Disclaimer: We do not own Twilight or a Lamborghini, but we do own...yeah, never mind, we don't own anything but our imaginations in this story. Hope you guys enjoy. See ya at the bottom.
"Your coat, Mr. Cullen."
I turn around to make my way out of the crowd of people. I feel so uncomfortable at these social events but James always makes a point to remind me that I have to show my face from time to time. If I didn't, people would become suspicious of me and even more invasive into my personal life than they already are. So, at least once a month I satisfy him, and all the other fucking nosey people of the world, and I make an appearance. But tonight, I'm done.
I glide through the crowd, deftly maneuvering the people talking in small groups, making eye contact with me as I pass. People assume I'm a germaphobe because I never shake hands. They know to greet me and not touch. People who don't know this rule are expected to learn it quickly or suffer the consequences.
There are women here who are devouring me with their eyes, while the men give me looks of respect mixed with a small amount of fear thrown in for good measure. If they only knew the truth about me, they'd all run the opposite way screaming their heads off.
When I'm finally out the door, I feel relief flood through every inch of my body.
But the feeling is fleeting.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath, realizing that my limo is buried in a line of Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porsches; arrogant mother fuckers. I am reminded of the theory about how a man's vehicle is a representation of his dick. If the theory is true, the men here are flashy and don't know how to use their sports cars' power. My limo is sleek, refined, and I know exactly how to use its power. The more I think about it, the more I'm inclined to believe this particular theory.
"Is this Mr. Stanley's car?" I ask the valet.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Stanley," he nods, in a thick Asian accent.
"Edward, where are you going?" James yells, flying out the door behind me.
"Do you have the keys to your car?"
"Yes," he says, hesitantly. "Look, I don't think you should be driving. You seem worked up or something. Do you even know how to drive a stick shift?" He rambles nervously. "Get Mr. Cullen his limo," he yells at the valet.
"James, the keys."
He knows not to question me, so he hands them over.
"Just be careful. I love this car."
"I probably paid for this car," I say, as I slip into the vehicle. The crisp smell of the Italian leather infiltrates my senses. The seat hugs my body and it feels good to have that kind of contact. I start the car and feel the power as I back out, having a little trouble with shifting the gears. It's been awhile since I've driven a stick. I should get myself a car like this...whatever 'this' is. Cars aren't my thing; they are Rosalie's thing.
Buildings are my thing.
I take off out of the long driveway, letting the car lead me where it wants to go. I haven't been behind the wheel of a car in quite some time and it feels good. Almost good enough for me to forget who I am and what I do.
After driving around for who knows how long, I realize that I have no idea how to get back to the hotel. McCarty takes me everywhere I need to go so I never have the need or desire to remember directions.
Exiting off of the highway, I find myself in a less desirable part of the city. I know this place, though. I've been here before. At the intersection, the car jerks as I try to shift the gears. I'm losing my patience with this piece of machinery, what little bit I have, and quickly.
When I pass through the next stop light, I slow down beside the curb. I notice a few girls traipsing up and down the sidewalk, working for their next meal. I'm no stranger to prostitutes. I occasionally pick one up when I'm in a larger city like Seattle. They are dispensable and cheap entertainment for me. Well, technically, I don't do the picking up. I normally leave that to McCarty. He knows my tastes, knows what I'm looking for. Very seldom am I disappointed and things go as planned...usually. A brief flash of skin and red hair comes to my mind. I take a few seconds to control myself, breathing deeply, before rolling down the window of the passenger door.
Immediately, blonde hair and blue eyes find me.
"Can I help you with something," she asks, leaning through the open window.
"I hope so," I say smoothly. "I'm looking for the Four Seasons. Can you give me directions?" I flash a smile that I know will get me practically anything I want.
"I'd be able to give you better directions from inside the car," she says, suggestively. I normally wouldn't go for the typical blonde hair, blue-eyed bombshell, it's not really my type, but there's something different about her. I want her, and besides, what do I have to lose? She's a prostitute.
I lean over and pull the handle on the door, releasing the lock. "Get in."
Without another word, she slides into the car. I watch her react to the smoothness of the Italian leather, hands gliding over it reverently.
"Nice car," she says, as she shuts the door behind her.
The in surge of air caused by the shutting door, forces her scent toward me. I feel like I'm standing in the ocean and just got taken over by a large tidal wave. I cease my breathing, willing myself to stay in control.
