Thinking of his glossy raven hair, his black eyes fringed with those luxurious ebony lashes. The curvaceous ripple of muscle over his body, the sleek hard line of his waist as it merged with his hips, his crotch. Those packed jeans and bright, azure eyes. Aria moved her hand up, brushed her fingertips delicately over the swell of her right breast, and her nipple hardened instantly. She gasped, jerking at the sweet devastating sensation, and briefly wondered if she was crazy.
You are paying a man to take your virginity. A professional cherry popper. Crazy doesn’t even begin to touch on this, girlfriend…
Even so, somehow, despite that vicious little voice, snipish and condemning, Aria knew now that Gage was not simply a gigolo. He gave her a different sort of feeling, one of intimacy and, yes, even warmth. And he was so beautiful, simply stunning. Almost without thinking, Aria pinched her nipple between her fingers and moaned softly, her head lolling back slightly, her long wet hair streaking down the ripe, curving slope of her back.
What would it be like, she wondered, to have him here with her. The forbidden fantasy slipped into her mind, and she could picture it: the sheen of water on his taut smooth skin, his sable hair streaming across his shoulders. His big, strong hands cupping her breasts, his mouth soft and hot and wet against hers. His burly arms lifting her, using the tub as support; the delicious pulse of his cock between her spread thighs as he bucked against her...
Aria sank two fingers just inside the dewy wetness between her legs, moving them in slow, pulsing circles between the plump lips of her cunt. Her breath rose in panting moans; in her mind's eye Gage was taking her there, in the shower, pressing her back against the tiled wall and spreading her wide with his thick-veined cock. The orgasm shook her, a warm crystal brilliance that rippled through her tired body like sunlight through rainclouds. Aria cried out, her voice shaking as the fantasy utterly consumed her.
“Gage!” she gasped. “I…”
She blinked dazedly at the candles flickering around her bath, disappointed to find herself actually alone.
Aria drained the bath, blew out the candles, and went to bed. Gage fluttered at the edge of her memory as she dreamed, like a moth drawn to a flame.
* * *
Gage stood under the streaming shower water, his head leaned back, letting the hot stream flow over his forehead and trickle down his face. Dammit, he needed to relax. Shit was not going as he had expected at all.
This was ridiculous. Aria was a client. A fucking client! She was lodged like a silver needle in his brain, and he was being a stupid fuck about it. But how the hell could he help it? When Gage had swung the door open for that damn four o'clock appointment, his breath had caught in his throat.
His new client had stood there, looking up at him shyly, almost like a deer caught in headlights. Make that a goddess caught in headlights. Gage had been with more women than he could count, and yet this girl had defined everything he had ever truly wanted as a man, deep down. She was perfection. Petite, but curvy in all the right places. Straight, smooth waist-length hair like a sheaf of bright copper that he knew would flash in the sunlight when she moved. Her eyes were a gorgeous golden hazel, accentuating her freckle-smattered skin (angel kisses, he thought randomly). She had worn that plain button-up sweater, and yet he had seen the lush swell of her breasts thrusting against the conservative knit fabric, as if trying to escape. His dick had hardened almost instantly.
And then, when she had blushed, luscious pinkness rushing from her cheeks down to her sweater’s scoop neck and those amazing freckled tits...my GOD. He had thought his dick was going to rip right through his jeans. And it had stayed that way, torturous and throbbing, screaming for more throughout that luscious tit-sucking session. How he had avoided exploding right into his pants when she came grinding on him through her fucking panties, he had no clue. And when she had cried his name--
His dick was still hard as a fucking rock, and he had to get some relief. He gripped the base of his cock and began to stroke. Soon he was thrusting into his own tightly enclosed fist, his knees going weak with pleasure. He leaned his head back, eyes closed, and imagined Aria. Her sleek, copper hair. Her heavy lush breasts and their enticing rose-pink tips, so eager for his mouth, his tongue. Her slim and softly sloping belly. How lush and full the lips of her pussy had felt against the drenched fabric of her panties as he rubbed her off. Gage bit his lip, trying not to come too soon, but she was there, in his mind, beckoning. He imagined what it would be like to be atop her; how tight her virgin pussy would be, and how he would ride her after the barrier within had been removed with a single firm stroke of his cock. How she would writhe beneath him, her breasts bouncing with every rocking thrust. His fist tightened on his thick, throbbing shaft and his hips were rocking, thrusting into his own grip as he imagined thrusting into Aria. The pressure began to collect in his thighs, luscious heat coiling, then bursting from the root of his cock in mind-numbing waves. He came hard, shooting thick ropes of cum across the marble shower wall, his voice rising in a single honey-drenched word:
"Ariaaaaaa!"
