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it’s time for you to go. I’ve had what I’ve paid for, and more, sweet girl. I’d think I’d like to sleep now, and you should be home to your bed too. You don’t have any more appointments tonight, do you?’
    ‘No . . . nothing else.’ Something very strange twisted in her mid-section. Yes, she should go now. Before she did or said something very silly. ‘I’m done for the night.’ She got up, wriggled into her knickers as gracefully as she could, then accepted her other things from John’s hands. He’d picked them up for her. ‘I’ll just need a moment in your bathroom, then I’ll leave you to your sleep.’
    She skittered away, sensing him reaching for her. Not sure she could cope with his touch again, at least not in gentleness.
    John stared at the door to the bathroom, smiling to himself, but perplexed.
    You haven’t been working very long, have you, beautiful Bettie?
    How new was she to the game, he wondered. She didn’t have that gloss, that slightly authoritative edge that he could always detect in an experienced escort. She was a sensual, lovely woman, and she seemed unafraid, but her responses were raw, unfiltered, as if she’d not yet learned to wear a mask and keep a bit of herself back. The working girls he’d been with had always been flatteringly responsive, accomplished, a massage to his ego. But there’d always been a tiny trickle of an edge that told him he was really just a job to them, even if they did genuinely seem to enjoy themselves.
    But Bettie seemed completely unfettered by all that. She was full throttle. There was no way she could have fabricated her enjoyment of the sex; there was no way she could have faked the unprocessed excitement she’d exhibited, the response when he’d spanked her luscious bottom.
    She loved it, and maybe that was the explanation. Most whores encountered clients who wanted to take the punishment, not dish it out. Maybe she wasn’t all that experienced in being on the receiving end of BDSM? But she was a natural, and he needed a natural right now. Someone fresh, and vigorous, and enthusiastic. Unschooled, but with a deep, innate understanding of the mysteries.
    He had to see her again. And see her soon.

3
Gorgeous
    ‘Are you out of your mind, you idiot? Just because it’s called “being on the game” that doesn’t mean it is a game. You can’t just play at it, Lizzie!’
    Brent was furious. Lizzie got that. Her male house-mate had been an escort himself, on and off, and her wild escapade with John Smith must seem like a bit of an insult to him, and to men and women who lived the life and took it seriously.
    She looked from one of her companions to the other, hoping for some support from Shelley, the third house-sharer. But Shelley was just gawping at her as if she was a space alien, as if a pod person had overtaken her normally moderately sensible friend.
    ‘I meant to tell him, really I did. But things got a bit passionate, and there didn’t seem to be the right moment.’ Their black tailless cat, Mulder, leapt up onto her lap and automatically Lizzie began to stroke her. The rhythmic action, and the little feline’s soft purr, settled and centred her. ‘Also, it was patently obvious he wanted an escort. Not a one-night stand. No complications, know what I mean? If I’d told him he was mistaken, it might have been, “Oops, sorry, thank you and goodnight” . . . and he was far too gorgeous for that.’
    Gorgeous was too small a word, though. Too simple. John Smith had a plain name but her instincts told her he was a complicated man. Very complicated.
    ‘Ooh, I wish I’d nipped into the bar and seen him.’ Shelley finally found her voice. ‘The party was OK . . . but there wasn’t much talent, and what there was seemed to be taken already. Same old story.’
    Guilt tweaked at Lizzie. Not about John, but about abandoning her friends. If she’d stayed with them, they’d all have found a way to have a laugh, dud party or no dud