by Olivia Myers
Behind her amiable mask, one thought reverberated through her mind. Those fiends. Moona and Jackie...I'm going to kill you.
They'd gone behind her back and changed her escort to the very one she had been determined to avoid.
She felt the blood rushing to her face as shock, embarrassment, and sudden, acute arousal bloomed within her. The man whose image she had openly lusted after and rejected so many times back in the hotel suite was standing right here.
This was not good.
"I'm Kirk." He held out a hand. The silvery fur coating his arm only emphasized its youthful, muscular form. He was close enough that she could feel his bodily warmth. If only his chest weren't right there in front of her face. How could it be legal for a man to just walk around half-naked like that?
She swallowed. "I see. Kirk—nice to meet you. I'm sorry, there seems to have been a mix-up. My friends. They made the date for me. It was supposed to be someone who...but they got you instead..."
He stiffened and his face changed in comprehension. "You wanted another escort. But you got me. I see."
"No, no, I don't mean—it's not like that. Hmm. Well, okay, I guess it was like that. Yes. I did want someone else for this date." Anyone else.
He looked at her face, studied it for a minute, while she sat there stiffly, her hand locked around her glass. Then his gaze wandered unhurriedly downward, pausing at her necklace, moving slowly down her bare arms and her modestly covered chest, lingering briefly on the two small bumps of her breasts, down her belly and legs, to her feet, encased in her comfortable walking boots.
Then back up, taking the same route again, just as slowly, ending at her eyes.
"You shouldn't bite your lip like that," he said.
She realized she'd been holding her breath. She let it out with a shudder. Oh, this was bad. The silky material of her dress managed to hurt her nipples where they stabbed into it. And deep inside, things were going on that were making it hard to remember anything.
"So your friends made a mistake and ordered me instead of another main course for your delectation tonight. You have two choices, sweetling. I've been hired as your escort. You can use my services for the night, for—" he glanced at a time display. "Six more hours. I'm paid for and reserved. Or, you can turn around and go home. Pick one."
Pick one. Right. Of course. Her hand flew to her throat. "Thank you. Those are very clear choices. Yes. Okay. Yes. Well, I guess....hmm."
"Difficult choice? Don't linger on my behalf," he said ironically. "I get paid whatever you decide."
She drew in a sharp breath. "Oh. Of course. Of course." She went hot, then cold, then hot again. "I'm sorry. Yes, of course you wouldn't want me to...."
This was worse than awful. It was a disaster.
She spoke disjointedly. "They said everyone here just likes to spread pleasure around. Pleasure everywhere in New Saigon. Everyone takes it for granted. That escorts didn't have to work here if they didn't want to. I knew that was nonsense. I mean, I've never been here before, but who would want to spend their lives giving pleasure to strangers? And then to get me—"
She stood up quickly, dropping her glass. It crashed to the floor. She stared at it, appalled, then bent down to clean up the mess. As she was grabbing some napkins, an unobtrusive staff member was already discreetly disposing of the broken glass and mopping up the water. She watched the aproned man silently do his job and leave.
She should go, too. This was a new low. To end up with an escort—this escort—this blatantly sexual Katarian who clearly didn't like a thing about her and didn't bother to hide it—was far worse than even she had imagined.
Blinking rapidly, she peeked at his frowning expression. He seemed arrested on her face. Probably dismayed, she thought, to have landed such a klutzy, boring client in the middle of this pleasure bar, filled with beautiful people and beautiful faces and everyone drinking and happy and relaxed....
Tears stinging her eyes, she quickly moved in the direction she thought the door must be. She'd only taken a few steps when she was jerked back.
"Watch where you're going," Kirk's voice said. "If you're going to make a run for it, at least look out for obstacles."
His hand was gripping her arm too hard for her to move. She stopped. Nodded without looking at him.
"Natalie. Wait."
