boss” to celebrate whatever deal he closed that day. Another time, I played “wife” for a weekend at an adult resort, doing things for my client that his actual spouse would never do. These were men who knew, and valued, the power of money.

Tonight, William had arranged for me to escort his friend Charlie to a black-tie event; a simple enough assignment on its face. It was unclear whether sex would even be involved. But there was a kicker: after I fulfilled my obligations to Charlie, William invited me to an exclusive "after-party" where real money could be made; precisely the dance along the edge that holds my interest and lures me back to William’s “special engagements.”

You see…William and I have a rather unique arrangement. Like me, he does this on the side. With respect to the escort business, we were…are, really just dilletantes. I'm the only talent he markets, and he doesn't take a cut of my fees. In turn, I indulge his fetish for married pussy. Specifically, MY, married pussy…which by the way, he had not yet claimed for his customary “inspection” ahead of tonight’s soiree.

About forty-five minutes before I was to meet Charlie, I stepped out of the shower and heard a light rap on the door to the adjoining suite. I didn’t even bother to grab a robe or wrap myself in a towel. I just turned the deadbolt to let William push it open.

“You’re late William; we only have twenty minute before I need to get ready.” I told him as I spun round to let him inspect the “goods.” My nipples stiffened as his grin widened to a leer, admiring my dripping wet body. His eyes lingered at my kitty, then my breasts before locking onto my eyes. “That’s fine, mi amour,” he answered, walking over to kiss me. “No foreplay this afternoon, I guess?” I answered with a pouty face, “Sadly, no,” and broke his embrace to recline on the bed, waiting for him to undress and join me.

Less than a minute later, he hovered above me, teasing me with the tip of that impressive cock. "Easy there sir," I warned, "I've got a full schedule tonight." He nodded and entered me with deliberate care. I was so horny and slick, he slid right in, each gentle thrust accompanied by his lips on my tits and whispers of devotion in my ear. Those declarations of love, regardless of my open marriage, made me very uneasy (yes, I get the irony). Still, when I felt him swell and release inside me, I couldn't deny, it set the perfect tone for what awaited. He always took a wicked pleasure sending me to his associates still carrying his seed. A subtle reminder of who owned me.

Afterward, I didn’t cover myself while I arranged my face and hair. He knew I relished being watched, particularly by him. In the mirror I could see his gaze locked on my ass. I arched my back slightly, angling myself so he could view my snatch from behind. I really wished his flight hadn't been delayed; we could have taken our time.

"Next time," I said, meeting his stare in the mirror, "I want you to film us. Send it to my husband. Ken likes to hear what you say while you screw me." He approached from behind, his fingers finding the wetness within my labia. He tasted me, cupped my breasts, and replied, “You mean when I make love to you. Right Bea?” Despite my misgivings, I melt when he talks like that. I don’t love him back, but I do cherish the way we feel together. For the sake of my marriage, that’s a detail I never share with my real love.

For an instant I thought (hoped) we were going to finish what we’d started, skipping the rest of the evening. But business was business. Instead, he fastened my bra with practiced ease and zipped me up, like a collector preparing his prized possession for exhibition. The blue velvet dress settled against my skin, temporarily concealing what would soon be unveiled for another man's pleasure.

When he was gone, I fanned out the ten, one-hundred dollar bills he left on the mahogany dresser. Far less than what the real pros demand I’m sure, but for tonight, it was just the opening bid. Sitting atop the cash, he had printed a price list on a business card to guide me later.

“OMG,” I gasped when I picked it up; both pleasantly shocked and amused. I’m glad I didn’t pass on acts two and three tonight. The figures were staggering; triple what he had ever offered me. The list was succinct consistent with his funny quirk for speaking and writing with clinical precision.

$100: oral. $500: vaginal. $1000: anal. Prices double to ejaculate without a condom.

