Confessions of an Alli Cat (3 page)

I don’t answer.  I just return my attention to the man in the mirror.  The guy staring back at me is confident, worldly and sexy as hell.  He’s comfortable in the starched penguin suit and he can charm a woman’s Victoria Secret panties right off of her. 

He’s Shade.  And Shade is a fucking rockstar.

“You about ready?” Chaz cocks an eyebrow at me and waits impatiently.  “You’re such a fucking girl,” he mutters beneath his breath.

I glance at him.  He’s sitting on a red velvet lounge to my left, his short legs thumping restlessly against the wooden legs.   He’s just a short little guy.  I don’t see what women see in him.  As he waits, he grabs a mint from the silver dish beside him and plunks it into his mouth, adhering to one of our rules. 
Always have fresh breath, but never chomp on gum
. 

This dressing room is plush, quiet and meant to be calming.  Most of my colleagues (and I use that term loosely) don’t need to be calmed.  They’ve been doing this for quite a while. I’m the new kid on the block, the youngest and newest on the team.  I’ve only been doing this for six months, but I’ve done it every weekend, which makes twenty four weekends of this.  Of
dates.
 

That’s what we call them.  Dates. 

I smile to myself because dates in high school or even college were never like this.  The vague memory of clutching and groping at each other in parked cars in dark alleys with fogged up car windows comes to mind and I almost laugh. 

My life has certainly progressed. 

Ever since my friend Adam introduced me to this job, my life has changed for the better.  I no longer have to beg money from my old man and live by his rules.  I can pay my own way because I make a LOT of money by doing something that I love.  And that means that I don’t have to get the freaking business degree that my father wanted me to get.  I have no interest in that.  I don’t really know what I’m interested in yet, but it’s sure as hell not business.

The man in the mirror smiles at me, confident and ready.  He’s 6’1” and his dark hair is tousled. He shakes it out of the way to reveal his dark blue eyes.  Cobalt, some women have called them.  Whatever the fuck that is.  Whatever it is, I’m good with it. They seem to like it.

“Ready,” the man in the mirror says and I turn to face Chaz.

I’m Shade now.  And Shade is ready for anything. Anytime, anywhere.

I grab a mint on the way out. 

I’m a fucking rockstar.

We make our way down the back halls of Utopia.  Only customers paying the high escort prices will ever see these halls and the rooms adjoined to them.  It still astounds me that women would pay that sort of money just to have sex with a man.  I mean, hell.  Women can always get it if they want it.  They don’t have to pay for it. 

Yet these women do.  They hand over their credit cards without blinking, simply because they want to have no-strings-tied sex with me.  They like getting to tell me exactly what they want and knowing that I won’t judge them for it.

Even though there is some freaky, kinky shit going on here.  Stuff I never even knew existed until I came to work here.

I adjust my jacket as I walk past the closed doors.  I don’t hear anything from behind them.  The doors and walls are thick here for a reason. 

Complete anonymity.  Utopia promises that to its patrons.  The women who walk through these halls must wear a velvet blindfold until they are safely ensconced in a bedroom with a closed door.  It protects the identity of them and of anyone else that they might see. 

The halls are red with textured wallpaper.  The wall sconces are dimly lit and it creates a seductive atmosphere, even though the patrons never see these particular walls.  I walk through with ease now.  I’m Shade.  And Shade never gets nervous.

We reach the doors that lead out to the main club, the normal face of Utopia.  Normal people who just want to drink and dance are out there, dancing like fools on the dance floor with their neon green wristbands flashing in the dark.  The guards who stand at each side of the back hallway know not to let anyone wearing a green wrist band in.  Of course, no one without an escort can get in, period.

It’s very exclusive.

And that makes
me
very exclusive.  I straighten my shoulders.  When I am here, inside the walls of Utopia, I act differently.  I know no fear, I have no boundaries.  I am always up for anything.

I am always hard, always ready.  It’s what they pay me for.

We make our way through the throngs of sweaty people and come out of the front doors just in time to find two women getting out of shiny black limo.  At first, all I can see are slender legs.  The woman that they are attached to spreads them slightly before she climbs out, purposely giving us a clear shot of her bare crotch.

