Scarlet Disaster by Colette Rhodes

Chapter 3

I flowed smoothly from half-plank to an awkward cobra pose before rising to a modified downward-facing dog, my movements unconscious, though the sting of my new tattoo made my practice a little less fluid than I would like. Usually I tried to be really present for my morning yoga routine. It was my daily ritual to center myself, clear my mind, and show gratitude to the body that had paid my bills for the past few years.

Life used to be so straightforward. Wake up. Yoga. Make myself presentable. Combination of content creation, live shows, and client sessions. Online shopping. Meal prep.

Getting a tattoo was easy, but a pretty superficial life change on reflection. I loved the ink on my hip that Nate had done, and I was pumped to get the rest of it today, but it wasn’t like my life had substantially improved because of it. Plus, my confidence had taken a hit when Nate iced me out yesterday, but I was choosing to take it as a sign to focus on more concrete, more intimidating moves.

Like preparing the house for sale. The walls in the living room were teal on two sides, and a garish yellow on the other two. The wood floors weren’t too bad, but the light fixtures were relics of the 1980s, and the kitchen was super dated. I’d sell it as is, but I was relying on the money from the sale to fund my travels in case the social media stuff didn’t work out.

Besides, lying in bed and watching renovation shows was my number one self-care technique. How hard could painting be? I’d watched enough house flipping shows to understand the gist of what I had to do.

God, I was missing Ria today. She would absolutely endorse my HGTV-inspired plans. I’d had a few roommates over the years, but she was the best one I ever had, and I missed our morning ritual of me doing yoga on the floor while she sat on the couch, clinging to her coffee like it held all the answers to life itself, looking at me like I was an alien before she dragged herself out of the door to the diner where she’d worked before she moved to the woods, resting bitch face firmly in place.

I stepped one foot between my hands and moved into a standing warrior pose, the pain from my tattoo preventing my movements from being as thoughtful and intentional as I liked them to be.

My phone flashed on the coffee table, but I ignored it. Frank had sent a few messages last night with a slightly different tone to the ones he’d been sending since I got back from New York. More conversational, like the messages we used to exchange before everything happened. Like I’d just... ignore everything that happened and somehow forget what it was like when that beautiful, elegant woman knocked on my hotel room door, with a completely blank look on her face.

“Hello. My name is Elena Ashford. I’m Frank’s wife.”

I hadn’t felt shame like I’d felt in that moment since I was a kid and my mom showed up two hours late and high as a kite to a parent teacher conference. My seventh grade teacher, Ms. Ellis, had bought me a cheeseburger for dinner and I’d eaten so fast I felt sick.

The worst part about Elena Ashford showing up was that nothing about me had been a surprise to her. She had politely held out a non-disclosure form for me to sign like it was totally routine. Like she had a stack of NDAs printed out in the office of her penthouse apartment, ready to drop on women half her age who were banging her husband. I hadn’t signed it. I grabbed my rolling case and ran, jumping in the first cab I could find, messaging Frank for the last time to tell him he was a liar and to leave me alone.

Everything about it was mortifying.

I’d asked Frank beforehand, I’d asked him! When he suggested the whole ‘girlfriend experience’ idea, I’d asked if he was single and he’d assured me he was. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Even if he hadn’t been married, this was probably the way it would have always turned out. I’d gotten caught up in the romantic notion of a man whisking me away to New York, not realizing that what Frank had been after was a toy, not a girlfriend.

The sex had been good though. And he’d been packing some great equipment. Or maybe I’d just been holed up in my basement with my toys for too long. Frank’s had been the first real life penis I’d seen since my divorce, which was a little humiliating even in my own head. God, that was what, six years ago? Come on, Lou. You are in the prime of your life. Go get that D!

Nate’s penis would definitely be better than Frank’s had been, if he was willing to let me borrow it for a couple of hours, which didn’t seem super likely. Last night I’d had dreams so filthy—most of which involved Nate pinning my ankles up by my ears and fucking destroying me—that I’d had a solo session with my Bad Dragon dildo that had been sitting in the cam room in the basement, left unused since before going to New York.

