The Mule: An Erotic Romance in Colombia Read online

  She was finally finished with the living room. It was sparkling clean, so clean that the spider had decided to move out. Even bloody Connor couldn’t complain this time.

  Cleo should have been filled with satisfaction at a job well done but instead she felt a shiver of nausea ripple through her. Her mouth was dry, her stomach felt funny and her vision was blurred again. She really, really needed a boost.

  Connor came in quietly. He saw at once that she was deep in withdrawal. Better keep her busy, although he was running out of things for her to do. The house was spotless. Every bit of clothing was clean and ironed, including his underwear and the scarves in the bedroom. Maybe he should get her labouring outside in the mornings too but he only had hard work for her at the moment and although beasting her was having the desired effect, he didn’t want her to over-exhaust herself.

  He had misgauged the scale of her addiction. She was tense and prone to sudden mood swings. When she was up, Cleo was smiling, chatty and fun. When she was down, she was a different person. Although her downs mainly manifested themselves in nausea and temper, she also had moments of deep depression. Connor was still a little worried that she would hurt herself, so he kept a close eye on her. Policing her every move was not what he had bargained for but, surprisingly, he found himself endlessly patient with her. She suffered without complaint and he liked her for it.

  She was also filling out and looking pretty again. Her hair was shiny, her skin smooth and the bags under her eyes had vanished. He knew, from the glimpses of the loving, sweet, mischievous girl within, that rescuing Cleo was worth the effort. From the look of her now though, she was suffering serious withdrawal pangs. She needed something to keep her busy.

  “Go clean the kitchen floor,” Connor ordered her, “and do the corners properly.”

  Cleo glared at him and stomped off. If only he wasn’t so big, she’d whack him.

  Ten minutes later Connor came in. “How are you getting along?” he asked.

  “Oh, bugger off!” Cleo snapped.

  For a moment he just looked at her, his total immobility signalling his annoyance at her tone but this time Cleo wasn’t intimidated. She squared up to him, suddenly furiously angry. She gripped the mop and lifted it. He might be bigger than her and kill muggers who jumped him in dark alleys, but she no longer cared. She was going to get in one good smack.

  Connor calmly sidestepped the mop she was aiming at him, twisted it out of her hand, picked her up, toted her outside and threw her in the pool. She came up spluttering, coughing and still furious.

  “Swim!” he ordered her.

  But Cleo swam to the side and climbed out. Shaking with rage and dripping wet, she confronted him. “You bastard!” She began screaming at him, calling him every name she could think of. Years of working in clubs had taught her a varied vocabulary and Cleo was reciting all of it.

  Connor took a step towards her. “That’s enough, Cleo.”

  Frightened by the livid look in his eyes, she stepped back, teetered on the edge of the pool and fell in. When she surfaced, he was standing by the edge, looking down at her menacingly.

  “Swim!” Connor growled. “And don’t stop until you’ve learned some manners.”

  His eyes were narrowed and his mouth a thin line with temper. Coughing, Cleo took one look at him and decided she’d better do as she was told.

  She swam furiously for a length, turned, and then her T-shirt swirled around her arms, forcing her to dog paddle. She swam about in a circle, swearing loudly as she tried to untangle the thin material. Finally she struggled out of the T-shirt and threw it onto the side of the pool. Still cursing a blue streak, she looked up and spotted Connor grinning at her.

  She stopped and trod water. For a moment she thought of yelling at him again. Then, suddenly, she saw the humour in the situation. Cleo began to laugh.

  “That’s better.” Connor extended his hand. “Come on, out you get, love.”

  She sat on a lounger, squeezing the water out of her hair and clothes and giggling. Connor watched her. The anger he’d felt had evaporated. She was lovely and he wanted her. In his imagination, he was ripping her clothes off but Connor knew better than to take her by the side of the pool. For all he knew, there were a dozen people training their field glasses on the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pretty gringa who’d moved in. Connor had no wish to provide entertainment for the entire countryside.

  “Come on,” he said standing up. “Bed.”

