Escorted

by Claire Kent

  She discovered her own hands were just as clutching as his, gripping at his head and trying to feel every inch of its smooth surface. The texture beneath her fingertips was overwhelming, and the coiled tension in Ander’s body was so different than she’d ever felt before. The tension wasn’t just arousal. Wasn’t lust or impatience.

  It was emotion. He couldn’t express it in words, but she could feel it pulsing through him. And it thrilled and terrified her both.

  Ander pushed her backward enough to give his lips access to her chest. He hungrily mouthed his way down to her breasts and suckled through the fabric of her top.

  Lori let her head fall back and moaned helplessly, as her need built up even higher.

  On the verge of losing control, Lori pushed him away and then grabbed his head again to capture his mouth in another kiss. This time, they both moaned deep in their throats as they groped and frantically rubbed their bodies against each other.

  “Ander,” Lori gasped at last, afraid that Ander or her own need for him would completely devour her. “Do you want to go to bed?”

  One of Ander’s hands had pushed in between her thighs and was cupping her groin through her pants. “Oh, fuck, Lori,” he gritted out as she ground herself against his hand.

  “Ander?” She clawed at the back of his neck but tried to rein in her desires so she could be there in any way Ander needed.

  “Lori,” Ander rasped, staring into her eyes for a moment with such naked longing she couldn’t breathe. Then he claimed her lips again with a low groan.

  She whimpered as his kiss grew deeper and more ravenous. When a flare of terror shot through her, she broke away. Momentarily, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to deal with the depth and intensity of Ander’s need.

  Losing her lips, he buried his face in her hair. She heard him inhaling deeply. Like he was smelling her hair. Smelling her.

  The sound dispelled the surge of fear and she took his face in her hands one more time. “Ander, do you want to go to bed?”

  She was so used to his always asking her what she wanted, letting her guide all the decision-making, that this new dynamic was hard to process. But she waited as Ander managed to compose himself enough to answer.

  He said gruffly, “Yes. I do.”

  Before Lori could reply, Ander adjusted her body, heaved himself up, and then lifted her up into his arms. She clung to his neck, startled and unsteady and a little exhilarated.

  He carried her to his bed, laid her down, and immediately moved over her, parting her legs to give himself space and lowering his face for another kiss.

  She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips and holding onto him as tightly as she could. They kissed frantically for a couple of minutes. Then Ander started to pull off Lori’s clothes.

  He didn’t waste time with foreplay or delicacy. He bunched up her shirt and swiftly maneuvered it over her head. Then he yanked on her pants and panties. He fumbled with her bra until he managed to yank it off.

  She’d never seen him this uncontrolled. This lacking in skill and consideration. It did nothing to diminish her desire for him, however. Instead, it further fed her own need.

  She clawed at his clothes, futilely trying to undress him as he worked on hers. When she was naked, Ander helped Lori with his buttons and belt and zipper. Together, they pushed off his shirt, trousers, and boxers—tossing them sloppily onto the floor with Lori’s clothes.

  Ander was fully erect, and Lori reached out greedily to squeeze him with both hands. He grunted and jerked his hips against her touch.

  While she fondled his cock, he slid his hand between her thighs and penetrated her with two fingers. Her passage was wet and aching and it fluttered a little around Ander’s fingers. Lori moaned with embarrassing abandon.

  Something in Ander’s eyes ignited, even as his body remained coiled with that same agonizingly leashed tension. He pushed her thighs apart and situated his hips between them. Lori waited in breathless anticipation while he aligned his cock at her entrance.

  He’d actually begun to penetrate her when he jerked his pelvis back with a strangled sound. “Fuck! Condom.”

  Lori couldn’t believe she had almost forgotten. Couldn’t believe Ander had forgotten.

  Ander held himself perfectly still and took a few agonized breaths. Seeing his condition, Lori rolled out from under him. “I’ll get them. Are they in the nightstand?”

  “No. My case.” Sweating and with a slightly glazed expression, Ander gestured toward the familiar leather case that was set on the floor near the closet.

  Vaguely surprised that he didn’t keep condoms in the drawer of his nightstand, Lori scrambled off the bed and ran over to grab a few foil packets out of his case.

  When she returned to the bed, Ander was still holding himself with rigid control. So she opened the condom and reached over to stroke his hard cock. He sucked in his breath as her fingers brushed against his distended flesh. Then she carefully rolled the condom down over his length.

  Ander released another groan as he settled himself once more between her legs. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Just lined up his cock and slid himself home with a long thrust.

  Lori cried out and arched up at the sudden, thick penetration. He felt so good, so full, so deep that she whimpered and wrapped her legs around his hips, trying twice to hook her ankles to keep her clasp on him secure.

  Ander eased his arms under her shoulders, holding her in an embrace as his mouth found hers once more. Their kiss was deep and sloppy as Ander began to pump his hips.

  Lori squeezed him with her arms, her legs, and her pussy. Held him as tightly as she could. Couldn’t keep herself quiet as emotion, pleasure, and exquisite tension built up inside her—so hopelessly tangled together she would never be able to sort them out.