It was the biggest toy I had, and I felt like Nate was packing some serious equipment under those distressed black jeans. Too bad he hadn’t seemed interested.

Concentrate, I chastised internally, stretching my arms above my head and leaning backwards as much as I could before the stinging tattoo became unbearable. It was probably going to hurt like hell tonight when the whole outline was done. I’d never been a particularly patient person, and once I got an idea in my head, I was like a dog with a bone.

Curious about cam work? Immediately set up an account and start doing it.

Guy suggests an all expenses paid trip to New York to fuck him for a few days? Book a ticket.

Vaguely consider getting a tattoo? Get a giant tattoo finished in two days.

This was very on-brand decision making for me.

My phone buzzed again and with a frustrated groan, I gave up on yoga and stomped into my bedroom to get ready, grabbing the device on my way.

Frank:

I have a lot of meetings today, very frustrating.

Frank:

What are you wearing, Scarlet?

Frank:

I’d like to video call you tonight.

I gaped at the screen, stunned at the audacity of this man to message me like nothing had changed. Did he think I’d just… be fine with everything that went down and ignore the elephant in the room? Was that his goal? I knew a lot of men didn’t like confrontation, but this was a whole different level of denial.

Refusing to let Frank get in my head, I sat down at my vanity to put on the sexiest makeup I could get away with for the middle of the day, absolutely for Nate’s benefit. It’d be too weird to show up in the wig now, but I was going to channel Scarlet as much as I could and see if I could seduce my tattoo artist. If it didn’t work, then I’d download that stupid dating app again, because damn it I was going to fuck a real-life man. A real-life man with a real-life penis and more importantly, a real-life tongue.

I mean, I had substitute dicks in almost every material they came in—silicone, glass, stainless steel—but I was pretty sure that none of the clit stimulator toys really felt the same as oral sex.

Not that I would know, I’d never had it. But I’d heard things. I knew what I was missing out on.

Logically, I understood the answer to all my problems wouldn’t be a dude feasting on me like I was his last meal, but it couldn’t hurt. Right?

I deserved this.

* * *

The bell above the door rang as I let myself into the studio. Nate was already looking at me like he’d sensed me coming, his gaze inscrutable. Hopefully we weren’t in for a repeat of the awkward put-your-headphones-on moment from yesterday. That had definitely shaken my confidence for this whole seduction plan, but I’d put my metaphorical Scarlet knickers on and was ready to give it another shot.

“Hi,” I said airily, pulling off my layers inside the doorway. “How are you?”

I was as cool as the snow outside. Totally chill.

“Fine,” Nate replied carefully. Every time he’d gotten remotely close to flirty yesterday, he seemed to catch himself. It looked like he’d used the past 24 hours to strengthen his resolve. “How are you, Lou?”

Damn him and his hypnotizing voice.

“Great,” I said, a little too brightly. He glanced away as I pulled off my boots and socks, before removing my leggings. I’d chosen another mini dress today. For ease of access.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Nate grunted, gesturing at the table. My phone dinged from my jacket pocket and I fished it out to check the message.

Frank:

We are not done, Louisiana.

A shiver of fear ran through me. I’d only ever been Scarlet to Frank. From when he’d found me through the cam site to when we’d done the whole girlfriend experience thing, I’d been ‘Scarlet’ the whole time. When he’d asked me to come to New York, I’d insisted on booking my own flights and accommodation, and he’d just sent me the money.

He shouldn’t know my real name.My hands shook a little as that thought ran around my brain on a loop. I didn’t use my real name on anything. I’d never told him. Never.

Frank was rich though. A wealthy hedge fund type, who had plenty of money to spare. He certainly had the resources to do some digging into my background if he wanted to. That thought was… well, a little terrifying.