I could have pocketed the cash and fabricated some excuse, but the potential payday was irresistible. The fact that William didn't personally know many of the attendees added a taste of danger that only heightened my anticipation. There was no way I was passing this up. After securing the down payment in my suitcase's liner, I headed to the elevator. I was open for business.

In front of the lobby, a valet opened the door of a sleek black Cadillac. Charlie stepped out, silver at his temples, immaculate tailored dinner jacket. His smile brightened when he spotted me, but his embrace was a little stiff…until I softened him with a warm kiss. Self-consciously, he pulled back, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed this small indiscretion. "Bea," he said, clearing his throat, "what a pleasure to see you again."

I couldn't suppress a smile at his choice of words. When Charlie had last "seen" me, I'd long since shed this dress and was rather distracted with other indulgences. I couldn't quite recall our specific introduction, but I was flattered to have left such an impression worth flying me out for an encore.

He was not a doctor like William, but the event celebrated the medical philanthropy of a group they both sponsored, drawing hundreds in formal attire. Charlie ushered me through the banquet hall with his palm pressed low at my waist, introducing me to a blur of faces simply as "my friend Bea."

He had recently lost his wife after a lengthy illness and professed he wasn't seeking a new romance…but I could sense his ache for intimacy. Amidst friendly handshakes and hugs, I caught his eyes undressing me; no doubt reminiscing our previous meeting. "I'm just looking for pleasant company tonight," he'd assured William earlier, but his increasingly roving hands told me a different story.

Regardless, I was prepared to do everything necessary to make his evening both enjoyable and memorable. Beneath my dress I wore silky white lingerie and had waxed my vagina delectably smooth, leaving only a fluffy triangle atop my mound.

I felt sexy and ready to be seen, whether it was Charlie who undressed me or other generous gentlemen I might entertain later, at this mysterious "after-party." For now though, I played my part: the elegant companion on the arm of a grieving philanthropist.

We made our way to our table and continued chatting with our dinner companions until the program began. Speeches and charming comments flowed throughout the exquisite five-course dinner. Somewhere between the second glass of Bordeaux and the chocolate soufflé, Charlie confirmed my intuition when his hand found my inner thigh beneath the tablecloth.

Later, to Sinatra's "Witchcraft", he pulled me close on the dance floor, one palm gripping my ass, searching for a preview of what he’d find underneath later on. I endured sideways glances from several women as he brushed his lips against my ear, "What color panties tonight, Bea?" he slurred. I arched against his erection and joked back "Panties Charlie? I don't know what you mean." As we swayed across the wooden dance floor together, my attention spun between Charlie’s attentions and the unattached men circulating through the crowd. Powerful men, who I hoped received invitations to the gathering upstairs.

As the gala wound down, Charlie and I made our rounds through the crowd. At one point, a hospital colleague stopped us to catch up. As we parted, his wife, Maria, innocently touched my arm to ask, "Will we see you two in the hospitality suite later?" I was startled by the question, “What did she know?” but before I could respond, Charlie's finger slid down my spine, his thumb rubbing the velvet over my ass. "I'm afraid you won’t Maria. We're calling it an early night." he said, with a lascivious look, intimating I was more than just a friend. Several Manhattans had apparently dulled his initial sense of propriety. Either way, I didn't think she suspected our true relationship or my plans for the after-party she mentioned.

Charlie's son, Ron, on the other hand, grasped my hand warmly. Surprising, given the fact I was here in his mother's stead, and likely sharing his father's bed later. “I’m glad you’re here for Dad,” he whispered in my ear. He knew exactly who I was, but he appreciated the arrangement's simplicity, grateful to see his father’s eyes light up again.

By nine, Charlie had had enough and steered me to the elevator. I had my own room of course, but understood that would not be my next stop. As soon as the elevator doors shut, Charlie's tongue found mine with drunken urgency. While he loved his wife to the end, her illness had long starved him for intimacy. Lust, not romance, would be the theme tonight. Hiking my skirt above my waist, he exposed my ass to the security camera's unblinking red eye. I leaned back, ready to drop my panties right there for any monitor to enjoy. Before anything more could happen, the elevator doors "dinged" open, and we practically ran down the hall.