  Cleo shot him a glance and smiled slightly as he led her to his room. Connor might be the one doing the roping, but she knew her sensuality gave her the upper hand. If she came when he was inside her, it drove him straight over the edge. That’s why he fussed about her not coming without permission. He was never nasty about it but because she wanted to repay the pleasure he gave her, she was happy to play along. Still, it was nice to know she could make him come whenever she wanted.

  Connor stripped her efficiently, pulled her into the shower and washed off the chlorinated pool water with the richly scented Ylang Ylang liquid soap she loved. She was panting and giggling by the time he got a towel and rubbed her dry.

  Sitting on the bed and pulling her onto his lap, he looked into her eyes. “I want to have some fun.” He stroked her hair briefly. “Remember you can use your safeword.”

  She nodded somewhat nervously. If he was reminding her of that, he must be planning something very rough.

  “It won’t be anything you can’t cope with,” he said. “I want to get to fifth base.”

  For a moment she hadn’t a clue what he meant. Then she understood.

  Connor was reaching past her and digging about in his favourite drawer. “Lie face down,” he said. “We’ll try some jockeying.”

  The way he always assumed she had unlimited experience made her think back to what he’d said to her when he’d first proposed his deal to her. “I am not a hooker,” Cleo blurted out nervously.

  He stopped and looked at her thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you were,” he lied smoothly.

  Cleo shifted nervously. “When I was still in the slammer you said I’d been round the block a few times.”

  “You’re not sweet sixteen,” he equivocated.

  “I was 14 the first time,” Cleo admitted.

  He smiled at her inconsequentiality. “What I meant was that you have seen a bit of life,” he said diplomatically. “And you must have seen how the girls negotiate their jail passes here.” She was looking bewildered. “With the guards?”

  “Oh, right.” Cleo shivered.

  Connor frowned. The guards had sworn she’d been left untouched. He’d paid a bonus to keep it that way. “Cleo, did they...?”

  “No!” she said hastily. “No, they didn’t even look at me. I guess because of the embassy.” She thought a moment and then her eyes opened wide with sudden illumination. “Not Ffrench. You?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Ffrench said that the newspaper said I’m a whore because of that time I got pinched for soliciting.”

  Connor listened as Cleo explained about the prank that had gone wrong but he knew something else was up. Cleo’s jumpiness didn’t go with that snarky remark that slick bastard Garcia Riviera that made that had hurt her so much. “I thought you were on the game in London for a while?”

  “No!” She swallowed nervously. She could see he knew she was lying. “Yes, but it wasn’t like that,” she amended.

  “Tough times,” Connor said evenly.

  “Debts,” Cleo said helplessly. “The Straight Up Club, a pole dancing place I was working at, got closed down. Structural design problems were a safety hazard, they said. I was out of work for a fortnight when Peter said he could get me a job.”

  “Peter?”

  “Erm, a friend.”

  Boyfriend, he knew instantly. “And?”

  Cleo was relieved at his cool tone. He wasn’t angry then. Juan always exploded in fury if she mentioned a man’s name but Connor plainly didn’t
care. “It was a good job, pole dancing again and in a really classy place. Everything was set up so that the punters can see everything but not touch. Anyway, I did topless afternoon shows and nudes at night and got lots of tips. There were some back rooms for, erm, massage –“

  Connor gave her an oldfashioned look. “Massage. Right.”

  Cleo smiled. “Yeah, there was some action going on back there but I just danced.” She looked at Connor to see if he believed her. She was relieved to see he did. “I thought I had it made, you know? But then the boss had some trouble with the law and the club got closed down so I was out a month’s wages and the dole takes time to kick in, and Peter couldn’t help because he was, erm.... “ Cleo ground to a halt.

  “He was in jail with your boss.”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “What was the charge?”

  “Extortion and possession with intent to distribute, but it wasn’t true,” Cleo said hotly. “Peter was just in the wrong place in the wrong time. It was the boss who was blackmailing customers with pictures from the back rooms. And he was the one selling the drugs too. Peter just helped out sometimes, not really knowing what the score was.”