God, the sooner I sold my house and got the hell out of Fairbanks, the better. For a whole lot of reasons.

I hit the block button so fast, I almost dropped my phone. My need for attention only went so far. Big nope from me.

“You okay?” Nate asked, concern evident in his tone. God, what was it about him? I’d heard thousands of guys’ voices over the years through my computer speakers, but no one’s affected me like his did.

“Fine,” I managed to reply with an unconvincing smile. I silenced my phone and shoved it on the small table next to the chair in case Nate insisted on the ignoring-each-other route again.

His hands spanned my waist, lifting me onto the chair like I weighed nothing. The movement was so brief, I half wondered if I’d imagined it, yet I could still feel the heat from where he’d touched me sinking into my skin through my dress.

Knowing that I was probably blushing, I quickly laid down on my side, not bothering to push my hair back when it partially fell over my face. I hitched my dress up like last time, tucking it in between my legs, but I could feel the fabric brushing a little more substantially over my butt this time.

When Nate returned with the equipment, he hummed a noise that could have almost been disappointment. Definitely an ass man.

“So, how was the rest of your day yesterday?” I asked. Oh my god, I sounded like his mom or something. Why was I so bad at this?

“Unexpected,” Nate replied thoughtfully. “Yours?”

“Very expected,” I said drily, looking back at him over my shoulder. “Boring and expected.”

The corner of Nate’s mouth tipped up as he met my eyes, and I swallowed down a breathy sigh. For a brief moment, Nate’s eyelids lowered, his head tilted just a little to the side, his lips ever so slightly parted… It was a look that was pure seduction. That was what I wanted. The man who looked like he was imagining what my lips tasted like and if I was a screamer when I came. My gut tightened with lust, and I felt my shoulders roll back a little, my head held a little higher, because he was having that reaction to me. Just me. Just Lou.

But it was gone as quickly as it came, so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it. Gone was the guy who looked one smooth line away from getting laid at all times, and back was the attractive yet distant professional.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “Tell me all about Greece.”

Nate smiled—not the sultry smirk—but it was obviously the right thing to say, because he was more than happy to talk about it. As he worked, he told me about the islands he visited, how he’d almost been run over while bike riding in Athens, and the life-changing food he’d eaten every night. Occasionally he’d fall silent to concentrate, but then he’d pick up where he left off, and I was more than happy to listen, imagining the idyllic places Nate was describing.

I was going to do that. I was going to chase summer around the globe, and drink ouzo on the beach under the stars, and live every day of my life rather than forever counting down to the next thing, waiting for little pieces of happiness to float past that I could grab onto.

A negative voice in the back of my mind reminded me that I would be funding all of this by maintaining and monetizing my Scarlet profiles, and that I wasn’t really living my best authentic life when I was pretending to be someone else.

That negative voice could go shove it.

The session passed quickly, and mostly the pain was pretty bearable, but one particular section made me suck in a startled breath, and I forced myself to focus on my breathing, yoga-style, until Nate had finished.

“Good girl,” he murmured in his low, delicious voice. “You’re doing so good, Lou.”

I could have sworn angels descended from on high, singing in chorus. My head was so hot, I was sure my face was as red as my hair, and I fought the urge to fan myself.

Good girl. Good girl. Good girl.

The smooth, approving way Nate had delivered those two words was going to live rent-free in my head for the rest of my life.

Nate’s nostrils flared for a moment and I could have sworn I heard a rumbling noise, but I’d probably imagined it in my lust-addled haze.

I wanted to hear him say good girl while he stroked my hair and I choked on his dick. I was a simple girl. I wanted simple things. Was a praise-filled blowjob really too much to ask for?

“Keep breathing,” Nate rasped as I winced again, forcing myself to focus on keeping my leg still instead of thinking about blowjobs.

“Hurts,” I grunted, scrunching up my face.

“I know,” Nate said in a soothing voice. “You’re doing so good. Not long now.”