  Ander kept trying to kiss her, but his intensifying thrusting kept tearing their lips apart. He grunted, much louder and more primitively than usual. Each time he drove into her, bumping their groins together, he released another rough, guttural sound.

  The sound of his lack of control pushed Lori’s pleasure even higher. The sensations from their urgent rocking bodies, his cock rubbing roughly against her inner walls, and his greedy mouth and tongue moving against hers all collected into a deep pressure at her center.

  She was close to orgasm. And with every push of Ander’s tight body, shaking the bed and her with it, she got closer and closer.

  His heat, his need, and his tension overwhelmed her, blurring her vision and throbbing through her veins. She’d never seen him like this. Never felt him like this.

  Never felt like this in her life.

  She arched her spine as her pleasure started to crest. Instead of closing all the way, her eyes flew open on a taken breath.

  And, in that rawest moment, she saw everything in Ander’s eyes. Heat and need and helplessness and rage and desire and loss and primitive power. All of it, there, in his eyes.

  And she knew—she knew—he needed this even more than she did. She knew that this was his only channel, his only outlet, his only lifeline against the desperate turmoil of his pain. He wasn’t just finding pleasure or escape in her body. He was finding something lost in himself.

  She came on that knowledge, crying out helplessly from the shattering edge of her pleasure, of her need and his.

  Ander choked, “Oh fuck! Oh Lori!” as his hips jerked hard against the tightened clasp of her channel. In the blurred aftermath of her release, Lori was conscious of Ander’s face twisting in a losing battle for control.

  Then he cried out too, roughly and right in her ear, as he pushed through the last of his leashed tension.

  She’d never heard him so loud, so completely out of control. She didn’t think he said anything in that loud exclamation. But he did the moment afterwards, as his whole body pulsed with his coming and his hips twisted wantonly, grinding his groin against hers. She heard the rasp of his voice, soft and too low to distinguish. She felt his breath ag
ainst her ear but didn’t hear the words as he spoke them with the crash of his climax.

  It was only a moment’s frustration as her body became to soften beneath his. She clung to him, just as tightly as before, already hating the moment when he’d pull out of her.

  He didn’t move immediately. His head tilted down so he could press kisses against her throat. Lori arched into them, arched into the hot, damp press of his weight.

  She knew their coupling tonight had been different than anything they’d shared before. She loved the feel of that difference, loved the way Ander had reached out to her in naked need.

  But she didn’t know what it meant. Or even if she should pay him for tonight.

  A flutter of fear awoke in her chest as she started to process the reality of her feelings and the hopeless trap in which she’d tangled herself by falling for the man she paid to fuck her.

  “The condom,” she said hoarsely, pushing gently against his shoulders to get him to roll off.

  Ander didn’t move immediately. He lay on top of her until he could no longer ignore her nudging. Then he held the condom in place and pulled his sated cock out of her with a groan. He was about to get up from the bed when Lori stopped him. “I’ll get it.”

  She needed to get away from him for a minute, so she hurried into his bathroom. After throwing away the condom, she turned on the water in the sink. Washed her hands and then splashed water on her hot, red face.

  She tried to breathe deeply as she stared at herself in the mirror, her heart churning with confusion and fear, reluctance and something akin to joy. A stranger with mussed hair, glowing cheeks, damp skin, and wild green eyes stared back at her.

  She wanted to run away, to get away from the foreign intimacy of Ander’s apartment and go home to crawl under her own covers where it was safe. But Ander was waiting for her in bed. And he’d been emotionally ripped to shreds this evening. He’d said he wanted her to stay.

  She couldn’t leave him alone.

  So she steeled her courage and returned to the bed, where Ander was sprawled out, half under a sheet. His body was relaxed and his face looked warm and a little groggy. But his blue-gray eyes were knowing and observant as he watched her approach.

  “It’s after twelve,” he said. “You can leave if you want.”

  She wondered if part of him wanted her to leave. It didn’t matter. She knew that wasn’t what he needed. So she turned off the lights, crawled under the sheet beside him and pressed her body up against his. “I’m tired.”

  With a long sigh, Ander wrapped an arm around her and adjusted her more comfortably at his side. “Me too.”

  That was all they said. She rested her head on his chest and idly stroked his belly until her eyes drooped.

  Ander wasn’t asleep. He was relaxed but still conscious. Even on the edge of sleep, she liked the way he held her, as if she were cherished, as if he wasn’t going to let her go.

  She fell asleep that way, and she didn’t wake up until morning.

  She was still snuggled up against Ander, her cheek hot from where it was pressed against Ander’s skin and her arms stiff from the awkward position they’d settled in. She felt cozy though. Protected. Utterly safe.

  When her mind started to clear, she remembered what had happened the night before. She lifted her head and saw that Ander was asleep, his eyes closed, his features soft, and his breathing slow and even.

  She watched him for a minute and was tempted to press a kiss against his mouth.

  But it was morning now. The sun was streaming in through the windows. And she couldn’t hide in delusions or excuses anymore.

  So she gently extricated herself from Ander’s embrace. Every time she drew away, he mumbled something and unconsciously tried to pull her back in place. She was flustered when she finally managed to get out of the big, antique bed.