  Credulous little fool, Connor thought, but he kept his opinion to himself. “And then?”

  “I did some stripping as a freelance at parties but it doesn’t pay much if you don’t put out too, so erm, there was this job at the Angel Club. A mix of pole dancing and stage shows, they said. I didn’t like the place but there’s a recession and there were lots of applicants.”

  Cleo hesitated and tried to explain the facts of life without sounding like a total slag. “When it comes to exotic dancing, they don’t just look at your skills, you know? The punters have to like you. You’ve got to look like you’re always hot and ready. It’s part of the act. You can’t come off frigid.”

  He cut to the chase. “Casting couch is part of the audition?”

  Cleo looked at him sideways and nodded. “I’m not good enough for the theatre but I can make good money at my sort of dancing.”

  He knew what it was like to have a talent that came with shameful aspects. “So you did the boss?”

  “Yes,” Cleo tried to explain. “If you don’t do it, you don’t work. Everyone just does it. Live audition, that’s what they call it. It’s just fakeathon, you know. Erm, over the desk usually. You just close your eyes, wriggle a bit and pretend it’s the best fuck ever.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s not hooking because you don’t get paid,” Cleo said defiantly. “I do nude dancing and stripping but always on a stage. I never work the back rooms. Everyone knows that!”

  Connor thought it was merely semantics but he nodded so that she wouldn’t be hurt. He wouldn’t have cared if she had screwed all of London but clearly she had to talk this out, so he encouraged her. “And then what happened?”

  “Well, when the punters made the moves on me I just blew them off in a nice way like always but then the boss said I had to, you know, entertain on the side as well,” Cleo stammered. “That’s when I started doing lap dances.”

  Cleo looked sideways at Connor, waiting for the explosion. He didn’t say anything but she saw he was looking a bit grim.

  “It’s not sex work really,” Cleo explained hastily, “because you get to keep you thong on, erm, and they don’t get inside you so it’s not like they’re doing you, erm,” Cleo knew she was babbling but she wanted him to know she wasn’t a slut, despite everything she’d done. “But the boss, Carlos Santiago, he said, erm, well, there’s more to the job.”

  Connor was thinking that if he ever met Santiago, he’d wring his neck. The man was clearly a vicious ponce. He took a breath and spoke in a deliberately calm voice. “He said you had to put out?”

  “Yes,” Cleo said miserably. “I didn’t realise at the audition that everyone had to work the back rooms. He said he wouldn’t have taken me on otherwise, not at my age. I was pretty naive, I guess.”

  Ten years in that world and she was still too soft to cope with the harsh realities, he thought. She needed protecting.

  “I was already behind on the rent,” Cleo stammered. “An old friend helped me out a bit, you know, for old times sake.” She decided not to mention that she’d slept with him. Connor wouldn’t understand it had been gratefulness that had prompted her. He was bound to think she was a total and utter slag. “Prices have gone up so fast that I had no money left for food even and so I couldn’t leave the Angel Club. And also, the boss wasn’t someone you’d cross, you know?”

  Connor nodded. He had a very good idea of what sort of man this Santiago was.

  “Well, the next time one of the punters said he’d like to see more of me, I, erm, well, I said yes.”

  Connor said nothing.

  “He was quite nice really,” Cleo stammered. “And good looking. So I did it.” She was quiet for a moment. “I tried to treat it like a live audition but, it was different doing it for money. I was all right until he handed me the cash. Then I just burst into tears.”

  Connor rubbed her shoulder gently. “And then?”

  “He was really nice. He told the boss I was bad for business so Mr Santiago let me go without notice and then Tony, my erm, client, he got me another job. At the Aviary.”

  “Another club?”

  “Yes. In Soho. Tony was their lawyer so he had an in,” Cleo explained

  “Better job?”

  “Yes, much. We dance in cages so it’s all look and no touch.” Cleo hesitated. “I’m not 25 anymore, you know. I look after my body because it’s my livelihood but dancing’s quite a hard life, and well, erm, these days a bit of distance between me and the punters is better.”

