Jillian’s books contain intense adult situations
and are intended for mature readers.
If you are under the age of 18, this page isn’t for you.
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Excerpt from ONE HIT:
She walked to the dresser and set her small purse down. She paused and took a deep breath as if gathering strength to face him again. When she did look, it was more like a glance to the side, like she was peeking at him.
“Girl, you are a nervous one! How did you think this was going to be, like dating boys from your high school?”
She shrugged and tried to smile.
“Where did you come from, any way?” he said.
“Where, exactly?” he asked, a puzzled look creeping onto his face.
“Where’s your accent?”
“Oh, I’ve tried to lose my accent ever since I learned I had one,” she said, lapsing into a convincing enunciation for effect. It was all part of the cover story.
“I like that,” he said, smiling. “The way it sounds, and that you changed it. It shows a desire for control. I like women who want to be in control.”
He took a step closer and she turned the rest of the way to face him. He was a full foot taller and she made a point of looking into his eyes without lifting her head, peering up at him from the tops of her eyes. It maintained the fiction that she was an unsure, young girl. Lifting her chin to meet his gaze straight on would have been the move of an experienced woman.
Hanneman crossed his arms and looked her up and down, appraising the merchandise. She was very small, maybe 5’ 3” in her strappy heels. She wore a tight black mini dress that showed off her slight curves. Her body appeared athletic, but soft: a sexy combination. Shoulder length, blonde hair and intense blue eyes (probably contacts) completed her look. It made sense to him that she would be snatched up by the agency, a girl this beautiful who was willing to sell it. The only thing wrong was a heart-shaped locket on a chain around her neck. It looked cheap and girlish compared to the rest of her. A string of pearls would have been a more proper choice. It came off like an amateur mistake, and he loved it. His dick was already half hard. This little one was about to have the night of her life.
She thought he looked younger than forty-three; would have guessed early thirties. He was a rich man–had likely been all of his life–so he’d probably had the spare time to be fanatical about his physical health. She didn’t think he’d had any work done yet.
He wore an expensive suit that was excellently tailored. No tie; top two buttons open on his shirt. Italian leather shoes that probably cost more than most people pay in rent for a month. She didn’t want to know what a watch like his cost. Or his cufflinks. In truth, she didn’t care. She rarely had any concern about money. Noticing all of this helped her take the measure of the man. He clearly thought of himself as a billionaire bad boy, a concept that was mostly a figment of the imaginations of horny women. He was more likely a simple millionaire. It said something about society that a man like him would feel the need to be perceived as having more than he did. And none of it mattered in the long run. Rich or poor; it wouldn’t make a difference with what was about to happen in that room.
“So,” he said. “I guess the question is; are you quitting or are you working?”
She nodded. “I’m here. I’ll do it.”
“Good. What were your instructions from the agency?”
“They said to come here and do as you say.”
“And you’ve never fucked for money before?”
She cast her eyes downward. She didn’t want to overdo it, but her character wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye as he said something like that. Yet.
“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, “you’ll have to be stronger than that. Look at me.”
“Did they tell you I have specific needs?”
“What did they say about me, exactly?”
She took a deep breath and paused to give the impression she was weighing how honest she should be.
“They said you’re one of their top-tier clients. That you wanted the youngest and least experienced girl they could provide, and since my eighteenth birthday was last month, that was me. They said you tip well and never hurt the girls.”
That last part wasn’t true. He did hurt them sometimes.
“Doesn’t make me sound so bad, does it?”
She shook her head.
“So tell me about your cunt,” he said.
This time she opted for wide eyes and the hint of a shocked smile.
“You don’t use that word? Cunt?” He reveled in the sound coming out of his mouth, accentuating hard on the c and t.
“What do you call it?”
“That will have to do for now, I guess.”
He pointed to the bathroom. “Go in there and get ready for me. Lose the dress.”
She nodded and walked to the bathroom door.
“Keep the shoes on,” he said.