Author's Note: Hello everyone! I am both joyed and saddened by the fact that all of my reviews are from a new audience. I guess I was gone too long for you to hang in there? I don't blame you. Slow updaters suck. To all the new audience, wow. Thank you for taking the time to step in on my little story here. I can't tell you how hard that last chapter was to write. I was trying to do everything in my power to differentiate the two points of view. The change in writing style was really difficult for me, but I will try to squeeze in another Sasuke chapter at some point. For those of you who hate Sasuke chapters: sorry. Also, SASUKE IS NOT A VAMPIRE. Ok, I had to get that out of my system. Anyway, we are back to Naruto's point of view. Let's see how he reacts to Sasuke's intensity, shall we?

Naruto's POV

'What the hell? What. The. HELL?!'

I laid on that sofa, staring at the door on the far side of the room, blinking rapidly, for what must've been a full minute. As a prostitute, I was used to being dismissed, and that didn't bother me in the slightest. But after that?

I pulled myself up from the sofa, blushing at the fact that my knees were still slightly weak, and made my way through the opulent living space to the tiny hallway, which contained the bathroom I had used earlier. Sure enough my clothes were folded in a pile, my money now tucked inside an ivory envelope with my name written on it, in what can only be described as overtly masculine scrawl.

'Kiba must've thought of the envelope,' I thought, folding the envelope in half and shoving it down deep into my pocket without bothering to open it. I tore off the white linen shorts I had been given, grimacing at the now ruined fabric.

To be perfectly frank, I couldn't remember the last time I had experienced an orgasm. Sure, I had sex two to ten times a night, but that didn't mean it felt good. Most men didn't care about me at all. I was merely a receptacle for their needs; the quiet whore who kept them from turning their sadistic sexual rage on their wives for a night. Or, at least, that's what I told myself. Being a sacrifice to save an innocent made the bruises hurt less. In my head, anyway.

I threw the shorts into the hamper, taking a few seconds to clean myself up with a white hand-towel and some cold water from the sink. Once that mess was taken care of, I pulled on my own boxers, pants, and shirt, patting my pocket to make sure I had indeed secured the money there.

I took one last look around the bathroom, to make sure I hadn't left anything, before I turned and opened the door.

"Jesus!" I shouted, jumping back from the ominous figure filling the door-frame.

"Easy there, sunshine. Just figured you'd want a ride home. Unless you actually want to walk all the way back to the slums," Kiba said, folding his massive arms over his equally massive chest.

I shook my head. I didn't know my way back to the slums, let alone how far it was.

"Thanks," I mumbled, glancing up at the intimidating figure, "But are you sure it's ok? I mean, I don't want you getting in trouble with your boss or anything."

Kiba let out a short chortle, his arms falling back to his sides, and a smile slipping onto his bizarrely tattooed face.

"Nah, it's no trouble, sunshine. It's the usual for his little escapades. Truth be told, if he finds out I let you walk home, I'll probably lose my job. He might be a crazy, heartless bastard, but for some reason, he really doesn't approve of walking alone in the dark," Kiba's smile softened, as if he knew something I didn't, and he reached into his pocket to draw out a set of keys, "Hope you don't mind, but we'll take my car."

Again, I shook my head. A car was a car in my line of life.

I followed him out to the elevator, and we waited in silence as it arrived. When the ding sounded, we stepped in and stood shoulder to shoulder, with Kiba filling most of the elevator. As the doors slid closed, the mirrors closed off the outside world, fitting together almost seamlessly. I could feel the blush coloring my cheeks before it appeared in my reflection.

'One day, I will fuck you in this elevator. In front of these mirrors, and you will beg me to do it.'

The memory of his silken voice, and that lustful promise made my skin tingle in all the right places. But had it been a promise? Or had he just been trying to throw me off my game? Make me vulnerable?

I glanced over at Kiba, clearing my voice before I spoke.

"So…. Er… How many times does he usually bring the same girls back to his place?"

Kiba let out a short burst of raucous laughter.

"Girls? I was pretty sure you were a dude. A short and femmy dude, but a dude."

I rolled my eyes, taking my turn to cross my arms over my chest.

"Ok, ok, calm down, sunshine," he stated through a chuckle, holding up his hands in surrender, "The boss only brings in guys. Not my cup of tea, but who am I to judge? And you're his first…ah, how should I say it…. You're his first "working girl", if you catch my drift."

I blinked. Stunned. Amazed. In total shock.

'His first prostitute? Was that why he was so weird picking me up?'

"That makes sense," I say, despite my amazement, "I mean, a guy that hot wouldn't have to pay for sex. I'll bet the men fall at his feet everywhere he walks."

Rather than the expected laughter, Kiba merely shrugged his shoulders and gave me an awkward sort of smile.

"It's not to say he doesn't pay for sex, sunshine," he said as the tone sounded, the doors opened, and we made our way out into the parking garage, walking all the way to the back, where a small red car sat waiting, "And the boss doesn't go for the type that fawn at him, or anything. He just usually picks his kicks from a more… high-end establishment. You know, places that cater to his….tastes."

'Tastes? What tastes?' I thought, before it hit me, 'Oh. The whole Master thing. Must like control.'

I opened my door as Kiba did the same with his, sliding into the tiny car and trying to contain a giggle as I saw him cram his body into the space behind the steering wheel. The car was most definitely not made for a guy that broad.

I settled back into my seat, relaxing into the fabric covered seats; a radical difference from what I had arrived in, but saving me from walking, nonetheless.

