Chapter 2

Colt watched Pamela emerge from the ladies’ room and downed another swig of Powerade. I’ve had thousands of guys order hard liquor to calm their nerves. Yet, this is the first time I’ve been able to relate. That body – a roadmap of temptation that could derail a saint – demanded attention, but it was Pamela’s hair that truly bewitched him. A wild, frizzy mane that bounced with each step, and straight out of an eighties rock video. Colt couldn’t tear his gaze away as she shuffled over to the bar and again laughed with Jim. Damnit. Why does he always get first dibs on the new girls? Colt longed to touch that golden mess, to feel the softness of her scalp beneath. I’d love to help her wash it.

This visceral pull was foreign to him. Lisa? Jenny? The names surfaced and sank in his mind, leaving barely a ripple. Not even close. Why was Colt so drawn to this turnout when he already had the pick of the litter?

Gonna be balls deep in Blake soon. Chick needs a refresher in customer satisfaction. Fresh fish is all you.

“I would love to go with you sometime. To Vegas, I mean. Maybe you could teach me some gambling tricks.”

Colt turned back to Sherilyn. Yet the text he’d just received from his father knotted his stomach. Oh, poor Blake. How could Colt even respond to that? William’s “refresher courses” were notorious, a thinly veiled excuse to get his rocks off. The old man took advantage of all the girls on a routine basis, wielding the threat of termination like a guillotine blade. And if they didn’t comply ... well, there was always a line of applicants eager to fill the vacancy, unaware of the true price of admission.

Applicants like Pamela.

Oh, hell no. Not her. Not this time. I’ll be damned if I let Dad sink his claws into her.

“I’m free tomorrow. I mean, if you’re going. It’s my day off. I know it’s yours too.”

Sherilyn was practically standing on top of Colt. Her glossy, straight brown locks draped over her shoulders, highlighted by a few deliberately styled curls. Colt snuck another glimpse of Pamela. What the hell was going on? When was the last time he scoffed at the idea of traveling to Vegas? With a woman like Sherilyn on his arm, Sin City always promised a temporary reprieve from the numbing reality of the brothel and his father’s overbearing specter.

He again eyed the blonde nestled across from Jim. “Ehh, I’m sorry, Sherilyn, but not tomorrow. Think I’ll relax and simply take it easy around the house.” Colt stood and walked away, leaving Sherilyn to stare after him, jaw dangling. He raised his Powerade in the direction of the new girl. “Miss Prescott?” Did Dad really refer to her as a ‘fresh fish?’ “There’s been a change of plans. Come with me. I’ll be handling your interview personally.”

Oh my God, those arms. And that stubble. Damn, he’s hot. Walking in these new platform heels was akin to balancing the trapeze. Oh, Pamela noticed that Colt had given Sherilyn the cold shoulder. Yeeesh, if looks could kill, I’d be dead. She angled one more glance toward Sherilyn while exiting the bar alongside Colt. Sorry, honey, but all’s fair in love and ... whatever this is.

Memories of Roger Lopez, her high school sweetheart, flashed through Pamela’s mind. Rough, rugged Roger, with his letterman jacket and... nope, forget boys. I’m ready for a man. Colt’s hands were big and looked very ... warm. She wondered what they’d feel like running up her leg. Mr. Sexy Scruff has to be twice my age, right? Hmm.

Yet, what was the deal with her too? You’re here for a job, to solidify your future; not a hookup. At eighteen, Pamela already felt jaded, having given hundreds of lap dances to random strangers in that Baltimore strip club, even offering the ones she felt comfortable with a much more intimate service. I’ve fucked seventeen guys since my birthday in January. Their faces blurred together, a montage of sweaty, groping hands and crumpled bills.

Pamela squared her shoulders. From now on, everything she did would be legal. No more sneaking into shady rooms and perhaps risking my life. No more heart-pounding walks past hotel security or lying to her mother about where she’d been all night. No more praying that the john who’d just paid her wouldn’t turn violent.

Happy Ending Ranch may not have looked glamourous, but it was sanctioned, protected. Here, she’d have people to back her up, security cameras, the leeway to do what she enjoyed most. Getting paid to have sex? Priceless. For the first time in months, Pamela could finally relax, knowing she’d made it to Nevada safe and sound.

This is it. The fresh start I needed. The irony of finding freedom in a brothel wasn’t lost on her. If only my old school counselor could see me now. “So, how does this interview thing work?”

An interview Colt could handle on his own? “First thing’s first. We’ll need to go through some paperwork.” He’d been present for and presided over thousands of interviews through the years, but his father always led them. William was too busy now, right?

Balls deep in Blake?

“Typical stuff. Medical history, emergency contacts, that sort of thing.” Colt handed Pamela a clipboard with all the necessary disclosures. “Why don’t you fill that out first? We’ll chat after.” The recliner squeaked and strained under his frame.

“Okay. Here? Or do you want me to fill this out in the bar?”

“Wherever you want. It takes just a few minutes.”

