I pulled back. His fingers tightened in my hair, not letting me go too far. Then I plunged down again. And again. Over and over I took him deep in my throat, still breathing, not gagging. So far, so good.
Martinez, though—damn. I glanced up, trying to see the man, but Carlos’s arm blocked my view. All I could see was a strong jaw obscured by a few days’ scruff and a low-pulled cap. It couldn’t be him. Martinez was a common enough name. He was long gone, but the memories rattled in their cage.
Hey, little girl. Whatcha doing out here?
Nothin’.
You should do nothin’ inside then. It’s not safe out here.
The man in my memories hadn’t known it wasn’t safe inside either. Or maybe he had known, but pretended he didn’t. He wouldn’t have been the only one to turn away. The long-buried memories escaped their tight confines, flooding my mind. They had no place in my life now. Every whore had a sob story, but no one wanted to think about it—least of all the whore.
Maybe Carlos could tell I was distracted because he clamped his hand behind my head and shoved it all the way down. His cock popped into my throat with a sickening gurgle. I worked at a swallow, but I couldn’t help it—I gagged. Panic swept over me, tossing me, drowning me. Can’t breathe, let me go.
I forced my arms to remain by my sides, where he wanted them. I’d rather pass out than suffer a punishment. At least, my mind knew that. My body squirmed and jerked in tiny pleas for mercy. Finally, thankfully, he pulled back my head just enough to pop his cock out of my throat. I sucked in deep breaths through my nose—grateful, so grateful—until he shoved it back in again. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but somehow it was, every time. The ache, the burn, the horror that I’d let this happen to me yet again.
His cock filled my awareness, until all I smelled or felt or could think of was the thick flesh in my mouth. When it was in, I was in pain, I couldn’t breathe, I must not move. When it was out, the sweet rush of air breathed consciousness back into me.
His movements became jerky. His hand tightened painfully in my hair. I imagined his face pale and tight as it was right before he came, but my nose was buried in his crotch and my eyes were full of tears.
He yanked my head far enough back that only the tip of his cock was in before he spewed his load into my mouth. I knew he wanted me to get the full impact of the spray, the full salty flavor of his come that wouldn’t have happened if he’d been deep. Even swallowing was degrading, a voluntary act.
Unlike other men I’d seen, and the few I’d serviced, Carlos barely ever made a sound when he came. Mostly he was silent, tense and contained even in his crisis. When he released me, I staggered back onto the floor. He wouldn’t hurt me, not so soon after he’d come, so I lay there, sprawled and heaving, waiting for my eyes to dry and my breath to catch.
When the shadowed office came into focus, I looked away from the sight of Carlos tucking himself into his pants and peeked at the other guy. Martinez. Light brown hair, almost a sandy blond that belied his surname, and a strong jaw. He looked up at me. Blue eyes seared mine like a blinding summer sun.
Oh God. I knew him. It wasn’t a coincidence. He was my Martinez, though the ownership was only in my delusions. Tyler Martinez, my childhood neighbor, the golden boy of the barrio. I’d had a massive crush on him. He’d barely noticed me, though in his defense, he was older than me, which was a big deal when I was twelve and he was eighteen. Then he’d left for the military, I heard, and I never saw him again. Until now.
Those blue eyes widened as he looked at me, mirroring my own shock. His lips formed my name, Mia, but thank God, no sound emerged. I couldn’t believe he recognized me. It had been—what?—ten years. I couldn’t believe he even remembered me.
I must look different, all grown up. And—oh God—I’d just sucked a guy off in front of him. Not just any guy, a crime boss with a penchant for whores. Tyler knew who I was, what I was. My stomach knotted, trying to turn my body inside out. I wanted to die. My self-hatred, which I would have thought peaked years ago, climbed another notch. Bad enough that this was my life, bad enough this had always been my life, but for him to know, for him to have seen me this way, was too much.