Bought: A Standalone Romance

By: Glenna Sinclair

Chapter One

His hands caress my thighs. I can feel the coolness of his wedding band brush against my skin. I let a perfectly timed moan fall from my crimson lips. It’s a regular Friday night. The man between my legs thrusting away, breathing heavy, face flushed, while I put on an Academy Award-winning performance. And the award goes to…Katie-Lynn!

No one knows me by that name anymore, though. These days, I go by Angela. I’ve always liked the taste of that name in my mouth. Angela. Shorten it to Angel and you’re a porn star, but Angela has a certain sophistication to it.

Escort, call girl, prostitute, whore. I’ve been called everything in the book; feel free to pick one. It doesn’t bother me anymore because I like what I do. For an evening, or a week at most, I have the illusion of being the pampered girlfriend without ever actually having to be one. No left up toilet seats, million questions, or lies. Just money

That’s why I got into this: money. It was too good to pass up. When I first started, I was like every other woman who does the same. I refused to sleep with the clients, refused to even kiss them, but one night, when I had no other choice, I caved. That’s when I realized that if I wanted real money, I’d have to really work for it.

The man on top of me grips my breasts. He pops a nipple between his pink lips before he’s sucking on it as though he’s trying to pull my soul through it. I want to scoff, but instead I arch my back, point my toes. My tongue runs over my upper lip. I can see from the look of concentration on his face that he won’t take long.

Money in hand, I kiss his cheek before I saunter out of the door. Another successful night. I stretch lazily as I get behind the wheel of the red little convertible that I love so much. Pulling out of the parking lot, the only thing I can think of is a hot, relaxing shower. Usually, he doesn’t mind if I use his, but his wife was on the way up from her parents’. There’s no way I want to be caught in the middle of that.

The drive home is a relaxing one. I don’t live far. I could never live too far away from the glitz and glam of the bustling city. Los Angeles. I’ve lived here all of my life, barring a few exotic vacations with some of the more generous gentlemen I’ve encountered, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I like the busy streets, amazing food, and the few people who I’ve come to know and love.

Pulling up in front of my building, I lock up my car and hop out. My heels click against the concrete as I walk up to my building. I sigh. It feels good to be home. I like my high rise building, with its gold accents, marble flooring, and sleek accessories.

“You’re out late again,” a bright voice pipes up from behind the counter.

“Yep, I lead a busy, busy life.”

The gray-haired woman cocks her head, those blue eyes examining me closely. “In that?”

I look down at myself. The black dress that I’m wearing is form-fitting, hugging my curves as if for dear life. The front plunges down low, showing off a mound of olive-toned breasts. Black hair cascades over my shoulder, tickling my skin lightly. Tall heels make me look way taller than I actually am. Self-consciously, I grip the black leather clutch in my hands more tightly. Good ol’ Anne, always the observer.

“Yes,” I nervously chuckle. “It was a party for my friend.”

The woman nods. “Well, you have a good night.”

I wave lightly as I walk towards the row of stainless steel elevators. Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I can see Anne, shaking her head in disapproval. I sigh.

“Well, that was fun.”

My apartment is my sanctuary. It’s a large, loft style apartment decorated in sophisticated red, black, and creams. Downstairs, there’s a large cream sectional couch and a glass table in front of it. The kitchen sits in darkness, as it often does. I haven’t stepped foot in a kitchen in five years; the last time I tried the fire department was at my door.

Upstairs, a large bathroom and huge bedroom take up much of the space. Beside the bedroom, however, is one of my favorite places. My library. It’s stocked full of everything, from self-help to chick lit to the classics. There’s nothing better than curling up in that big red chair, pulling my hair into a bun, and diving into a good book.

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