That hand on her arm burned where his thumb stroked her skin. His grip was strong, but not too tight, and it sent shivers up her flesh, straight to her nipples, and zinging to her loins.
"Don't go. You just saw me do something I really shouldn't have."
She was startled into looking up at him.
"I've been doing this for a long time now. Perhaps too long. You caught me in a moment where...look, I'll tell you, but not right now. First, why don't we sit down? Not here at the bar. Let's take a table."
Dazed, she let herself be smoothly guided to a seat. Sat down. Watched him as he sat down across from her, so close to her with only the tiny table between them that their knees touched. She jerked away purely in self-protection. Any contact with this man was dangerous.
"What do you want to drink?"
"Nothing. Just what I had before. Water."
His eyes widened. "Water?"
"Yes, I don't hold my liquor well."
"Have you had any liquor here in New Saigon? It's not as toxic as some off-planet brews."
"No, but I don't want to try it. Thank you very much," she said politely.
He nodded. His eye caught a server's, he made some hand signals, and Natalie watched as a small glass was set down next to Kirk and a tall glass of water in front of her.
There was silence for a few minutes. She bit her lip, glanced around, fidgeted.
"When I saw your image, I thought you were just another stressed client," he said abruptly.
She jumped. "Oh? Ah. Stressed client. Stressed tourist. Yes, that's me."
"I get a lot of bored women. Ladies who need help unwinding. That's what we're here for, in New Saigon. Helping tourists unwind and rel—"
"—relax," Natalie finished. "I know. I know. Everyone tells me I need to relax. I'm trying. As hard as I can."
He smiled slightly. "Right. Well, then I met you. And something happened that rarely does happen, unfortunately." He paused. "You're familiar with my race, I assume?"
At the question, everything she knew about his kind flooded her thoughts. "Yes. I think so."
"In what way?" he probed.
"I've heard of Katarians. My friends told me. You...your people...your species...I mean, you like...you like to...."
He leaned forward. "We like sex," he said bluntly. "Everyone does, of course, don't they? But we're different. We don't hide it. We don't suppress it. We don't marginalize it. We have no reason to. It's central for us. And our bodies have evolved with an amped-up sex drive. We find the act of sex an advantage in many situations where it would be a disadvantage for others."
"I see." She tried to keep her tone level, but her insides were trembling.
"I don't think you can. Suffice it to say, I'm used to frequently indulging my arousal. I need orgasms, and plenty of them. Having frequent sex is as natural to me as breathing. Growing up in New Saigon, I always knew what I wanted to do."
"Be an escort?" she whispered.
"It's pleasurable. I enjoy it. It's easy, it's natural, it's inevitable. And the women who come here are lovely and willing, even eager. Ready to enjoy themselves fully and let me do anything with them I want, and what I want is to give them as much pleasure as I get from them. It feels good, both to give and receive. Following me?"
"Yes."
"This is what I've been doing for years. When I started, I was somewhat...emotional. I am no longer that way. Emotions are for loving. Sex is for pleasure. What I do is for pleasure, not friendship."
Why did her heart ache for him? He didn't sound sad. He sounded matter-of-fact. It was a fact of his life that sex and love were separate. She nodded.
"D
rink your water." The words were softly spoken, but to Natalie, it was as though he'd ordered her to stroke herself. She gulped.
"Oh. Okay." She forced herself to take a sip and found to her surprise that her throat was very dry. She gulped the water down.
"I'm sorry, but from your image, all the details of your reservation, you seemed typical." He gestured toward her and then took his first sip of his drink. He savored it, and his eyes seemed to grow smoky. Natalie's breath caught.
"I expected the usual. And then you—" He frowned and glanced away. "You're not typical. And that...irritated me. So I was not my usual tactful self."
"Oh."
He reached across the table, then hesitated when she retracted her face away from his hand. It dropped away. "Natalie, I got the distinct impression you thought I was trying to get you to leave. On the contrary."
"You weren't?"