I looked out the window as we began to move, and thought about my night with Sasuke. Master. I shuddered as I remembered following his demand to call him by that name. It had been worth it. The effect it'd had on him was delicious, if not flat out rewarding. We hadn't done more than kissing and a bit of grinding, and yet I'd had my first orgasm in who knows how long. Kissing. That's all it'd taken.

'But what kissing…,' I thought, sighing softly.

Kiba looked over at me, giving me a sort of sad smile in return for my blissful sigh.

"Look, sunshine," he said, and I knew the nickname would stick, "I'm glad you enjoyed tonight, or whatever. Assuming that you did enjoy tonight. But in my experience, when he's going to see one of his whores again, he sees them to the door."

My smile faltered for a second before it came back.

"I figured as much. A guy like that needs prettier whores than me. I'm surprised he settled for me in the first place," I said with a shrug of my shoulders. And I was right, wasn't I? Here I was, too thin, scarred up, beat up, and generally nasty looking, and there he was, Adonis, rich, well cared for, and hot. Generally people stick to their own kind.

"Hey now, sunshine, you're plenty pretty," Kiba nodded curtly, looking at me from the corner of his eye, "If I was gay, into blondes and totally desperate, I'd jump your bones," his smile spread from ear to ear, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. The guy might've been rough around the edges, but he had a good sense of humor.

The car came to a stop at the same corner I'd been picked up at before, and Kiba set the car in park. I opened my door stepping out and getting ready to walk away when I heard the window roll languidly down into its slot.

"Sunshine!" Kiba shouted out at me, and I turned back to face him, leaning down into view of the open window, "Use that extra bit to get yourself something to eat and a place to sleep today, you hear?"

I raised my eyebrow at him, but before I had the chance to speak, he flashed me a grin and rolled up the window as he drove away.

'Extra bit?' I thought, 'What "extra bit"?'

And then I remembered that I hadn't bothered checking the envelope before I left the house. A rooky mistake. After all, the envelope could be filled with folded sheets of printer paper for all I knew.

I scrambled for the envelope in my back pocket, not caring who was watching as I tore it open. Under the ivory skin of the envelope lay a whole lot more than printer paper. I counted out each of the crisp, bank-fresh hundred dollar bills, reaching two thousand before I even got to the crumpled, wallet-stricken fifties. Twenty-one-hundred dollars in all.

'Holy hell,' I thought, staring down at the impressive wad of cash in my hands, 'Why the hell did Kiba think he needed to add an extra hundred into the mix?'

I didn't know how much a body-guard made, but I assumed it wasn't the highest paying job in the world, judging from his car. Then I thought about what he'd said to me before he drove off.

"Get yourself something to eat," I whispered aloud, smiling as I realized the kindness Kiba kept under all that muscle. He thought I was a drug addict, for sure. He figured I would use every cent I had on drugs and wanted to make sure I had another meal out of this deal with his boss, "What a great guy," I said, folding the money away and tucking it into my front pocket this time. Any guy who would be kind enough to look out for a supposedly drug addicted prostitute, got high marks in my book.

And I couldn't blame him for the assumption. Most of the people in my profession got tied into the drug world in one way or another, but as I was freelancing out here, with no pimp and no friends to get high with or even score from, I had managed to keep myself drug free for the duration. Well, aside from my cigarettes and economy sized bottle of ibuprofen I occasionally had the money to indulge in.

Judging from the sunrise just starting to peek over the buildings, every place in town would be open for breakfast, and pancakes were going to hit the spot.

'I have money for breakfast,' I thought with a smile, 'Breakfast and a place to sleep and money left over to buy some new shoes!'

I walked to the nearest diner, head held a little higher than usual, pleased with the thought of pancakes and fresh sneakers.

But as the happy waitress greeted me with a smile full of pity, quickly jotting down my order and barking it to the cook, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to the strange events of the night before.

There had been so many times last night that I'd sworn he had shocked me. Not a frightened sort of shock, but an actual electric jolt that stabbed straight through my skin. It had felt dark and dangerous. And exciting. His tight grip and sharp teeth would normally have done nothing for me. I got rough sex twenty times a week, and I'd never felt anything before. Busted, broken lips and bruises were a mark of the trade.

But even then, a good two hours later, as I shifted in my chair and felt the ache of those bruises, it was all I could do to hold back an amorous moan. I blushed, thankful that I'd had a mouth full of pancakes and a counter high enough to conceal the obvious boner I was now sporting.

'Ok, no thinking about that in public,' I thought to myself, picturing one of the elderly patrons stark naked in order to kill my erection.

I sighed. This was ridiculous. I was a whore. A prostitute, for heaven's sake! I didn't feel attraction to my clients after this many years! It just didn't' happen!

I turned in my seat, paying the waitress and leaving a large tip, because she looked the sort to have three hungry brats at home, and because I had enough good fortune to share it. The city was waking up slowly that day, and I watched the people going to and fro, some to jobs and some to errands, and some walking around just for the sake of walking.

I finally took my last sip of coffee and left the diner, all the while my thoughts were wound up in thoughts of the electric man and his sinfully wonderful touch, and I couldn't help but think:

'Will I ever see him again?'

Author's Note: Well, there you have it, another Naruto chapter. I'm willing to admit that it's not as good as the first, and that the ending drags, but I had quite a bit of setting up to do, and it had to be done. The next chapter will show why I had to put that whole dragging diner bit in there. Anyway, thank you for reading! The more comments I get, the faster I write! [I mean, come on, I posted a chapter last night and wrote this one over breakfast. You see what you people do to me?! I love you. I love you all] Time to scarf down a quesadilla and get to work! I intend to sketch up another chapter on my lunch break! Comments are my crack equivalent!