  She grabbed her clothes and ran into the bathroom. Stared at the wild-eyed, wild-haired stranger in the mirror again.

  Lori Addison. Six months ago she’d been a virgin, and now she was crazy about her gigolo.

  She’d been resisting the truth ever since she felt its presence—since it would mean that everything had to change— but she couldn’t pretend anymore.

  For too long, she’d looked forward to her time with Ander, enjoying the pleasure, intimacy, companionship, and satisfaction while ignoring everything else.

  But she’d taken willful ignorance as far as it would go.

  She couldn’t be Ander’s client anymore.

  Eleven

  Lori stood next to the front desk of the hotel in which she and Ander had spent so many evenings, waiting for the assistant manager to return with her overnight bag.

  She’d left it there three nights ago. After checking into the room, she’d dropped off her things—her lingerie and toiletries—on the assumption that she and Ander would return to the room after ice skating. She’d thought she was being very practical and efficient, avoiding the necessity of lugging the bag around with her, but they’d never made it back to the hotel. And she’d completely forgotten about it until a member of the hotel staff called to let her know they were holding the bag until she could claim it.

  It felt odd—being in the hotel again. Every detail of the marble entryway floor and the elegant décor of the lobby was familiar. But she doubted she’d ever reserve a room at this hotel again. It reminded her of Ander.

  Who hadn’t replied to her email.

  Telling him that she could no longer engage his services had been painful. He’d been awake and sitting up in the bed when she returned from the bathroom that morning. And his eyes were knowing and wise.

  Ander had more experience with the world than any man she’d ever met. He must have expected something to happen.

  She’d stammered out some sort of explanation, concluding with how she couldn’t be his client anymore. As she’d spoken, Ander’s expression had grown more and more shuttered.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d said shakily, trying to counter the way Ander was closing himself off as she watched. “It just doesn’t feel professional to me anymore. I just can’t.”

  “Lori, it doesn’t have to be—”

  “It’s all messed up,” she interrupted, terrified of what he might say. She wasn’t prepared to hear anything that might come out of his mouth. “There’s no way it won’t be messed up between us now. I don’t feel the way I should.”

  “I don’t feel—”

  “Ander, please. I’m so sorry.” His attempts to speak and the expression in his eyes was sending her into a panic.

  She didn’t know what he wanted to say, but she’d been picking up little signs and clues from him for months. And finally, after the intensity of the night before, the pieces were all falling into place. She didn’t know exactly how he felt about her, but she knew she wasn’t the only one with strong feelings. But she couldn’t let him say it, not even what she was longing for him to say. “Anything you say is going to confuse things even more. I can’t be with you anymore.”

  Then she added in a weak mumble, since she couldn’t stand the sound of her last words. “Not now, anyway.”

  Ander’s face had frozen into an empty calm, and she knew he would no longer try to argue.

  “I’d like to be friends,” she’d added, even knowing his expression boded the worst. “If...if you think it’s possible. I know things have been not quite right between us, but you mean a lot to me. And I’d like...I’d like to be friends.”

  When he didn’t respond, she said lamely, “I’ll email you. We can just...just see.”

  Ander was sitting mostly naked in the bed, the sheet draped over his lap. And it had been the hardest thing in the world for her to put her shoes on and get ready to leave him.

  She hesitated before she left, the world unbalanced beneath her feet. “I...I’m sorry. I don’t know if I need to pay you for last night.”

  And that had snuffed any slim possibility of a fond farewell.

  That morni
ng, Lori had been working on fear, on self-preservation, on the need to recover any part of her security. But she’d screwed everything up. She’d handled it terribly. She emailed Ander later that day to apologize and try to explain herself better, but he hadn’t yet replied to her email.

  She was pretty sure now he wasn’t going to.

  She was certain about her decision. She wasn’t sure of the nature of Ander’s feelings, but she was pretty sure he saw her as more than a client. She and Ander, however, had only ever related in ways that were unnatural or artificial because it had always been about her paying him. While they’d managed to bond despite the circumstances, she couldn’t see it leading to a healthy relationship.

  They had to take a step back before they could ever take a step forward, and now any step forward seemed impossible.

  An assistant manager came out to return her overnight bag, and after Lori thanked him he said, “Your friend is in the bar, if you’re looking for him.”

  Lori blinked. “My friend?”

  “Yes. Your friend. He’s in the bar. Your pardon, ma’am, I thought you were here to meet him.”

  She mumbled out thanks and walked through the lobby and toward the hotel bar. It was almost seven in the evening but the bar wasn’t very crowded.

  Lori stood in the entrance and stared at a man seated alone at one of the pub tables with his back to the door.

  He was lean and urban in well-tailored trousers and expensive leather shoes. He had one swallow of scotch left in his glass. And he was completely bald.

  Without questioning the instinct, Lori walked over to him. She pulled a chair up next to him at the table and perched on the edge.

  Ander twitched in surprise at her appearance, but that was his only reaction. He took a sip of his scotch and looked at her steadily without speaking or smiling.

  “Hi.” She gave him a tentative smile.

  “Hi.”

  “You didn’t return my email.”

  He hesitated, running his tongue along the line between his lips.