"No. Not before, and definitely not now. You see, sweetling, your little breasts are pointing at me with their eager fingertips, and I'm so hard my balls hurt. That white dress makes you look like you've never touched a man in your life, but I can smell your sex. Your feet are bundled up in those boots, and...look, I just want you to take off that necklace and that silly dress and sit on this table and scuttle up to my mouth and then I want to tongue you. Is that clear?"
She tried to speak, but it was impossible with her jaw where it was.
"I'm your escort, and it's my job to want you. So I'm doing a good job." His mouth twisted wryly. "But it's not my job to talk to you like you're a person outside of this place, outside of your need for pleasure. But then, you started it."
"I did?"
"Yes, you treated me like—never mind." He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his features were not quite so hard, his expression gentler. "It's my absolute pleasure to pleasure you tonight and any night, Natalie. In whatever way you want."
"But the problem is I don't want it," she said in a rush. "I'm not sexual like that. I don't have sex with men I don't know, or even ones I know, most of the time."
"Ah." He gestured to a server, who came over. Natalie pressed her lips together as he spoke quietly, placing their order with words that didn't register.
She continued as soon as the server had gone, in a hushed, embarrassed tone. "I'm not even comfortable kissing a man on the first date or the second or even the third. You couldn't possibly understand. You're nothing like me."
He stared at her without expression. "I see."
"I knew that when I saw your picture in the catalog. I saw it and I knew it was a bad idea. That's why I picked someone else. Someone harmless."
She saw the flare of his nostrils. But he nodded, saying nothing.
"The whole escort idea was a bad one, and it wasn’t my idea. But I wanted to make the most of it. I should make the most of it. I mean, I'm here. I came a long way. My friends and I work at a travel agency on Entcelary-28. I used to be a land ranger but my friends all told me I'd never find happiness in the country, so I moved to a town and got a job where I would meet people, have adventures. I do need to relax. They're right. This place is just what I need, of course. I can see everyone here is happier than I am."
"Are they?"
She shrugged. Now that she'd started talking and being honest, it was hard to stop. "I don't know. I don’t know how they could be, and I don’t know how you live in this place day in and day out, Kirk. How you work for the escort agency and everything. The whole city smells like a perfume swamp, and my nose goes numb, and even the soft lights are blinding, and everybody's trying to massage me, and they're all walking around half naked and it makes me even more stressed than when I came. I guess I'm just not a very pleasurable or sensuous person."
She sucked in a deep breath after the last part. Had she really just blurted out that frenzied monologue to a man who was paid to sit and listen to her? Where had her shyness with men gone? What must he think of her? Then she reminded herself that he didn't mind it. He'd said so.
His lips quirked. "No, that's not quite it."
"But don't you see I don't fit in at all?"
"Yes. I get that." He reached across and this time, she didn't move away as his finger stroked down her cheek and over her lips, which trembled. "Why don't we eat our dinner and then discuss this when our bellies are full? I think you'll feel a lot better when you're not hungry."
"How do you know I'm hungry?"
"Instinct."
The food tasted fantastic, more than wonderful, as she should have expected in any place called a pleasure tavern. Her blood pounded through her veins throughout the meal because she kept sneaking glances at Kirk. Each time, she found him watching her oddly, as though he was expecting her to do something bizarre.
Finally she found herself staring at her empty plate, which she'd wiped clean with two fingers. Those fingers were still in her mouth as she sucked on the last of the delicious, meaty juices and finally pushed the plate away.
He seemed to be holding back a smirk. "Finished?"
"Yes," she said. "That was good. I do like the food here. Just not everything else."
"Good." He smiled.
She found herself smiling back.
"I want to walk you back to your hotel. I won't come in. I know you don't want that."
That pulsing sensation swelled, and her satisfaction with the meal was instantly supplanted by a yawning hunger deep inside her sex. Not good. This man was arousing a lust in her that threatened to make her insane. Walk closely with him? Maybe ask him to kiss her? Stupid idea. But so tempting. He would kiss her if she asked. He'd said so.