I hear a man yelling from across the street and my guest gets a nervous look on her face. I hear her heartbeat speed up and smell her perspiration.
I think about reaching over, opening the door, and pushing her back out onto the street, but when I look at her, there is desperation in her eyes.
"Can we go, please?" she pleads.
Deciding to take the risk, I try to drive off, but the car stalls. She looks both ways, like she's contemplating getting out of the car and making a run for it. For a moment, I wonder if her subconscious is doing its job, screaming at her to bail. Then, I notice that the man is attempting to cross the busy street and her eyes are watching him. Just as he begins to make his way across, I manage to get the car in gear and peel out.
I see relief wash across her face and for some unknown reason, I feel the same.
She shifts in her seat, her short skirt rising further up her thigh and showing more of her smooth, creamy skin. I take inventory of her body, from her toned legs, to her perky breasts and clear complexion; I can tell that she's not been in the business long. Most of the girls I pick up off the street look good from afar, but up close they leave much to be desired. They're a Monet. Their beauty is an illusion. But this one, this one looks absolutely lovely. My fingers twitch with the need to feel her warm skin. I can smell her, hear her heartbeat. I would have assumed that it would be increasing as we pulled away, due to the fact that she doesn't know me, but as she looks in the rearview mirror and sees the man from across the street fade away, it actually starts to slow, remaining at a steady beat, a soothing rhythm.
The car jerks again as I stop at the next stoplight and I see her look at me out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be caught.
"Did you steal this car?"
"No, I did not steal it. I borrowed it."
"Well, it looks like you're going to need a lot more than directions by the time we get to your hotel."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, I think you left your transmission back there," she nods casually over her shoulder. Her blonde hair catches my eye and I want to touch it to see if it's as soft as it looks. I'd prefer it be longer, so I can wrap it around my hand, but short is okay. It doesn't matter anyway. My view from behind will be virtually the same.
"What's your name?" I ask, watching her eyes look to the left and to the right, like she's trying to come up with the correct answer. There really is no wrong answer; her name is irrelevant. I am just trying to be polite and make small talk, because that's what humans do. I guess I could talk about the weather, but that's rather boring in Seattle. It's either rainy or cloudy or both. There's not much variation.
"What do you want it to be?"
"Don't be coy," I say, ghosting my fingers up the side of her leg, as I reach for the stick shift.
She huffs out a small laugh, crossing her legs. I see her throat move, as she swallows deeply. I know that I have an effect on her, of course I do, but to visually see the effects is always empowering.
"I'll need a name if I'm going to fuck you."
She turns to face me. There is no shock, no surprise, just a blank stare. "Is that what your plans are for the evening?"
"It's going to cost you."
"Money is no object."
The corner of her mouth turns up into a slight smile and then she licks her lips, causing my dick to stiffen even more. I can't help but imagine those lips on me, her warmth enveloping me. My foot gets a little heavier on the gas pedal, as we speed down the road.
"Turn here," she says, when we reach the next light. As I turn the corner, I see the hotel coming into view.
After handing the valet a generous tip to ensure James' car is taken care of, I briefly wonder how I am to get my guest inside my penthouse without drawing too much attention to us. I certainly don't give a fuck what people think of me, but, on the off chance that tonight doesn't end well... the less witnesses, the better.
I'm about to offer the woman my coat when I see her push her arms through a very red but very tasteful leather jacket. The jacket, once zipped, completely covers her halter top and she actually looks like a classy lady rather than the streetwalker she really is.
She must recognize the confused look on my face because she explains herself before I can speak.
"Just because I'm a whore doesn't mean I'm not smart. I know places like this don't rent by the hour."
I can't tell if she is offended or simply blunt.
"I never doubted your intelligence."
"Well, a...shall we say, co-worker of mine named Tanya got her ass thrown in jail leaving a place like this one time and I am no TFD. I learn from others' mistakes."
"Tanya fucking Denali. She's a crazy-ass bitch. You should avoid her the next time you need directions."
I chuckle softly, as I guide her inside the hotel with my hand pressing against her lower back. This one is nothing like the other prostitutes I've hired. I'm going to enjoy myself immensely. I just hope I don't fuck anything up.