Classy.

She’s skinny and pale with a strikingly short fire-engine red hair cut. She’s rich and she’s definitely used to commanding attention.  I can tell that from here.  She’s fine to look at, but honestly, I find my attention captured by the beautiful woman climbing out behind her.

Sweet Jesus.

It’s at times like this that I truly, truly love my job.

I offer her my hand, helping her from the car. 

She’s fairly tall for a chick, and slender, but she’s got womanly hips and a perfect rack.  She’s wearing a short, barely there skirt and a shirt that perfectly shows off her lush, full cleavage. 

I wasn’t expecting this when they told me that my client tonight was in her mid-thirties. This woman has a tight, tight body.  She must work out.  Dark brown hair curls around her shoulders and from the way she is staring, I know she is here for me.

Thank you, God.

“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” I tell her.  And I mean it.  She looks instantly more relaxed as a small smile curves her lips. 

“Shade?” she asks, her voice fairly quiet. She’s hesitant, nothing at all like her bordering-on-obnoxious friend.   I bend to kiss her hand.  That’s another rule. 
Always pamper your date. 

They certainly pay a high premium for it.

She smiles and the darkness around us lights up. 

I smile back. 

“I’m Shade,” I confirm.  “And you must be Allison.”

“You can call me Alli,” she says.  I can see she’s nervous.  Another rule:  Always make your date comfortable.

“Well, Alli,” I tell her with a confident grin, “Welcome to the best night of your life.”

She smiles back radiantly, but I can still see a little of her shyness lurking there.  It’s charming and I hold my arm out.

“Shall we?” I ask. 

She nods, her lips tightening just a bit.  She’s definitely nervous.

As we walk, I lean in, my lips grazing the sensitive skin by her ear.  She smells of a classy perfume. I don’t know what it is. Whatever it is, it makes me want to lick her. 

“Relax,” I murmur to her.  “You’re going to enjoy yourself.  I promise.”

She looks at me, her hazel eyes meeting mine. 

“I have no doubt.”

We thread our way through the thumping, noisy club.  Allison’s fingers are resting lightly on my arm and I guide her through the crowds.  When we get to the private back hallway, Chaz and his date stop while he blind-folds her.  She waggles her fingers at Allison, calling “Enjoy yourself, love!” over her shoulder. 

I turn to Allison with the blindfold in my hand. 

“Is that really necessary?” she asks uncertainly. 

“What?” I ask.  “Blindfolding you?”  She nods and I step behind her. 

I trail my fingers over the skin of her breasts slightly.  She sucks in her breath and I lean in once again to whisper in her ear.   “Trust me.  You’ll like it.”

I tug the blindfold until it is tight, then wrap her fingers once again around my arm as I lead her through the halls and to a private room.

This is going to be fun.

Chapter Three

(Or: Am I Really Freaking Doing This?)

Alli

Holy freaking Hell. 

I’m internally having a panic attack because I’ve never been blind-folded before.  And here I am, letting a beautiful gigolo blindfold me and lead me away to his sex nest.

“Breathe, Allison,” the beautiful gigolo tells me in my ear.  His voice is husky and rich, like hot caramel or warm maple syrup...or even better, like melted chocolate.  I swallow, instantly hungry and turned on at the same time.

“Okay,” I agree, trying to force my traitorous lungs to fill with air. 

They are having none of it though and I gasp like an idiot, even though the blindfold is velvet and satin.  It’s hardly uncomfortable, but it still makes me anxious.   What is waiting for me that he needs to blind me for?  Weird whips and chains?  Hand cuffs and ben wah balls? 

Holy freaking hell.

I am practically panting when I hear a door being unlocked with the swipe of a card.  I hear it click and then a doorknob turning.  Then I am being gently pulled into the sex nest.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

What have I done?

I’m in a freaking sex nest!

I’m too old for this shit.

Then the blindfold is taken off.

And I am surrounded by luxury.   By heavy, expensive furniture. By thick and cushiony duvet covers and pillows.  By opulent decorations in crystal and mahogany.  By sheer normalcy in this room. 

Sheer.

Freaking.

Normalcy. 

I’m shocked.