After he fumbled with the door, I snatched his key card to let us in. Inside, while he scooped ice into glasses, I dropped to the carpet, unbuckled his pants, and consumed his liquor-softened, but hardening, cock.

The drinks were quickly forgotten as he worked my zipper, his breath catching when the velvet parted to reveal the white lace I'd selected for him. His fingertips pinched my nipples through the delicate fabric; much harder than he intended. My blue dress fell to yet another anonymous hotel floor. His kiss tasted of whiskey and the hesitation of a man who'd known only one woman's body for decades. I guided his hands to unclasp my bra, patient with his rusty technique, freeing my breasts for him. He'd glimpsed them before, watching enviously from the shadows while other men used me. But right then, they belonged to him alone.

“Let’s do this,” I said as I pulled him to me on the bed. Together we removed his clothes while he explored every curve of my body. He was a good man, and I wanted him to enjoy me. We peeled my panties down, past my knees, off my ankles, and tossed them to the floor. Unpracticed but eager, his tongue found my slit, then my swollen button. I offered my full repertoire of appropriate gasps to encourage him. I felt good filling this void in his life, so my act was not entirely pro forma. Still, writhing under Charlie’s attentions, my mind wandered back to William, regretting the fact he hadn’t done this to me.

"Please," I purred, guiding him between my legs, inside me. How different I imagined I felt from the wife he'd lost. Each pump of his hips accompanied a deep sigh of pleasure.

“You want to cum in me, don’t you Charlie?” I asked, “I’ve been waiting for this moment since our first kiss by the car.”

I moaned, deliberately clenching around him, knowing exactly how to make a man feel special. His only response was a hungry groan as his rhythm quickened, then a few more firm thrusts and a familiar heat spilled inside me, mingling with William's contribution.

I stroked his hair, letting him forget our business arrangement. "Thank you, Charlie," I murmured, sucking him clean before I pulled him under the covers. We exchanged drunken kisses until he drifted to sleep against my bare chest.

Using the cotton sheet to clean away the evidence of our intercourse, I slipped from under the comforter to collect my scattered clothing and depart. Better this way; no awkward goodbyes to mark our transaction's boundaries. My hair disheveled and makeup smeared, I padded naked across the carpeted floor to my own adjacent room.

Eager, actually giddy, to head upstairs, I traded the restrictive cocktail dress for something more versatile: a flowing pink cami with spaghetti straps. My girls, freed from constraint, jiggled wonderfully beneath the delicate fabric. I'd left my white panties on Charlie’s floor as a souvenir. The thong I chose to replace them was barely sufficient to absorb the remnants of our brief interlude.

Before leaving, I slid my wedding band back onto my finger. It wasn’t appropriate for escorting Charlie to dinner, but upstairs, it would definitely enhance my persona of a forbidden married woman. Whore, wife, MILF; layers of depravity called to me.

The evening's second act was still a mystery. I imagined it would be like a swingers party, naked people everywhere. Except I'd have no husband to look after me, to keep the creepy guys at bay. I was the elusive unicorn we all hear about. Men who I'd normally turn away, would pay me to accept them, make them feel good…and I’d do it, just like I had with Charlie. Cha-ching!

Though it had lingered in my thoughts throughout dinner, I'd been too distracted during my last encounter with William to ask practical questions. How would payment work? William had provided the price list, but none of the logistics. If they all paid in hundreds like he did, I'd need something larger than my evening bag. Did thousand-dollar bills even exist anymore? Perhaps they'd use checks or Venmo? "Fuck, who cares? I'll figure it out," I asked out loud to no one, and grabbed my clutch before stepping into the hallway.