I couldn’t have chosen a teeny little daisy tattoo or something that could have been done in one session in a nice comfy spot, could I? Oh no. I had to go for the big fuck-off phoenix that dominated my entire hip and required two sessions with the hottest guy I’d ever seen and was failing to seduce.

Operation Seduction looked like a bust. Either he wasn’t interested in me, or he was, but wanted to keep the lines of professionalism firmly in place. I could work with option two. After today’s session, we would no longer be artist and client, and there would be zero barriers to working out this sexual tension on each other’s bodies. If he was also feeling the sexual tension. If. Why couldn’t I tell?!

Understanding people’s desires was my bread and butter. Though that was a lot easier when they deliberately sought me out. Or sought Scarlet out, which was seriously making me doubt my fuckability without the wig and fake persona.

I wanted this, him, as myself. I wanted to seduce him, and fuck him, and hear him say my name.

Both because I was into Nate, and because I had to prove to myself that I could exist outside of the persona I’d been hiding behind.

“Nearly done, Lou,” Nate reassured me, his cool professional mask back in place.

What would Scarlet do?

* * *

The phoenix looked fucking epic. Nate wiped away the excess ink, and I admired the smooth, flawless lines of the bird, the way it followed the curve of my body perfectly. It was all done in thin lines with no shading at my request, and I was already dreaming of all the other cool things I could get tattooed on my body in the same minimalist style.

“It’s amazing,” I told Nate as he carefully bandaged it, shooting me an apologetic look as he covered up my pretty with saran wrap again. Boo. Hopefully it healed quickly so I could properly admire it some more.

“How are you feeling?” Nate asked, removing his hands from my leg a little slower than necessary. Was that a sign? I needed a guidebook.

Operation Seduction. Part one: Flirt.

Scarlet style.

“My leg is kind of cramping,” I replied, looking up at him through my lashes and wincing as I flexed my toes. “I don’t suppose you could rub it for me?” I asked, my lower lip sticking out just the absolute faintest amount because I was for sure too old to get away with a full blown pout.

An emotion flickered in Nate’s eyes too quickly for me to identify, and then his gloves were off, his hands wrapping around my calves, strong fingers gently digging into my too-tight muscles.

Yes fucking please.

My head tipped back, an embarrassingly breathy noise escaping my throat at how good it felt to have his skin on mine. Maybe I was more than a little touch-starved. For a few moments he worked in silence before he cleared his throat and my lusty haze cleared a little.

“Let’s get you moving around,” he said gruffly. “Get the blood flowing.”

Let’s not! Let’s do more of the rubbing stuff!

Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—Nate was guiding me up gently, his hands sliding around my back to pull me upright before I could vocalize that thought.

“Not too painful?” he asked, nodding at the bandaged tattoo on my hip.

“Hm, I’m not sure,” I replied, dropping my voice to a seductive purr that was usually a hit with my viewers. I licked my lower lip subconsciously, my legs parting a little of their own accord as I sat on the edge of the bench. “You might have to carry me.”

Nate’s expression was heated, but there was definite hesitation in his eyes. Damn it, what did a girl have to do? Strip naked right here in the studio? I mean, I wasn’t opposed to it, but I’d really prefer some clearer signals before I got my vagina out.

“You should go home,” Nate rasped, dragging his hand down my exposed leg. Despite his words, he gripped my ankle lightly for a moment, and I imagined him dragging me down my bed, flipping me onto my stomach, and climbing over my back.

He had such big hands. I could almost imagine what it would feel like with one of them pinning me to the bed, his palm pushing down on the center of my back as he pressed that big monster cock he was definitely packing into me from behind.

“Go home?” I repeated breathily, watching the movement of his hand, still half lost in the fantasy I’d concocted.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” His words penetrated the fog of lust, and my words came out a little more petulantly than I’d intended, but I was frustrated. And horny. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” Nate asked in surprise. “No, definitely not.”

He sounded sort of appalled at the concept, which was somehow reassuring and disappointing all at once.

