The Mother Beforehand Read online

  “Why, Mister Spooner!”

  He slipped his cock inside her.

  His lips found hers, hot and eager.

  Nicole’s eyes closed and her head, against the shed, rolled back an inch, breath now heaving through her mouth.

  The position was awkward with Nicole being short and Clive being tall, so after a few clumsy but intoxicating thrusts, he picked her up and pinned her.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and they fell into rhythm.

  “Shut up and let me fuck you,” he growled.

  Nicole tried to reply, but couldn’t catch her breath; Clive was about to make her come. His cock was big but not too big — the perfect size to send nerves racing her. She was lightheaded. It was all she could do to hang onto him, the shed wall rough against her skin, clawing her nails into his back.

  She came with a silent scream into his shoulder’s flesh, the orgasm a hammer, her teeth branding a semicircle into his skin.

  Clive was thrusting, inching closer himself. But just when Nicole thought he’d end their risqué but otherwise vanilla encounter in a more traditional way than was typical for his adventurous nature, he said, “Get on your knees, Nicole. I want to come on your face.”

  It was a porny thing to say — the sort of act that she’d do on a glass table to please her spectators. But Nicole could hear only lust, could surprisingly feel herself responding and eager to comply. In her personal life, it wasn’t something she’d normally want — but Clive was Clive, and this was one of the simplest limits he pushed. His will was strong. That in itself was an intense turn-on.

  Nicole pushed Clive away, feeling his shaft slip out of her tight pussy. She spun him so that his back was to the shed. Knowing he was close, she began jerking his dick with her hand, falling to her knees, adding her mouth, taking his whole length, moving at a frenzied pace as his eyes closed.

  He bucked and thrust against her.

  At the last moment, she pulled it out of her mouth, closed her eyes, and continued to pump his throbbing shaft until warmth covered her cheeks and mouth. After the first few seconds, she felt safe to open her eyes for his final throes, opening her mouth to take the last pulses on her tongue.

  As Clive’s breath returned to normal, she milked the final drops from his tip. Then he pulled up his trunks and shifted her bottoms back into place.

  “You’re one of a kind, Nic. Everything you do makes me hard, or makes me laugh.”

  She wanted to laugh, but it was too close to the bone. Laughing now would be a strange admission that she wanted to be more than Clive’s fuck toy. She could be a slut for him. She could be a companion. But she didn’t want to admit how pleased the twin ideas made her — because this was business, and Clive was a client.

  “I’ve met a lot of women here. But you?” Clive said, “You’re the only one worth taking away from the island.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  September 12, 2035 — District Two

  Nicole would have said it was impossible to get horny between the ears, but here she was: worked up, turned on, emotionally moved, and star struck.

  The table was decked with fine linen. Those in the Voyos hotspots were similarly bedecked, but she’d only seen those from above. Escorts sat at the tables with their clients (before meeting Clive, she used to watch him with Alexa Mathis, of all people) but not table girls, even when they freelanced while the spa turned its head. Nicole had always entertained clients in the public areas, a cabana, or inside her small house, even though she could feel her modest living being judged by the wealthy men she brought home. She was a fuck toy, not a showpiece.

  At least not until now.

  She was wearing long green gloves that perfectly matched her dress. A gift from Clive (he knew her sizes even though Nicole clipped the tags; it was something that melted her should-be-all-business heart), but if she had to guess, the price might have been enough to feed an average American family for a year or more.

  There were times to be socially responsible (God knew, Nicole had been at the bottom not long ago), but tonight wasn’t one of them. She wore an extravagant dress and equally extravagant heels, with what she suspected was an obscene weight of diamonds dangling from her ears. Clive had even given her a necklace whose sparkle and weight belied untold wealth — although that one, he’d said, was only on loan. The rest of what she wore was hers forever.

  They’d been at the Layback Lounge for several hours now, and their meal had yet to arrive. It was the kind of night that went on forever, and no one remotely cared. It was hard to imagine eating a full meal now, after several rounds of extravagant appetizers, pre-dinner desserts, and a gratis plate of something delicious that Nicole didn’t recognize — sent from a wealthy table of Spooner fans who “just wanted to say thanks.”

  She’d heard of famous people planting gifts — telling a waiter to send something supposedly from a fan to look better in front of a date — but Nicole couldn’t picture Clive doing that. He played down his fame and had plenty to make him look good without gaming a thing.

  After all that food, dinner should have been ridiculous. But before the treats had started coming, the white-gloved waiter brought small pink pills on a small white plate with fluted edges. She’d seen it before but had never been main-stage enough to partake. It was EndLax, the “gluttony pill.” A person on EndLax could eat all the fine food she wanted and never get full, never gain weight. It was a middle finger to the starving poor — a way of saying, We’re so rich that it amuses us to stuff ourselves while watching you die.

  “Are you having a good time?” Clive asked Nicole.

  He was dressed in a custom-tailored tuxedo. Nicole couldn’t have described how Clive’s tux differed from the other man’s (a connection of Clive’s named Isaac Ryan, who’d excused himself after the final number onstage), but it was definitely different. Clive’s tuxedo was finer. Better. Much, much more expensive. She didn’t see Clive dressed up much when they were on Voyos because they couldn’t enter the high-end restaurants and clubs together, but he dressed up whenever they were off-island, which they’d been doing a lot over the last few months.