The suite door stood ajar when I arrived. I hesitated, then stepped into what appeared to be nothing more scandalous than an upscale cocktail gathering. Light jazz played in the background. Not what I expected at all. Elegant couples mingled in the evening wear I'd seen downstairs. Most were gathered in small groups chatting, discreetly surveying the room. All the women were paired with men, so I presumed they were not here with the same intentions as me. Several recognized me and stopped to talk but conspicuously chose to ignore Charlie's absence. They knew.

The suite was huge, but crowded. I noticed two of the three bedroom doors were conspicuously closed, suggesting private scenes unfolding behind them. William was lamentably absent, so without my mentor to guide me, I navigated to the bar, requesting a generous pour of Cabernet. I hadn’t been drinking with Charlie, but I needed some liquid courage now.

The looming debauchery didn’t rattle me. I was prepared, even eager, for that part. It was standing there alone, clothed, waiting for the first bidder without knowing who that was. I struggled to look the part of the composed woman I'd admired in the lobby mirror. I made small talk with a few couples who were oblivious to my intentions.

Fortunately, my isolation didn't last long. A tall gentleman approached, Wayne. Charlie had introduced us downstairs, but he was unsurprised to find me solo. Unlike Charlie's hesitant pawing, Wayne knew exactly how to touch a woman he was paying for. He leaned in, his cologne expensive and understated. "The view from the balcony is spectacular," he murmured, smiling. "Perhaps you'd care to join me where we can... hear each other better."

The balcony was dimly lit, in contrast to the rest of the suite. At the far end, another couple were in a passionate embrace. Wayne guided me into the darkness, his kiss unexpectedly tender. Soon, his hands slipped under my hem. Unannounced, two fingers pushed the thong aside and pressed inside me. I was wet; his boldness aroused me. "What's your pleasure tonight?" I breathed against his mouth. "What will two hundred buy me?" he asked. “Let me show you Wayne,” I answered.

Assuming he was good for the fee, I sank to my knees, unzipping him with expert ease as I'd done many dozens of times as an amateur. I slid the foreskin from his thick, uncircumcised head and swallowed him. Fingering my wedding band, he asked, does your husband know what you are doing? “Of course not, Wayne” I lied, gripping and sucking harder until he spewed down my throat, precluding my opportunity for an additional grand.

Minutes later, when I rose to let him taste himself, he pressed something into my palm; two small red poker chips. "What are these?" I asked, running my thumb over their ridged edges. His eyebrows lifted. "You don't know?" I shrugged. "I expected cash." His laugh was easy. "Red is a hundred, blue is five hundred, and green is a thousand.” As he spoke, I bounced the colors against my price list and visualized the positions I would assume to earn each denomination. “I bought in at the bar,” he continued, “I don't know for certain, but I presume that is how you cash out as well. Good hunting, sweetheart." He kissed me once more, straightened his clothing, and disappeared back into the light. I slipped the chips into my clutch, wiped my mouth, and followed.

From there, I circulated through the room like the hostess, letting each man believe our connection was spontaneous, testing for interest. The routine emerged naturally; witty banter, lingering touches, then whispered suggestions that led to the balcony for a quickie or a vacant bedroom for more elaborate fare. Remarkably, no negotiations for compensation were necessary. I learned that my fee schedule arrived with select invitations.

For my next client, I merely flipped up my cami and braced against the railing, offering myself quickly, while onlookers pretended not to watch in the dim light. I could tell he hadn’t done this before. The furtive glances intensified his experience. That alone garnered an additional blue coin.

For the more discerning gents, I choreographed a seduction. I locked eyes while peeling away our layers. One of mine, two of his, until we both lay naked, like lovers, an illusion of affection rather than commerce. Fellatio, then cunnilingus, then copulation was the sequence. I'd take him in my mouth until he trembled, then guide his head between my thighs. Shamelessly seeking the premium price, I rolled the condoms off before finally taking him inside me, convincing him how much better he was with nothing between us. Passionate moans as I "yielded to his sexual prowess." Gasps growing louder as I felt him surge, my vocal "climaxes" timed perfectly with his, flooding my womb. These men, flush with satisfaction, never hesitated to part with a second or possibly third green token.