As we make our way through the lobby, I hear people talking about the woman at my side. The men want to fuck her, obviously; and the women call her what she is; a whore, but their tone is jealous and envious. I can't say that I blame them. I glance over at her a few times, taking in her appearance. Her platinum blonde hair is quite the contrast to her ivory skin tone and bright red lips. Making my way down her body, the legs that tempted me in the car are even more appealing now that they are stretched out long and lean. Her stiletto heels adding about five inches to her height, making her come about eye level to me. I'll have to make sure she leaves those on later.
When we get into the elevator, the attendant looks at her. His eyes look like those of a predator. He drinks her in as he scans up, and then back down her body. A low rumble comes from my chest as a warning to him. She looks at me with an inquisitive expression, but I do not give her an answer; I keep my eyes on him.
The attendant clears his throat and turns his attention to me, "Good evening, Mr. Cullen."
"Good evening," I say sharply, forcing myself not to snarl and show him my teeth. He needs to know that this is my prey, not his. I feel like marking my territory, so I do. I lean down and inhale deeply right at her neck. Her skin pebbles as my nose brushes the soft skin behind her ear. I place one chaste kiss, before looking back up and making eye contact with the perpetrator. He quickly averts his eyes from us to the floor, never looking up again until the bell dings, signifying that we've reached the top floor.
"The penthouse, sir...ma'am, enjoy your night." He nods his head at her politely, before the elevators close back behind us.
"Wow, I guess there's a first time for everything."
"I'm pretty sure that's the first time anyone has ever referred to me as 'ma'am' before."
"What do they refer to you as?" I ask again, remembering that we never finished the conversation from the car. I slip the card into the slot on the door and open it with ease.
We walk into the suite and I'm still waiting on her answer. I feel my frustration rise, as I turn and glare at her.
"Your. Name." I say through gritted teeth. I'm not used to asking for anything twice. Most of the time, I don't have to ask the first time.
Her eyes widen, as she takes in her surroundings. I realize then that she's not ignoring my demand, but rather is in awe of the room.
"I take it you've never been here before?"
"Um, no." She shakes her head and pulls her lip between her teeth.
She quickly recovers and turns to me with a look of determination on her face.
"What would you like me to do?" Her voice lowers, seductiveness oozing from her, as her hooded eyes gaze up at me through her long lashes.
"What do you do?"
I want her so bad I can taste it. I've never wanted anyone like I want her right now. The feeling is so strong that I almost think about sending her away, afraid that I'm going to lose control, but my desire outweighs any rational thought. My dick presses against the zipper of my slacks, begging for release.
"Well, Bella," I start, thinking how absolutely perfect her name is. "You're about to make a lot of money." Her eyes widen again, staring intently into mine. "On one condition."
She swallows, letting her eyes scan the room, no doubt searching for some sort of alternate exit. I can hear her heartbeat pick up pace, and I can see her chest rise and fall with each deep breath she takes.
I take two steps toward her, but she doesn't budge, she doesn't cower away from me.
"You must do exactly as I tell you."
Her posture is rigid, showing me that she is refusing to back down from a challenge.
I close the distance between us, bringing my hand up to the side of her face. Her cheeks are flushed and the heat coming from her skin almost burns my hand.
I tell her in a low, definitive tone. These are my rules. There is no negotiating, no exceptions. Women play by my rules or they get discarded for someone who will.
Her eyes narrow, as her mouth turns up into a smirk. She darts her tongue out and licks her lips.
"Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," she answers, never taking her eyes off of me.
Jiff: What the what?! Another story?! Are we crazy? I think most of you already know the answer to that question...
Jenny Kate: YES! We're out of our freakin' minds, but you guys already know that and you're okay with it, right? *just nod*
Jiff: As you can tell, this one is nothing like Crash Zone...or anything else we've written so far. We're both excited and nervous to see what you all think!
Jenny Kate: Really really nervous. And excited. But nervous. *grabs a shot of Patron*
Jiff: *clinks shot glass with yours* No worries, JK. This one will be fun, too! Different is good, right?
Jenny Kate: Yes, different is good...I love different. *breathes deeply*
Jiff: Hopefully, our readers love different, too!
Jenny Kate: Please let us know what you think in the reviews! We love hearing from you! We also love our fantastic beta, Fran (aka Sunflower Fanfiction)! Thank you for your red pen work and for the feedback!