And I must look it, because Shade turns to me and laughs.

“What?” he grins.  “Were you expecting something else?”

“Yes,” I admit.  “I don’t know what.  But not this.”

“Perhaps this?” Shade suggests and pushes a button on the wall.  A door on the ceiling slides silently open and a sex swing drops down, dangling at the edge of the bed. 

I gulp as I realize that it looks like a noose… a noose that I’m probably going to hang myself with.

“Maybe,” I answer.

I examine it closer.  It’s terrifying.  It looks like a contraption of torture, like something out of Morticia and Gomez Addams’ bedroom.  The harness is lined with cushiony velvet.  But it still doesn’t look comfortable. And maybe not even legal.  I gulp again.

Shade laughs again. 

“Nervous?”

I nod. 

“Don’t be,” he tells me, his voice buttery smooth.  He moves closer to me and I unconsciously step back.  He grins again. And I suddenly feel like a lion and its prey. “We don’t have to use it.  Yet.”

Shade throws back his head and laughs and I am once again reminded that I am the visitor here.  I am the prey, he is the lion.  This is his stomping ground, his Serengeti.  He knows what he’s doing and I don’t, even though I’m almost twenty years older than he is.  Probably.

I narrow my eyes.

“How old are you?” I ask.

Shade stops laughing and examines me.

“Oh, now, Alli,” he murmurs, taking a step toward me.  “Age is just a number, you know.  I promise you that tonight, my age or even your age, will be the last thing on your mind. In fact, hopefully, when I’m finished with you, you’re going to have a hard time remembering your own name.”

I have to smile at that, right after I pant for a second.  But I gain control, turn to Shade and grin what I hope is a calm and confident grin.

“Oh, really?  You’re that sure of yourself?”

Shade shrugs.  “I have to be.  If you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will do it for you.”

“That’s a good point,” I nod. “Very mature.”

“I’m very, very mature.  Now come here,” he instructs.  “Tell me what you’d like.”

My heart pounds so loudly that I’m sure he can hear it from there.  Hell, Canada can probably hear it.  I blink hard then take a step.

“I was married for fifteen years to a guy who was luke-warm in bed at best.  I honestly don’t know what I like.”

Shade puts one beautiful finger against his mouth, which is also beautiful, and appraises me silently for a moment.

“Hmm,” he finally says, his cobalt eyes twinkling.  “It sounds like you need me to show you want you want.  And you’re in luck.  Because here at Utopia, we have a 100% Customer Satisfaction policy.  That means that I must do everything in my power to make sure you’re satisfied.  In every way.”

Shade stares at me, his gaze intense and sexy and mind-blowing.

He takes a step forward.

I take a step back. 

Lion and prey. 

Lion and prey.

I’m like a little wounded gazelle. 

In stilettos. 

And that means that I can’t run.

Fuck.

I pant again.

“You’re fine,” Shade assures me softly, watching me and appraising me while probably plotting how to capture me.  “Why don’t you sit on the bed—I’ll be back in a second.”

He turns around and steps into a room that I didn’t notice before.  It has to be the bathroom.  He pokes his head back around the corner.

“And you might want to make yourself comfortable.”

He’s gone again.

Make myself comfortable?

What does he mean by that?

Take my clothes off??

Good Lord.  I glance down at my outfit which feels like it has shrunk two sizes in the last two minutes- probably due to the fact that I can’t seem to breathe.  I probably shouldn’t have worn shapewear that is thick enough to hold in a middle-aged guy’s beer gut. 

Holy shit.

The shapewear. 

Why did I wear freaking shapewear?? 

I scramble to get it off.  I can’t have beautiful and perfect Shade undress me and find this hideous beige undergarment. I’d be too humiliated to ever look at him again, much less orgasm under his very skilled fingers. 

And I’m just guessing about that last part- but I’m certain that he’s skilled.

He’s a professional, after all.

Did I mention HOLY SHIT?

I fly into motion and kick off my stilettos so that I can unpeel the fricking shapewear from my mildly damp torso. I can’t believe I’m sweating.  I’m sure that the perfect and gorgeous Shade never sweats. And all the thinking about sweating makes me wonder if I smell.