She rolls the dice

It's been a crazy few hours, and Tommy is having difficulty processing everything. Ten hours ago, she was running for her life, trying to figure out how she can get the money to repay what she owes before someone decides to hurt her worse than they already have. Then there was this sudden knight-in-stained-armour, and somehow she's ended up in a ritzy hotel with him, unsure what exactly he wants from her.

She investigated every inch of the place when they arrived. He's been here so often they know him, and she wonders how many other needy women have been drawn in here with promises of riches and support. She knows nothing about him, but some part of her wants to trust him, wants to believe him when he says he won't hurt her. She wants to trust a man again, but she's never had one in her life she COULD trust.

She peeks out of the bedroom, and sees Aden sitting on the couch. There's a knock on the door, and he calls out "enter" as if used to being waited on. A clerk rolls in a cart full of covered plates and carafes, and Tommy catches a hundred-dollar tip change hands. He throws money around like water, but he was living in one of the worst flophouses in the meat-packing district. He's scarred and damaged, and she can feel a cold rage coming off him, the sort of impending threat of **** she remembers from her step-father. But, somehow, it's not directed at her. She can't place what's going on with him, but every instinct she has says that somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, she's safe with him. He said he'd never hurt her, and her street-rat threat-detection isn't triggering.

Tommy feels her stomach growl, and she remembers it's been almost two days since she had a solid meal. After checking to make sure her torn clothes aren't too obvious, she slides out silently toward the cart. She can feel his eyes on her, his unblinking stare. It's the same look a panther gives a wounded antelope, a predatory gleam of interest. A little flutter travels through her, and she forces herself not to look; she can feel her cock twitching in her panties, and a delicious image of being bent over and fucked silly flashes through her mind. Tommy pushes that thought away, sliding into a seat by the cart.

The smell of the food makes her stomach growl, and she starts pulling covers off the plates, excited to see what all there is. Andre and the hotel chefs have outdone themselves; there's a collection of everything from simple comfort dishes to fabulous Michelin-star recipes she's never heard of. Starving, she begins placing samples of most dishes onto her plate, her mouth watering. She glances toward the carafes, a selection of juices, sodas, and what looks very much like wine.

Wine. She pauses, questioning how smart it would be to get tipsy with this stranger. Tommy glances back toward him, as Aden approaches the table himself. She sees him follow her eyes from the wine and he smiles, the scars on his face making it lopsided, only the right side of his lips rising. "You're safe, Tommy," he assures her. "I don't take advantage, and I don't hurt innocent people."

That causes her to giggle and flush. "I'm hardly innocent," she says and begins eating, at first shovelling the food in as fast as possible to take the edge off her hunger. Aden sits across from her, watching her eat. He's like a machine, she thinks, _freezing still every time he stops moving. _Tommy recognizes the symptoms, the hyper-vigilance, the lack of affect, the way he surveys the world around him as if constantly under threat of destruction. It's the same as her behavior, and she wonders if the reasons are similar. But the scars are definitely from more than childhood ****. And his guilt, his rage, where do those come from?

"Andre let me know the taxi is ready to take you shopping whenever you want to go," he says quietly. "I'm going upstate to see an old friend, so if you want to come with me, dress light. Casual is fine, you don't need to try to dress up."

"What if I want to dress up for you?" she jokes, then immediately regrets the glass of wine. She's relived when he smiles back her.

"You don't owe me anything, Tommy," he says. "I really won't miss the money. If you just want the cash-"

"Shush, you," Tommy chides him. "I like trying new things. I won't take advantage, so it's all good." She pauses to sip at the wine again, drawing strength from the warm flush. "I don't have anywhere else to go, so I'm entirely in your hands." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she shifts uncomfortably in the seat, feeling the tightness in her panties and the flush of heat in her cheeks.

The shopping goes well. It's an experience entirely outside her familiarity; as a street person, she would never have been tolerated inside some of these shops; even though she looks exactly the same, somehow coming into the store with Andre's credentials preceding her, she gets treated like a queen. No one calls her a nasty tranny, no one comments on her dirty or torn clothing, no one suggests she go someplace less uptone. Clerks and salespeople fawn on her, Aden's money apparently speaking volumes more than her own voice.

It's when she comes out of a jewelry store with a pair of thousand dollar earrings that she has the crisis. It's the one thing she's allowed herself to splurge on; she knows she could run up a huge bill in the jewelry store and then take off. She knows a reliable fence, and she could probably clear enough to pay this week's ten grand. Buy another week of life, figure out where she can get the rest, or else accept the unpleasant alternative and whore herself to the man she owes. You're standing on a street corner with armfuls of bags of stuff some stranger paid for, Tommy, she berates herself. You're already whoring yourself, aren't you?

It's the thing her stepfather would have said to her while leering at her, devouring her with his eyes even as he grabs the belt to punish her for being a nasty little pervert. For a brief second, her breath catches and her heart pounds, the fear and anxiety swelling up and **** her. She stands there in the crowd of people going by, her mind running escape plans, ways to ditch the taxi and head back downtown.

