Chapter 3

Back in the large room all of us girls share, a contented sigh slips from my lips as I sink into the warm, swirling waters of the bath. The waterline laps just under my chin as the jets and bubbles caress my exposed skin and the heat eases my tired muscles. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes, letting my body float while my hands gently glide over my breasts and down my stomach. My fingers skirt over scars and stretch marks that remind me of the two boys I carried within my body—which brings back the night I was abducted.

I can't imagine that many women would see being abducted by aliens and sold to an interstellar brothel as the best night of their life, but I do.

I was still in high school when I met my husband, a handsome and rich older man. I wish I'd seen him for the predator he was back then. In the beginning, he spoiled me, doted on me, and made me feel like I was the most special woman in the world. As soon as I graduated high school, we had a big wedding. It was like I was living a fairy tale, and James was my Prince Charming.

Except there was no fairytale ending for me.

I was used to him being protective. It was kind of a turn on at first and made me feel like he loved me so much that he couldn't stand the thought of sharing me.

We were both thrilled when I got pregnant right away. And then things started to change. He used the excuse of wanting to take care of the baby and me to become more and more controlling. He gradually separated me from my friends and family. He wouldn't let me get my drivers license, insisting I didn't need one. He promised he was more than happy to take me anywhere I needed to go.

Except that he wasn't, and he didn't.

Soon after my first son was born, he stopped doting on me and all but disappeared, using the excuse of working long hours to support our family to justify the fact that I never saw him anymore. I was already struggling with postpartum depression, and soon my life was spiraling wildly out of control.

My struggles just gave him more fuel to use against me. All I needed was some help and empathy. Instead, he called me unfit when I was unable to keep up with his unreasonable demands while also caring for a newborn.

After the birth of my second son, I gave up trying to fight him. James could be a charming bastard when it suited him, but behind closed doors, he resembled nothing of the man who'd swept me off my feet. My sons grew up seeing how their father treated me, and they began to treat me the same. Before long, I was so browbeaten, I let them. My family gave up on me too, accepting my distance as something that was my choice, and I let them. My friends, neighbors, the mailman—no one seemed to notice or care that I was a prisoner in my own home.

This continued until my sons were teenagers and no longer needed me in the way small children do. That's when I finally gathered up enough courage to confess what was really going on to my mother, only she refused to believe me. Instead of helping me, she became angry. My husband was rich. He gave me the life she'd only hoped to have, and I was trying to throw it all away!

That's when I knew I was on my own. So, with only the grocery money in my pocket, I walked out the door one afternoon and never looked back. I went from a luxury townhome to a women's shelter, wealthy housewife to cleaning rooms at a pay-by-the-hour motel.

I was working late one night when I saw a bright light through the windows of the room I was cleaning. Curious, I went out onto the balcony to investigate it.

That's when life as I knew it changed.

Some people—alright, a lot of people—might not understand why I chose to trade one gilded prison for another. Prostitution is supposed to be a hurdle to overcome, not something you run toward with arms wide open. I don't know if I can explain it myself. Maybe it's because I was treated as a whore for so long, I needed to embrace it on my terms. I was barely in my thirties when I was abducted, and I'd never gotten to experience a normal life, so maybe I thought that was all I was good for?

Letting out a long sigh, I gently run my fingers up my stomach, over the slight pooch I never was able to get rid of no matter how many sit-ups and squats and planks I did. Up over the gentle swells of my breasts that, after nursing two babies, are no longer firm like they used to be. My heart pangs at the thought of my boys. When they were small, they were my entire world, before their father taught them to think I was as worthless as he saw me.

The alien men who pay for me don't seem to mind the flaws in my body like my husband did. James was quick to draw my attention to every change and perceived flaw. He even asked my OB to, "Stitch her up tighter, if you know what I mean," after I tore with my second son.

The doctor was all too happy to oblige, and whatever he did made sex almost unbearable after, but my husband seemed happy with it. Thankfully, alien technology was able to undo whatever damage that doctor and birthing two healthy boys did to my body. I was finally able to enjoy sex again.

And do I enjoy it!

My cheeks flush from more than just the warm water as I recall the previous night and the young Pizat male who works security here at Lux. It was his birthday, and his friends pooled their money to give him a night with me.

It was his first time with a female, he confessed softly after he came all over my stomach before he could even make it between my legs. Despite that little setback, and once I was able to get him to relax and loosen up a bit, he proved to be a thoughtful and engaging lover.

After running my hands back down my body, I slip my fingers between my legs where I'm still a little sore from the way he stretched me. How can I regret the decision to stay when I'm treated like royalty? Pampered with rich foods and beautiful clothes. Sure, I had those things in my old life but was never able to enjoy them since I felt every bit the prisoner I was. I've made friends with the other girls. Here, no one looks down on me, and all I have to do in return is let handsome aliens give me mind-blowing orgasms almost every night.

Not every male is mind-blowing, of course, but the connection I get with some of my customers is more than I ever got with my husband, and I think that's what I find myself chasing. Maybe it's because we are looking for the same thing. An anonymous, short-term connection and release, of sorts.

My comm chimes, reminding me I'm due in my room soon. As I climb from the warm water, I wonder who my wealthy client will be.

Crossing the room to the racks of clothes, I thumb through the rows of silks and lace, choosing an airy robe with splashes of bright colors that complement the dark tone of my skin. The material is nearly transparent, but that's fine; I won't be wearing it for long anyway.

Next, I sit down at my vanity and run a brush through my straight hair then dab my favorite perfume on my neck and wrists. It's a light scent that reminds me of wildflowers under a hot sun. I don't bother with makeup like some of the girls. Thanks to my Colombian heritage, my full lips, dark lashes and eyes don't really need it.

I pinch the apples of my cheeks to give them a rosy glow, and with a last look in the mirror, I let out a sigh. "Showtime, Nita."