  Nicole kept warning herself not to read into those off-island trips (he was simply hiring a fuck on the mainland rather than keeping his money in the spa), but it was hard not to be swept away. She dripped in fine couture and jewelry, he looked dapper on her arm. They dined on the most exquisite food and went to world class concerts.

  If she was supposed to resist and stay distant, this man was making it impossible.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not at all.” Clive’s proper British bearing was on full display. His demeanor slid along a continuum with his clothing. The finer the threads, the more crisp, polite and upstanding he behaved. On the other end, the more casually or sparsely he dressed in private, the more he was like an animal, enjoying pleasure and mutual satisfaction as much as debasement and risk. And the things he had access to… toys she’d never seen, that Clive said wouldn’t be on the market for years? It made her nervous to let him use them on her, but after a fine night out, she was always too spellbound to refuse.

  “Yes, Clive.” Nicole heard the decorum in her own voice, then almost laughed as she caught herself dabbing at the corners of her lips like an old movie debutante. “I’m having a …” She decided to embrace it. “… a lovely time. A splendid, marvelous time.”

  Clive regarded her before speaking. Then: “It’s too fancy for you, isn’t it?”

  Nicole could have taken offense, but Clive wasn’t implying she was too uncultured for such an affair. This was a kinder sentiment — one that painted them both as grounded people who were above such lavish displays. But in truth, Nicole didn’t feel “above it” at all. She wanted more, and more, and more. She wanted Clive to make love to her — not fuck her — on a bed of rose petals.

  “It’s lovely.” This time she softened the pompous word enough to make it genuine. She touched his arm, feeling the silky thread cou
nt of his tuxedo. “It’s too much, Clive. You don’t need to impress me. You should have saved the money.”

  “Pish posh. I’m worth a bajillion.”

  “Is that an exact amount?”

  “It is. And if you like elegance, I can shower you with it. Believe me, I know nicer places than this. I only chose the Layback because—”

  “It’s perfect, Clive. I love it.” She leaned forward and kissed him, then immediately wished she could take the kiss back. She was an escort. An escort. An escort.

  “And you liked seeing Natasha perform? Even here?”

  Nicole almost laughed at the way Clive said “even here,” but then realized he was probably serious. As nice as the Layback looked to Nicole, it was probably a bargain-basement dive to him — maybe even to their absent drinks companion Isaac, who dressed well but was clearly just coming up in the world.

  Nicole let her voice fill with wonder. “I saw Natasha Thomas live. Wow.”

  Clive allowed himself an agreeable frown. “She was magnificent, wasn’t she? That woman will be huge one day. Her heart was bleeding through "Down Deep." That melody will haunt me for days.”

  “That one’s my favorite,” said Nicole.

  Clive nodded. “Mine as well. I adore it. Mark my words, Nic — her days of performing unappreciated are coming to an end. I haven’t watched her as closely as you have, but I’ve seen enough to appreciate that the heart of Natasha Thomas is exactly what the world needs right now.”

  “America, you mean.”

  Clive glanced at her quickly but didn’t reply, and for a moment Nicole wondered if she’d said too much. She kept forgetting that she was here as arm candy, and later his carnal companion. But they’d been … well, dating, she supposed … for nearly a year now, and someone like Clive Spooner wouldn’t devote that much time to a stupid little girl. He wanted her smart, right? He kept saying that he liked her quirkiness, her humor, her inability to be anything other than her slightly dorky self in private. And he liked her mind.

  “I suppose the whole world needs her message,” he finally said, “but unfortunately, America is the only country poised to hear it. Well, North America, anyway. Did you get word, out on Voyos, that they’ve unofficially closed the borders to ships from the East?”

  “We don’t pay a lot of attention to the news at the spa.”

  “I try to keep an eye on my merry old England, but I fear she’s done for good. And now, I can’t visit. Not if I expect to be allowed back here.” He blinked. “Hang on. Why are we talking about such sad affairs?”

  Clive had snapped himself out of his own reverie, but she’d been trapped inside it, too. She’d been thinking of the closed borders, of the fall, of the need for the now-isolated new world to care only for its own if it hoped to go on alone. America would need heart to survive. They’d all need each other, and love, and family. Especially family.

  Nicole blushed. Had she really felt an urge to lament once again that she’d never have children? Had she really believed, in this quiet, luxurious moment between her and Clive, that the man who paid to fuck her might want to hear her whine about family and babies all over again?

  “You were talking about Natasha’s message,” she said, covering her stutter.

  “Yes. Well. I have an ear for such things. Part of the reason I’ve thrice been able to build an empire. And I’ve told you about the Quark project I’m backing.”

  “Crossbrace.”

  Clive looked around, his head darting side to side.

  “The unannounced, secret Quark project,” he whispered.

  Nicole put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nobody believes in it anyway. I’m testing the waters, speaking with authorities in the field. People who claim to be forward-thinking. They think it’s absurd. Mostly, they fret about privacy. But tell me: how can the network respond to us constantly, in all places, without knowing everything about us and our environment? And I say this as a man whose fortune was built on a chip that protected privacy. If I can come around, can’t anyone?”

