Page 9 of Heart of Sin
Half past one in the afternoon.
I really did sleep half the day away. I roll over in the gigantic king-sized bed, expecting a warm body next to mine. Tasha being that warm body.
Instead, there’s nothing but the groove of a body that once was, like a sheet-wrinkled version of a fossil.
Where the hell did she go?!
I spring up from the bed and shoot toward the bathroom.
Empty.
I check the living room.
Empty.
The balcony.
Empty.
Even the walk-in closet.
Fuckingempty.
Last night, after Tasha’s failed blowjob attempt, I’d convinced her to slow down. We sat and drank champagne. We talked. It was chill and casual, the kind of low-pressure situation where I could tell she gradually relaxed into it—or so I thought.
We laughed and listened to music, hung out on the balcony and admired the amazing cityscape view of Vegas, and then passed out in the bed. Every so often, I’d get the vibe she was a second away from protesting, mentioning her services. She’d bite her tongue and return to being in the moment.
My heart falls discovering the empty penthouse.
I didn’t expect some magical new beginning between us come morning. I know it was still a paid experience. But I guess I thought she’d at least hang around for a goodbye?
Have I read her wrong?
Tasha Henson’s intrigued me from the moment I met her years ago when I was Mrs. Falynn’s bodyguard. Believe it or not, I saw some of myself in her—somebody that appeared hard on the outside, but on the inside had tender spots. I watched her closely, and they came out here and there. Usually in moments with Mrs. Falynn; she treated her like a little sister.
Her bad bitch persona is all an act.
Last night only confirmed it for me. Once I got her to stop focusing on servicing me, she let loose a little. She showed more of her real personality.
I could’ve sworn she…
I shake the thoughts away. It doesn’t matter because she left without a fucking goodbye.
She’s offended I didn’t sleep with her.
That’s the only thing that makes sense. She probably thinks I didn’t want her, or that I had some hangup about the encounter ‘cuz she’s an escort.
What she doesn’t understand is that I didn’t want Tasha the escort. I wanted Tasha thewoman. The purring and cooing she was doing—it was all a performance. What she thought I wanted to hear.
It was almost like the Tasha Henson I’d met before had checked out and some sex robot had replaced her. Whenever I tried to draw a real reaction out of her, kissing and touching her to make her feel good too, she’d switch up on me. She reverted to stroking my ego, telling me cliche things she thought I wanted to hear, and even choking herself on my abnormally girthy dick.
It freaked me out.
That’s definitely it. That’s why she dipped out without a goodbye.
She’s offended I turned her down. But it isn’t ‘cuz I’m not attracted to her—just thinking about her gorgeous face and those sexy curves gets my blood pumping. It’s ‘cuz I like for the women I have sex with to enjoy the experience too.
What can I say?