Okay, this is weird. Should I sit? Leave? For a beat, neither Pamela nor Colt moved. Her mind raced, but her body refused to cooperate. Colt, for his part, seemed just as lost. It wasn’t awkward, wasn’t electric. It was ... something else. Something new. Two celestial bodies caught in each other’s orbit, the air humming with potential energy, a quiet chaos.

Pamela blinked, the spell broken. Get it together, girl. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clipboard in hand, and cleared her throat. “Okay, then.”

Now it was Colt’s turn to gawk as Pamela leaned over the desk, pen scratching against paper. Her handwriting bloomed all across the form – looping curves and exaggerated dots, like she was signing a high school yearbook instead of official work documents. The youthful exuberance of her script seemed out of place amid the grim reality of the brothel, a splash of innocence in a world that never had any of its own.

Colt’s gaze drifted lower. The white crop top strained against the swell of her breasts, its fabric thin enough to showcase the outline of her nipples, pebbling in the air conditioning. Though he knew he should look away, he couldn’t. Pamela glanced up, catching him red-handed. A knowing smile played on her lips.

“Okay, that was easy.” She set the clipboard on the desk and Colt snapped back to reality.

He scanned the form, mentally checking off boxes: eighteen, single, no kids, clean bill of health, high school diploma, Maryland native. Nothing unusual jumped out, but experience told him these papers never shared the true story. He put the clipboard back down and studied her face. “Thanks. So, Pamela, what are you here for? What brings you to Flagstone?” His jaw ticked. “Gonna be blunt here.”

A part of him recoiled at what he was about to say, but William’s icebreaker rose to his lips, crude and crass as it was, a verbal sledgehammer designed to expose raw nerves and break lesser women. “Why’s a beautiful girl like you looking to whore herself out?”

Jim did not cease pleasuring himself in Sherilyn’s sight, noticing her eyes go from his lap to face. “Come over here and kneel before me, honey.” With his right hand, he stroked his cock, and with his left he cupped his scrotum. “Look, I’m sorry Colt was such an inconsiderate jerk, but I got something here for you.”

“I’m fine, and he’s not. He’s just not interested in me the way I wish he was, I guess.”

Jim watched Sherilyn plod toward him, shoulders slumping, and once again marveled at her radiant beauty. His hand flashed up and down on his dick faster, harder, more intense. He was in serious danger of coming, he realized, so slowed his ministrations as Sherilyn closed the distance and obeyed. “Suck now, sweetheart, with that perfect little mouth of yours, and I’ll help you forget all about Colt.” Jim shoved his pants further down, far enough not to be in his way or, more importantly, her way.

“That’s it. That’s good, Sherilyn. Oh, honey. Hell, yes.”

Carrie Johnson – Sherilyn – was a woman made for fucking. She was made for the whorehouse. Oh, how devastatingly fast Jim could fall back into the old familiar. William says to take whatever we can get from these girls, whatever they offer us. His legs tensed up and toes curled as her tongue met his balls with slow, sweeping licks.

Sherilyn lifted her face and smiled wide before spitting onto his cockhead. Such a dirty girl. The saliva streamed from her lips to his flesh.

“God, fuck. You’re incredible.” Jim’s fingers wound in her hair and coiled tight. “Fuck. So good.”

Sherilyn lowered her face upon his lap, her eyes fixated on his. Her tongue flicked against Jim’s length as it disappeared behind her gaping lips. They sealed as she accepted him into her throat with a muffled moan.

“Fuck yes.” Jim watched her cheeks sink inward as her tongue massaged him. “Like that. Just like that.”

Sherilyn’s efforts, especially her willingness, impressed him. This was the response of a born prostitute. Every gurgling gasp and cough and clutch of her fingers as she gripped at Jim’s hips tickled his sadistic side. Yes, just a whore. Sherilyn’s mouth was stretched wide as she’d become the sheath he thrust his dick into.

“That’s it, hold it. Hold it there.” Jim’s balls burned hot and tight against her chin, the wiry spring of his pubic hair tickling her lips as he remained deep and motionless, preventing Sherilyn’s next breath while the strain in her jaw grew into painful discomfort.

Three years ago, Sherilyn stumbled into Happy Ending Ranch like a duckling swept up in a sandstorm, all wide eyes and nervous energy. Fresh off a falling out with her family, William took a liking to her innocence, that sweet, silky-smooth voice.

Nowadays, that voice had transformed; it was smoky and hypnotic, a slow burn that could melt the resolve of even the most steadfast monger. The change was as believable as it was inevitable – after all, Sherilyn had serviced over 600 clients, each encounter adding another layer to her hardening shell.

Gone was the trembling fawn; in her place stood a seasoned professional, as comfortable in her new skin as a viper basking in the desert sun. Yet sometimes, in the quiet moments between clients, a flicker of that lost girl would surface in Sherilyn’s eyes, a ghost of innocence long buried under the weight of countless transactions.

“Why doesn’t Colt like me?” She reared up and spat several times onto Jim’s cock. She didn’t wipe her messy mouth, either, though her lips did purse for a brief moment. “All he sees when he looks at me is a piece of ass.”