  Nicole, unsure what to say, shrugged.

  “And what does privacy matter,” Clive continued. “When it’s only your own privacy, exposed to you, for your own betterment? It’s not published. Noah West assures me that the encryption Quark is putting into play—”

  “Philistines,” said Nicole, propping her chin in her hands.

  Clive looked over at her, then stopped mid-rant. “Sorry. I’m boring you.”

  “I can’t believe you got me in to meet Natasha Thomas.”

  “I was trying to woo you. To impress you with the hopes that you’ll sleep with me.”

  “It’s working.”

  “You’re a champ to come away with me. I do try to make it worth your while.”

  Nicole almost choked on her tongue. First, she was the one being taken care of here, not him. If anyone was being granted an extravagant favor, it was her. Second, he was paying her handsomely for every hour she was away — “time and a half,” he’d said with a smile. Third, he’d paid for a trip to a city she might never have visited, for a dinner she could never afford, before a concert with her idol. He’d dressed her in fine clothes and jewelry. And fourth, although it made her nervous to deceive the spa, Clive had insisted that security surrounding him necessitated her off-island trips remain off-record. Her immediate co-workers knew she was gone but not why, and through a “fortuitous glitch” (Clive’s words), the spa’s central schedule knew nothing. It meant she’d still get paid for performing on tables even though her cubicle would stay empty for over a week.

  If all Clive wanted was sex, there were much easier ways to get it.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard when we get back to the hotel,” she said.

  Clive’s eyebrows rose. Nicole pressed on.

  “I know a girl in diamonds shouldn’t say such crass words to a man in a tuxedo at a table filled with expensive food. Believe me, I’d rather not say it under the circumstance. But it’s true, so I must.”

  Clive looked toward the door, probably to see if Isaac was returning.

  “Such naughty words,” he said.

  And with that, Nicole knew she was in for a night indeed. The experimental toys and perversions he’d been presenting her with lately (some of which, he’d said, would one day “talk to Crossbrace,” whatever that meant) pushed even her generous boundaries. But so far she’d gone along with whatever Clive wanted because he was the client.

  Not because she might be falling for him.

  Not because she wanted to please him, no matter what.

  “If you’d like,” Nicole purred, “I could say those ‘naughty words’ in a dignified accent like yours.”

  “Please don’t,” Clive said.

  Nicole wasn’t good at voices. It was always embarrassing, but she was never wise enough, in the throes of humiliating herself, to stop. Or to realize she should be embarrassed.

  “I’m going to fock you so haaaaad …” she began.

  The waiter arrived mid-sentence to save Nicole from herself, but not before Clive’s lap stirred with reluctant life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  August 22, 2037 — Voyos Island

  “Nanobots,” Nicole said, staring at the pen-like device.

  Clive held the object toward her, but she didn’t want to take it.

  “Yes, love.”

  “Meaning ‘tiny robots.’ You want to inject me with tiny robots. They’d be inside my body.”

  A familiar, charming smile appeared on Clive’s lips. It was out of place, failing to respect Nicole’s borderline insulted mood, but that smile always got Clive what he wanted — from Nicole as he pushed their sex life further and further, and from the world when he’d crowdfunded the largest lunar undertaking in history.

  “I’ve put many things inside your body before,” he said.

  Clive knew Nicole better than anyone other than her parents ever had, but right now he was reading her totally wro
ng. He’d always been good to her — had taken care of Nicole better even than the spa, affording her a dignity she almost felt was undeserved — but right now her objection was to him treating her body like a lab, joking about the ways he’d recklessly romped on her playground over the last few years.

  Nicole shook her head at the pen-like injector. “No. I’m not going to do it, Clive. This is where I draw the line. Some of the toys you bring around? Some of those computer simulations? I’m the last person to judge what you’re into and I never would, but when it starts to affect me …”

  Clive’s mouth formed the first phonic sound in a word, but then he stopped and let his face settle back to normal. Nicole was suddenly quite certain that he’d been about to play his very real, very legitimate, very painful ace: that he was paying for her company, and that it was her job to do what he wanted. As a bonus, he’d probably wanted to point out an additional truism: that what the escort wanted, in such a situation, traditionally didn’t matter at all.

  But he held his tongue. Because although it was true, they’d been together for long enough to be a couple. For years, she’d felt like her relationship with Clive was a dandelion left to the wind.

  Unless Clive stopped paying her (a move which, given her increasingly fine lifestyle, would feel like bankruptcy … but which would delight her beyond measure) or unless she asked him for a formal commitment (a move that terrified her and which he seemed to anticipate, with unclear feelings), nothing would change.

  They were playing chicken: would one of them surrender first and change who they were at their cores, or would they break the eggshells beneath them and start to drift apart?

  His money made this tricky. If they were dating traditionally, Nicole would have refused requests that made her uncomfortable. Ironically, intimacy and limits went hand in hand. “Anything goes” was keeping them apart.

  But the mere fact that he’d asked her to do this made her angry.