“Gage?”
The name cut through his orgasmic reverie like a shard of glass; he jerked the shower door open, enraged that someone was in his apartment without his permission.
Stephanie was standing in the doorway, and God knew how long she had been there. She was holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a thick envelope in the other. Gage quickly hosed the shower wall clean, grabbed a towel off the bar by the shower and tied it around his waist, glaring.
“What the fuck, Stephanie?! Did I tell you that you could just waltz in without knocking?”
Stephanie fake-pouted, sticking her bottom lip out, something he didn’t find very cute today. She raised the bottle of Glenmorangie Single-Malt and shook it gently in his direction; the golden liquor sloshed gently and he had to admit, it looked delicious. He grabbed it and stomped past her, opening the bottle as he went.
“So-wy, baby,” Stephanie said in an annoying babyish voice. “I was under the impression that we had a session scheduled today. Of course, if you already have other plans…like going to the opera, perhaps?…”
She said the word opera with a tinge of sarcasm. Gage rolled his eyes. Jesus, she was acting like they were a couple or some shit. He took a deep breath and spit his wet hair out of his eyes with his exhale before speaking, quashing his annoyance in favor of getting paid.
“Ok, we have a session scheduled. My bad, Steph. You have my flow?”
She handed him the thick envelope. True to word, it was stuffed with 20s. He nodded and handed her the whisky bottle. She took a swig, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I want to fuck in the shower.”
Gage’s mouth twisted briefly. “Is your husband asking for some kind of wet acrobatics these days, Steph?”
Stephanie’s pale blue eyes were as sharp as glaciers. “I’m not talking about anything Harold wants right now, Gage. I’m paying you to pleasure me today. And a shower fuck is what I want.”
“You’re the boss, Steph.”
She grabbed his hand and practically yanked him back into the bathroom. A few moments later they were in the shower, Stephanie bent over with her hands pressed against the wet marble wall and Gage behind her, slipping into her. She was so eager that her pussy squelched as he wedged his rod into it and then stood still, unmoving. Stephanie whimpered, clenching the soft folds around him a few times, but Gage didn't move, letting the bulbous head of his dick rest just inside her pussy lips.
"Move like I showed you last time," he commanded. "Fuck that cock. Make it feel nice."
Stephanie made a disgusted sound. “You’re not supposed to be bossing me around this time, Gage.”
Gage said nothing. He just stood there. Finally, Stephanie sighed and began to rock back against him, her ass cheeks slapping gently against his pelvis. He watched the edges of her silky slit move up and down over his thick rod, her warm juices slicking it down, leaving it glossy-wet.
&n
bsp; I wonder what Aria’s would look like if we did this…
“Mmmm,” Stephanie hummed, apparently not as annoyed as she had seemed. “Mmmmm, yeah…ohhh, yeah…oh, baby…”
Soon she was slamming and grinding back against him, giving every inch of effort she could, moaning and screaming his name, her long, fake pastel-colored nails scrabbling over the marble shower wall. And yet, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was copper hair and dark gold eyes.
PART TWO: LIPS LIKE SUGAR
Aria’s deflowering had been scheduled for that Saturday night, and she took her time preparing. She knew, having paid for Gage’s services, that it was all about her. And yet, she found herself imagining that perhaps—just perhaps—it would could be about him as well. Could she please him, the man who had fucked so many beautiful girls? She could only dream.