Nate leaned forward, trailing his knuckle down my cheek and scanning my features like he was memorizing them. I was more acutely aware than ever at the lack of a blonde wig on my head and the absence of my bright blue contacts and dramatic makeup.

I felt exposed.

“I’m not right for you,” he told me softly. Apologetically. That was not going to work for me.

“I’m not expecting a ring,” I snapped, batting away his soothing hand and cutting him an irritated glare. “At best I was hoping you’d have a talented tongue and a generous disposition.”

This fucking guy, letting me down easy like like I was trying to date him or something.

“I’m too much for you,” he attempted again. “You’re so sweet, Lou.”

Should I tell him that I literally fucked myself to orgasm with a dragon dildo last night, imagining him in bed?

I mean, where was the line? What constituted normal flirting? Was the dragon dildo too much information to drop straight off the bat?

“Bold assumption,” I replied instead, doing my best to look down my nose at him despite him towering over me. “If anything, I’m too much for you to handle.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, an excited grin flashing across his face before he could catch himself. I see you, Nate. I’ll show you I’m not the delicate little flower you seem to think I am.

“Is that so?” he drawled, still trying to hide his amusement. But it was the kind of indulgent amusement adults felt towards particularly theatrical children, and that was not exactly the vibe I was going for.

“That is so. You really think you’re too much for me?” I asked coolly, tipping my chin up. Scarlet would eat this guy alive.

“I know I am,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Besides, don’t even try to pretend that your leg isn’t hurting.”

Okay, that much was true, I could admit. I wasn’t exactly on form for all the things I wanted to do to Nate with my stinging thigh.

“Tomorrow, then,” I challenged.

“It’ll still be hurting then.” Nate shook his head slightly, still smiling to himself like he found my tenacity cute. He lifted me off the chair, making sure I was steady on my feet before reluctantly stepping away, his fingers flexing at his sides. I swayed a little like I was going to follow him, which would have been really embarrassing.

I wasn’t going to throw myself at him.

I was going to make him throw himself at me.

Nate busied himself tidying up his equipment, reciting the same aftercare instructions he’d given me yesterday as I gingerly tugged my loose trousers up my legs and began the tedious process of putting all my layers back on. He was making a concerted effort not to look me in the eye, and that just wasn’t going to work for me.

It would be one thing if he’d said he wasn’t interested. I’d have given up and walked out of here with my head… well, probably hung in shame, to be honest. But still. I could take no for an answer. I wasn’t accepting this ‘I’m too much for sweet, innocent little you’ garbage though.

It was offensive, honestly. To me and my vagina. My vagina was offended.

I tugged my sky blue beanie on my head and strutted up to Nate with as much sass as I could muster with a limp. He may have had a point on the sore leg front because now that I was moving around, fucking ouch. I stepped into his personal space, my head only coming up to his chest which slightly ruined the powerful, confident image I was attempting to project.

“Give me your phone,” I demanded, holding out my hand expectantly.

“Persistent little minx, aren’t you?” Nate murmured, his lips twitching. He did reach for the phone on the desk though, quickly unlocking it before handing it over for me to put my number in.

Operation Seduction. Part two: Show Idiot Man What He’s Missing.

“I’ll be in touch when my leg heals,” I announced, sending a message to my phone so I had his number and handing his phone back.

“Lou—” Nate sighed as I turned to walk away.

“One phone call,” I insisted, turning back to face him and holding up a finger, walking backwards to the door. “Just one. If you still think you’re too much for little old me to handle, you’ll never hear from me again.”

Despite all of his objections, he didn’t look thrilled with the prospect of never hearing from me again either, though I didn’t know what he expected. Clearly, neither of us were looking for a relationship.

“One phone call,” he agreed slowly. “This is the strangest rejection ever.”

“You are not rejecting me,” I informed him with a smirk. “We are negotiating terms. Until then, Nate.”

I spun on my heel, red hair flying out behind me, and let myself out of the studio.