  Connor nodded. He didn’t want to tell her that he’d looked at her passport and knew that she was 32, not 28 as the newspapers had suggested based on her public bio.

  “The Aviary has no back rooms either. And no trouble with the boss. He’s very, very gay.”

  “Well, sounds like you got lucky.”

  He wasn’t judging her. Or calling her names. He wasn’t even looking cold, Cleo thought with surprise. “Guess I got lucky twice,” she said softly.

  “I thought I was a bullying bastard of a slave driver?”

  “That too,” Cleo smiled.

  Connor kissed her on the side of the mouth. He’d kissed her body, but it was the first time he’d kissed her face. Cleo put her arms around him and kissed him back properly. His lips were firm yet soft. The way he was running his hands down her back at the same time was good too. Cleo could feel her nipples tighten and begin to tingle.

  “Whores don’t kiss,” Cleo murmured.

  “I’m glad you don’t think of me as a whore,” Connor grinned.

  Cleo giggled as he kissed her temple before pushing her gently down on the bed.

  “You’ve done this before?” he asked to be kind. He was certain of the answer.

  “Yes. Lots of people like it much more than straight sex.”

  “So it’s not pervy?” Connor couldn’t resist teasing her.

  Cleo giggled. “I don’t care if it is or not.” She lay face down on the bed and waited to see what Connor would do. Whatever it was, she was sure it was going to be good.

  Connor produced the butterfly. Cleo felt her heart skip a beat just looking at it. The second it was in place, she felt herself begin to bubble over. And it wasn’t even switched on yet.

  “Seeing you’re not a novice, we’ll up the stakes and go for a turtle,” Conner informed her. “Kneel up, Cleo.” He swiftly tied a scarf around her knees. “Hold your ankles.” A minute later she was kneeling on the bed, two more scarves securing her wrists to her ankles. He rubbed her bottom and flicked on the vibrator. Instantly she quivered and gasped.

  Letting her enjoy the build-up of anticipation, Connor took out a condom and a bottle of lube. He was rock hard, just looking at her. He ran his hands over her back, then leaned on top of her, running his hands over her shoulders an
d underneath, cupping the smooth swell of her breasts. Her nipples were hard and tight. He rubbed them softly, blowing into her ear, and licking that soft spot on her neck that always drove her wild.

  “Can I come, Conner?” she gasped.

  “Already?” He tweaked her nipples again, and blew in the other ear, setting her shivering with bliss.

  “Soon.” She was wriggling against him, her excited body exuding that fresh, earthy smell he loved so much.

  “Come when you want, but not when I’m inside you. I want this to last.”

  “Gnpf.”

  Running his hands down her waist, he trailed his tongue along the line of her shoulder blades. One hand stayed to rub that sensitive spot on her neck while the other crept between her legs, down the crack of her buttocks.

  Cleo moaned happily and writhed against him. Leaning down on her, he sucked every bump of her vertebra while his finger gently explored the tight rosebud between her cheeks. He could see her hands curling and uncurling as she squirmed, trying to rub herself against him.

  He was ready to explode, just listening to her moans. Hastily, he unrolled the condom. The butterfly had done it’s job, making her soaking wet. He rubbed the head of his cock teasingly against her creamy centre. She was trying to arch, to take him inside her. He entered her briefly, enjoying the hot, slickness of her surrounding him. For a moment he was temped. Then he slowly pulled out, leaving her groaning in protest.

  Dropping some lube on the end of the condom with one hand, and flicking the vibrator up a level with the other, he leaned against her. “Ready love?”

  “Yesyesyes!”

  Holding her hips, he entered her slowly. She was squalling underneath him, gasping with delight, rolling her head from side to side. She was tightening around him, shimmering with delight. He rubbed her waist, deliberately distancing himself. If he didn’t, he’d explode.

  The lube ensured he glided in smoothly. Holding her totally still, settling into her inch by inch, he revelled in her tightness, her small whimpers and moans of pleasure, and her body that was slicked with sweat. Finally, he was inside her. “All right, love?”