The center room became my home port. Between tricks, I'd straighten the bed, then slip away to touch up my makeup and cleanse myself over the bidet, the cool water feeling glorious against my used pussy; everything fresh for my next suitor.

Even the gentle ones succumbed to the temptation of reddening my ass with their palms...for one more blue token of course. Others manhandled me, pushing my limits, making me question what I was doing there. But the payments seduced me to keep spreading my legs, bending over, swallowing, rinsing the evidence from my pubic hair...and repeating. I was hooked on the challenge to elicit just one more coin from each rendezvous.

Late in the evening…or was it early morning? I was sprawled on the duvet, naked, still sullied from my last session. I was deciding when...or if...I was going back into circulation, when the door squeaked open. After some cajoling from her husband, Maria, the doctor's wife I told you about, timidly poked her head in the door.

I'd seen them enter the suite earlier, but they hadn't approached me or asked after Charlie. Only a few guests were seeking my services, but despite my attempted discretion, many were aware. Since we'd spoken after dinner, they’d obviously been told what was up and had finally worked up the nerve to seek me out.

My cami was still folded over a chair, so I slid off the bed, nude, to greet my unanticipated customer. I pressed close and seductively murmured, "Welcome Maria. What can I do for you?" Hesitantly, she looked at her husband, then back to me and asked, "How much is Charlie...paying you to do this?" I paused, searching for the right words. "He's not," I answered, “Your husband is. Or he will, once I find out what you want to do with me." I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her deeply; she didn't pull away. "So? What will it be, Maria?"

She didn't actually respond in words, but minutes later, her exquisite sequined gown lay in a heap beside her expensive silk lingerie and we were in each other's arms. Her breasts were heavy in my hands, and she had a splendidly full bush between thick thighs. With my tongue teasing her clitoris, she squealed, eyes wide, darting between her husband, me, and the small crowd gathering in the open doorway.

This wasn't her first time with a woman, but I could tell by the nervous way her eyes flitted about the room, she'd never performed for others before. I motioned her husband to close the door, trying to remain discreet, but he allowed two of the voyeurs to remain...to watch his wife.

I remembered being in her position once. Vulnerable. Committing the most private of acts with a complete stranger, while other strangers looked on, at the same time, scary and electrifying. Together, Maria and I put on a show even most strippers would envy.

Despite my fatigue, her enthusiasm revived me. The taste of her lingered on my tongue as she writhed against my mouth, her sighs of pleasure unmistakably genuine. When she went down to reciprocate, she seemed unbothered by the taste of latex or the crusty remnants of semen in my pubes.

While she devoured me, her husband reclaimed her from behind. I thought he might share her with the onlookers, but he kept the experience among the three of us, our audience watching intently but not interrupting. With me sucking her tits, I thought they would both explode when he emptied his balls into his wife.

As Maria’s fervor cooled, I regretted the presence of the onlookers; she grew self-conscious and hid her beautiful self in my discarded hotel robe. From beneath the sheets, I watched the newly christened vixen silently dress. Without making eye contact with anyone in the room, Maria just stuffed her panties and bra into her purse. Her husband pressed three green chips into her palm, which she transferred to mine with a final, lingering kiss. "Thank you, Bea," she whispered, then they left me alone with the two voyeurs. "Transaction complete" I thought to myself.

No longer fully motivated, I motioned one of the lingerers to join me on the bed. "What did you have in mind, stud?" I asked. The show with Maria had really piqued his imagination. He flipped me over to watch his friend penetrate my ass, a first for this evening. Then they double teamed me, randomly trading holes. I went through all the motions, moaned on cue, and counted green tokens in my mind.