She packed her overnight bag with care. Changes of clothes, shoes. A bottle of daddy’s champagne filched from his cellar when she had dropped by the day before (take that, asshole). Toothbrush, deodorant. Her favorite jasmine perfume. Flimsy black lace lingerie and a few pairs of silky French panties that she had purchased just for the occasion. As the crystal clock on her nightstand ticked its way toward seven o’clock, she felt the excitement—and a little fear—building in her midst.
Sex hurts the first time, she thought as she donned a strapless black lace cocktail dress and her favorite diamond earrings. All her girlfriends back in high school—the ones that had “given it up”, as her father had put it— had said that. For many of them, it had been an unpleasant experience. Awkward. Painful. Sometimes brutal. It was like being stabbed. Being torn.
And yet, when Aria thought back on Gage and his deep blue eyes sparkling merrily at her, she somehow knew that it wasn’t going to be like that. At least, she hoped it wouldn’t. She hoped that he was the kind of man that she had sensed he was when they had eaten takeout on his sofa and talked until the wee hours of the morning: kind, sweet, a real tender heart, despite the roughness around his edges.
She took a cab downtown, and was standing in front of The Lofts at seven sharp, as they had agreed. Gage buzzed her in, telling her that his door was unlocked, and that she could come right in.
When she walked into his loft for the second time, her breath caught in her throat.
A long red velvet curtain had been pulled across the BDSM section of the loft via a hidden runner in the high ceiling, obscuring it from view. Most of the lights were off, and on nearly every open surface, white candles shimmered and twinkled, casting a soft, feathery golden glow over everything. Several crystal vases filled to brimming with white roses had been placed around the huge space. A fire crackled softly in the tall black marble fireplace near the sofas where she and Gage had shared their first conversation—and where she had first sampled his goods. Now, the man himself approached her, smiling, a glass of champagne in one hand. Aria felt her jaw unhinge as she took him in: tight black jeans, a short-sleeved black collared work shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing part of his swelling chest and the top curve of the bloody winged heart tattoo that adorned it. Silver rings in his ears and nose caught the orange-gold firelight like brilliant chrome, and in his eyebrow piercing was a jeweled bar that accented the shocking gemstone blueness of his eyes. She noted that his feet were bare. They were long, strong, and beautifully shaped…just like the rest of him. She took the champagne in exchange for her overnight bag, and Gage kissed her cheek, murmuring that he would put it in the wardrobe near the bathroom.
“Won’t I need it?” she whispered, and then he was kissing her for real, a deep soft press against her mouth that made her knees weak.
“You are fresh and clean and you smell amazing, baby,” he murmured against her lips. “I promise, I have everything you could possibly need for tonight. Trust me, Aria. Go to the bed, love, and see what I have arranged for our very special night.”
“Ok,” she whispered, a bit breathlessly, and he kissed her more, his tongue gently probing before he drew away.
She walked across the loft to where his massive custom bed stood, and her heart picked up when she saw what he had prepared for her first time.
The big bed had been outfitted with a heavy silk coverlet and matching sheets in a deep teal (what’s your favorite color, dear?) and appointed with plump pillows in coordinating peacock colors of ocean blue and rich, royal purple. White rose petals had been scattered across the jewel-toned mini-oasis. A silver ice bucket stood on one of the bedside tables, already filled and busy chilling a sparkling bottle.
This is a dream. It must be…
“Aria?”
Awakened from her reverie, Aria looked up at Gage where he stood at the end of the bed, holding up the bottle of her father’s champagne. A good-humored smile touched his lips, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. He was gorgeous, and sweet, and Aria suddenly felt tears sting her eyes.
“Should I pull mine out of the bucket and put in yours?” he asked, winking. “I think yours is actually better—“ and then he saw her tears. She was standing there, trembling, her chin wobbling and her eyes pouring rain. Everything that she had ever felt toward her father—the bitterness, the yearning to be understood, the need to not be his nightingale in a gilded cage—came roaring down on her like a tempest. She was certain she looked horrible, that her carefully-applied makeup was ruined, and she didn’t give a flaming rat shit.