She spoke cautiously. "It's not dangerous out there, even if it is late. This city never sleeps. At least, that's what Moona and Jackie told me. I've spent most of my nights here sleeping, which I understand is a waste of time."
"I don’t want to walk you back because of danger."
"Oh."
He sighed. "You already know what it's about, Natalie."
"I do?" Her brow furrowed.
"Yes, because I told you. It's about your naked lips and your flicking pink tongue and your secret, begging nipples and the way you keep shoving your knees together under the table. It's the fact that you're the most sensuous and sensual person I've ever met in my fucking life, and you're averse to having sex. So I'm going to walk you back and make sure I see you close yourself inside your room before another man can take what you aren't ready to give."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "You—are you—"
"Sweetling, this is New Saigon, a world of endless pleasure, and I would pluck you off your feet if I saw you the way you are right now and I'd met you any way but this one." He winced and bowed his head, then pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. His body was shaking visibly.
She was almost afraid to ask, but did so tremulously as she, too, rose. "What's wrong?"
He glanced up and scowled. "Just give me a second. I'm working hard here, telling myself you're just a client."
That should have injured her feelings, to hear him dismiss her that way. But realizing he wanted her so badly he was hurting made the muscles in her legs turn to liquid, and between them, her juices exploded.
"We need to get out of here," he said in a low voice.
She didn't remember leaving the pleasure tavern. She barely heard what he asked or her own response. But at one point she became aware that they were walking side by side in the direction of the hotel, not touching. She looked at him quickly. Her gaze wandered down his beautiful chest and down to his....
She halted. She had to press her knuckles pressed painfully against her lips at the sight of that enormous bulge raging against the fabric of his pants, practically all the way up to his hard, rippling belly.
He halted, too, and before she could do or say anything, she felt her chin jerked upward. "Don't do that."
She flushed, ashamed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be an idiot. You know what I want. But it's your money, and you call the shots."
/>
"Actually, it's the agency's money," she blurted. "They're paying for all of it—the fare, the food, the gambling, the clothes. They want to send tourists to New Saigon so they can enjoy...never mind. What do you care? It's work. I shouldn't be thinking about work right now. This is why I don't like dating. It's so awkward. I always say the wrong thing. I need to be more enthusiastic, like Moona. Or clever, like Jackie."
"Ah, Natalie. If this is you saying the wrong things, I'd hate to hear the right things coming out of your mouth."
She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he didn't respond to her puzzled look, just started walking again. She quickly caught up just as a long lectrain shot by, full of passengers, making her cover her ears. Soon the lit signs grew familiar. She found herself flinching as the too-bright lights of the hotel, with its elegant, sweeping lines, flashed in her eyes.
He spoke casually. "You have no idea why you're stressed all the time, do you?"
"What?"
"You're stressed because you're a sensory sponge. Most people who come here need an influx of sensory stimulation to relax them. You just need a look. A stroke. A note. A whiff. Any more and you're in overload. You really should live somewhere big and open, with wide swathes of land, maybe water, where the loudest thing is wind and rain."
She blinked. Could he be right?
"The first moment I saw you I thought you looked like a roped bellios. Trapped and wild." He turned. "We're here. You're here. I've changed my mind. I'm not going to see you to your door." He looked a bit sheepish. "I'm your biggest danger, after all. Goodbye, Natalie."
Her heart pounding madly, she grabbed his arm before he could walk away. The silky feel of his hair and skin and the solid muscle underneath seared her flesh and her fingers clenched almost painfully. "Wait. I was thinking. You said it was your pleasure to pleasure me however I wanted. What if I wanted...a kiss?"
His expression didn't change, but he took a while answering. "Exactly what are you asking, Natalie?"
"I know you'd kiss me. But would you do it because you've been paid to? Or because you...want to?"