They were rougher than any of my previous Johns had been. Men with something to prove, who didn't appreciate a woman except as a sperm receptacle. But I rolled with it, embracing the power of their money. I felt the strange contradiction: how the same cash that bent me to their dominance, simultaneously encouraged me to consent to whatever they asked of me.

Following those two back into the party, I decided my night was over. The crowd was thinning out as I reclined on one of the sofas with a glass of Merlot. Several of my new acquaintances kissed me goodnight on their way out.

But as two AM passed, a familiar smile caught my attention. Charlie's son Ron. "Haha, like father, like son," I thought. He convinced me to cash out my tokens and join him with his wife in their suite.

I wish he'd shown up hours sooner. Now, I was tired, so the chance to fulfill his illusive FMF fantasy might be lackluster. Happily, for me, he paid in greenbacks, not tokens.

In their room, his wife's tongue probed where her father-in-law's cock had erupted hours earlier. Ron leaned close, whispering, "Let's keep this between us; my dad wouldn't understand." I bit my lip to suppress a smile. "He had to know...right?" I thought. "He...his wife...were taking his old man's sloppy seconds." Figuratively anyway, because they were way beyond seconds. Or even thirds.

They invited me to stay the night, but I declined. As I had when I finished with Charlie, I slipped my cum-stained cami over my head and walked barefoot to the elevator. My heels were lost somewhere with my thong.

I caught my reflection in the elevator mirror on the way down. No longer the composed woman I'd lionized in the lobby. I had not primped since before Maria. My mascara was smeared, my hair a mess, purple welts bloomed across my neck and breasts where I'd let men mark me as their property.

All told, I walked away with eleven thousand dollars. Not bad for a "mature" woman. But my body felt used. My pussy, my ass, ached. By the time Maria and I played, her tongue on my clit--normally thrilling--felt mechanical, just another transaction in a night that had transformed pleasure into business. Same for Ron and his wife. Like my quickies on the balcony, at least this was all new and exciting for them, as my first hall pass had been for me.

Back in my room, I soaked under the shower... thinking. Ken knew I was here, what I was doing, but I wasn't sure I wanted to relive it with him, as our relationship demanded; certainly not while making love. William would want a report too. Qualms lingered as I considered my conflicted feelings for him.

I strutted into the party empowered and sexy. But now I felt hollow and drained. A gang bang we'd shared years ago had tingled with connection; I was younger then. Tonight's parade of strangers took on the rhythm of an assembly line. No bueno. Maybe we'll talk about high-volume retail sex over some weed...to blur the rough edges from memory.

That said, I don't think my nights as an escort are over though. Fuck, eleven grand? Plus, in the right circumstance, I really liked it. But not this again, not a cattle call. Selective, high class, appreciated. Like I was with Charlie. Yeah, if I continued this side gig, it would be on those terms: the exclusive clientele William finds me. Those who value the experience I offer, not just the holes I provide. I also had to deal with William’s over the top “thing” for me. He was married too, so that was going to be tricky; without blowing everything up.

In the meantime, it was still very early in the morning. After the shower, I snuck through the connecting door back to Charlie's room. He shifted in his sleep as I hung my robe behind the door and slid between the sheets next to him. He probably wouldn’t even know I left...until he saw the marks along my neck and breasts. Would he ask, like my husband would? I hoped not. Would he harden if I told him?

Well, until then, I pressed my naked body against his, savoring the twisted thrill that it was a secret ledger of every man who'd used it tonight--that his son's hands had traced the same curves hours earlier. Thankfully, Charlie was spent. I doubted he could perform again by morning. Hopefully, it will be room service and breakfast in bed.

What mattered was me being here when he woke, ensuring he'd call for me again. If not with Charlie, surely William will find me another chance to unzip my blue velvet dress, let it fall to the floor, and sell what's underneath. Next time I'll do it right.

Valpcupl