NO. Some part of her, the survivor, the strong young woman who has made it so far with nothing, that part takes control, forcing her panic back down. Nickolas has been nothing but kind and gentle with me so far. He's got so much money if he wanted to **** a crossdresser, he could get girls a lot more reliable than me. Resolution replaces fear, and she knows she's going to see where this goes.

When she gets back to the suite, she sees Aden hasn't moved from the couch, an old black and white movie playing on the large-screen television. After greeting him, she slips into the bedroom and into the shower. She takes a long hot wash, cleaning herself and shaving herself smooth. She half-wonders if he'll try to sneak into the shower with her. She sort of hopes he will, even if seeing her totally unclothed would ruin the illusion of her being born female. She's dealt with tranny-fans and curious straight guys before, and she knows a man's cock can respond to a pretty boy in girl's clothes where seeing that same boy's junk results in a beating.

She dries off, feeling the flutter in her tummy as she contemplates what she wants. Her cock is stiff as a board, and it's been so long since she had sex with someone she actually was attracted to that she's practically in heat. Looking at the piles of bags from her shopping trip, she knows there's two ways she can play this evening. After a few seconds, she's made her decision. Lacey pink silk panties slide up her thighs to cup her dick close, then a pair of cut-off blue jeans that frame how sexy her ass is, her best feature. She can see her nipples have stiffened in the air, her arousal driving her. An over-sized pink top, way too big for her, to help accentuate her feminine face and build while also allowing the illusion that she may have breasts and reinforce the girliness. She ducks back into the bathroom to put on some light make-up, and reviews her look in the mirror. She's hoping this reads fuckable and available, and not gimmee-some-more-money ****.

When she comes out, Nickolas looks over at her, his dark eyes taking her in. His cheeks redden, and she can see desire. She doesn't speak, just slides onto the couch next to him, and looks up at him. His cock is already hard inside his pants, and she figures why not take the chance; she smiles at him and places one hand on his thigh, right next to his erection.

"You don't owe me anything," he says again, almost as if he's afraid she'll leave. She answers by gripping his zipper and buckle, and peeling his pants down far enough to free his cock. He's frozen in place, staring at her, his face showing a dozen different emotions. Her hand circles around his hard-on, eight inches and thick, cut, his smell jump-starting her hunger. She lowers her head into his lap and she curls up next to him, and her tongue flicks out along the head of his cock. He groans, and his hand goes to her shoulder. "Tommy," he whispers, but doesn't finish the sentence, cut off by her lips sliding wetly over the head, her tongue wet and slick against him. Her other hand slips around his shaft, and she begins to work him, already tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. He's throbbing in her mouth, and she owns him, pulling and massaging him, working him up.

She feels his hands, one curling into her hair, and one into her shorts and along her bottom. Her shorts don't last more than a few seconds before he shucks them down and peels her panties away over her hips, freeing her own cock and letting him run his rough palm over her soft round ass. She makes a gurgling noise, slurping at his cock greedily, and he rolls her sideways so he can see all of her, bending down.

Tommy starts in fear as he approaches her own hard-on. "You don't need to-"

He sucks her into his mouth, causing a fiery bolt of pleasure to explode in her head. He's holding her tight, so strong, his cock deep in her throat now, her body in his control. He's blowing her, his hand slipping off her head and into the cleft of her ass, one spit-slicked finger teasing the rosebud of her bottom. She's totally gone now, spreading her legs around him, opening herself for him, letting him take whatever he wants from her.

They're both caught by surprise by the sudden explosiveness of their orgasms, their bodies bucking and thrusting against each others' mouths. A dim amazement that this rough alpha-male is willingly drinking her seed is washed away by the overwhelming pleasure and the hot sensation of his rod pumping deep into her. For a brief moment the two of them bask in the afterglow, but it's not enough, not yet, and Tommy swings up into a crouch, centering herself over Nick's cum- and spit- slickened dick. As she sinks down and back onto him, his hands grip her hips, and he pushes up to meet her, filling her bottom. They begin rocking, and she feels the head of his cock pounding into her prostate over and over, her body quivering as she pleases them both. She's moaning sluttily, saying his name over and over, begging for him to fuck her, to own her.

She peaks first, her cock pumping another load onto her lap and thighs, sticky and hot. His mouth is on hers, pulling her back so he can thrust his tongue, still wet with her cum, into her hungry mouth. She squeals again as he follows her a few seconds later, his heat pouring into her tight ass, a fire inside her. She's blissed out, her breath coming in heavy shuddering gasps as he fucks her straight through their orgasms, only slowing and stopping when they both begin to soften. He's still inside her, and she realizes with shock that they're both crying. He's holding her so tight, his lips on her neck, whispering her name as he recovers. Every other guy she's been with has fled as soon as their post-cum guilt hits, but not Nicki. Not him. He's poured his physical self into her, sated his animal needs, but now he's covering her, protective, sensual, warm. Loving. For the first time in her young life, she knows what it's like to be totally and absolutely accepted.