“I-I guh-guh-guess I should g-go…” she said, raising her head high, refusing to show any lack of dignity in this extremely undignified moment. Gage gazed at her, his eyes soft, and suddenly he was beside her, drawing her close. She was against his body, feeling its hardness through his clothing, and yet there was nothing overtly sexual about the embrace. Indeed, as she pressed her face against his chest and sobbed, she could feel the tenderness, the caring. He stroked her hair gently, rocking her, soothing her in a way that she had never imagined she could be soothed.
“I know,” he said softly. “Believe me, I know.”
“What do you know?” Aria cried fiercely, pulling away and staring up at him fiercely. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know me.”
Gage shook his head, cupping her face in his big hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “That your dad is a controlling asshole?” he said. “That he fucked your head and you don’t know where the hell you belong in the world? Baby girl, my daddy was no different…except that he was dirt poor. He made my mom crazy, and I followed suit.”
Aria blinked, her brows furrowing. “What? I…are you serious?”
Gage shook his head, smiling. “Beyond serious. Cereal, in fact.”
That made her burst out laughing, in spite of her tears. He was smiling down at her, looking deep into her eyes, and suddenly Aria felt as if she were in a pair of twin oceans, drowning. His gaze turned smoky, and he leaned in, the tip of his nose barely brushing hers.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Aria,” he breathed. She knew how she must look: running mascara, smeared jade-green eyeshadow that had looked so damn sexy when she had put it on back at home…but before she could allow that to send her running, his mouth was on hers, and this time there was nothing gentle about it. It was a hard, fierce kiss, one that made her knees turn to water and her pussy ache fiercely. She found herself responding without restraint, thrusting her breasts up against his chest, her nipples bullet-hard through the fabric of her dress bodice. Gage’s hands were lifting her skirt, bunching it up around her hips. She felt his fingers slip fluidly under the waistband of her black satin panties, trailing down through the tangle of her soft, coppery-red pubic hair to probe the eager netherlips beneath.
“God, baby, you are so wet,” Gage panted as he caressed her there. She pushed wildly against his seeking fingers as they stroked and caressed; her thigh slipped against his crotch and the bulge that strained there frightened her. She could feel how hard he was, how huge. She closed her eyes, bucking against his touch, and murmured, “I’m afraid.”
&nbs
p; Gage’s lips pressed against her forehead, a touch that made her shiver, made her need bloom up like white-hot flowers.
“Every part of you will be mine tonight, Aria,” he murmured. Every inch of you. Mine to touch, to taste, to please. I promise I won’t hurt you. Let go now. Let go and belong to me.”
She melted against him then, and when he swept her up into his arms and carried her to bed, murmuring, “Please…no more words…no more thoughts…” any last shred of her unease crumpled alongside their clothing onto the floor beside the bed.
* * *
Here she was, at long last, in the peacock-colored nest he had prepared for her. For Gage, it was like a dream. All his life, Gage had only known lust. Now, as he lay her back on the jewel-toned pillows, watching her coppery hair splash across the tableau of blue, purple, and teal, looking into her deep hazel eyes was like looking into the face of love itself. She was tearstained and makeup-smeared, and that made her more beautiful than any woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Jesus…
Gage bent over her in the soft candlelight. He pressed his lips to hers, cupping her face in his hands once again. She shyly flicked her tongue against his lips and he responded by opening his mouth and letting her probe deeper, his own tongue warm and velvety against hers. She took his big graceful hands in hers and guided them down to the swell of her full, soft breasts: he cupped them in his palms and her nipples hardened more beneath his touch. Aria gently slid her hand between his thighs; her fingertips whispered shyly over his massively engorged penis and the pleasure he felt was like a lightning strike, rippling out like a current through warm electric waters, and he groaned.
Holy fuck.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, and her words terrified him. All of a sudden he cared for nothing more than her. She had laid her soul bare for him, and it left him feeling raw, with her touch the sole balm that could soothe his wounds.
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