I slip out of my gown and sneak under the bed covers naked. I’ll have to take up Ace’s offer much sooner than I thought.
The next days until Friday fly in a blur with mundane work activities, except for the exhausting evening of gown shopping. I buy twelve dresses, twenty pairs of shoes, three coats, and several pairs of underwear. Not to mention new make-up and fragrances. The only problem I have to tackle is space, since my tiny apartment has very limited storage.
On Friday morning, I call Ace’s office number to inform him about my decision. He sounds relieved to hear from me.
“I was thinking,” I say hesitantly. He’ll most likely decline my request, but at least I’ll have tried. “I’d very much like to try out the threesome offer.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I have a hunch that you’ll go with two men, rather than a man and a woman.”
“You got that right.” Why would I pay for another woman’s pleasure?
“Have you any experience with two men at the same time?”
“Ahh, no.” If you don’t count fantasies.
“You can check out our database to decide with whom you want to have threesome with. All of my men have experience in threesomes and orgies; it’s part of their training. So, don’t worry about having a mismatch. They’ll all have your satisfaction at heart, and if you don’t feel comfortable and decide to proceed with only one of your lovers, that’s just fine, too.”
He’s seriously thinking I’ll pick him and another escort that I don’t know, but the other guy will lose the competition and I’ll just want to stay with him. I grin, hoping he’ll not feel it through the phone. “I’d like to talk to you in person about something personal before going ahead with the selection. Do you have a few minutes for me today?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll be at your office in the afternoon?”
“You don’t need to drive all the way. Would you like to have lunch together in Westwood? I know a great Italian restaurant.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly, hoping he doesn’t mean it as a date.
“Say twelve? I’ll text you the address.”
Smiling to myself, I disconnect and wait for the text. My phone rings with a new text message and I hurry to read it. It just has the address; no additional words of innuendo, not even a “see you” is added at the end. Disappointing.
I hurry to have shower but primp myself slowly and with care. By the end of my grooming, my hair is all flat, my eyelashes double their length and thickness, and my lips dark crimson. I’ll have to make it hard for him to resist my proposal, yet I don’t want to appear as a hooker and be photographed with him. So, I go for a low-cut red blouse, a pair of black skinny jeans, and black high heels to make my rear stick out.
I drive my new Audi to the restaurant, both excited and nervous at the same time. A few people take notice of me, but don’t dare bother me, I guess, for the fear of pissing me off.
I enter the restaurant hesitantly, glancing around to locate Ace, am greeted by a girl at the reception desk. As soon as I tell her I’m with Ace Hawkins, she escorts me to a secluded part at the back of the restaurant and nods as she leaves me alone with Ace.
Ace stands to shake my hand and gets my chair. I take my seat, highly incapable of suppressing the electrifying effect of his skin on mine, and examine him from head to toe. He’s wearing a light-blue, button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone and black slacks that flatters his round ass, which makes me want to dry hump him right now. I remember in shame my purpose for putting on tight jeans and high heels to draw more attention to my own ass, because honestly, no matter how hard I try, his is much more eye-catching than mine, and he doesn’t even need to try hard.
Placing the cloth napkin on his lap, he regards me with caution and a hint of lust. “I’m glad I get to see you today.”
“The pleasure is mine,” I reply, stressing on the word pleasure in a suggestive tone, feeling a little slutty and lightheaded.
The corner of his mouth twitches up and he eyes my upper body slowly, without hiding his intention. “I’ve already ordered for us, as I have only half an hour. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all. I like surprises.”
“I’m glad you do. So,” he says, his eyes on my face this time as he clasps his hands together on the table. “What is it that you wanted to talk about in person?”
I shift in my chair, unsure of how I should start. “It’s about you and your adoption.”
“Oh.” There’s a clear discontent in his voice and expression. Was he expecting me to talk about sex? Most likely.
“Yeah. I’d like to ask a few questions if I may.”
“I’m not sure if I can answer all your questions, but I promise I’ll try.”
“Sounds fair. Do you know anything about your birth mother?”
He nods his head a few times, looking ahead beside me, perhaps remembering a distant memory. I have no idea how old he was when he was adopted, or if he has recollections of his birth mother at all.
“She was a Russian graduate student at the Physics department at UCLA, fell pregnant after a rape incident, and wanted to abort me. Around that time, Michael had the problem with the journalist spreading rumors about his homosexuality. Irene, my adopted mother, couldn’t get pregnant anymore, or they’d have tried for another baby to show everyone what a happy family and marriage they had. They didn’t want to adopt through an agency either as it would have been hard to show the adopted child as their own biological child.”
“So,” he continues. “Michael decided to directly pick a girl who wanted to get rid of her child, and my biological mother was the lucky one. She agreed to give me to them in exchange for a big sum of money. Afterwards, she finished her PhD and went back to Russia. As far as I know, she’s a renowned professor at University of St. Petersburg. I guess much of the start-up funding for her research project came from the money she received from Michael for her silence.”
“You know her actually?”
He separates his hands to pick up his phone on the table and types something on it before handing it to me. “I haven’t met her in person. I found out her name when I was fifteen. Fortunately, she’s relatively famous so I could look her up. Read her Wikipedia page. Her name is Alexa Averin.”
If I had any doubts about Ace’s revelation, they all disappear abruptly as I look at the older, female version of Ace with the same hue of blond hair and the exact set of ice blue eyes staring back at me. She has dozens of academic accomplishments, is a devoted advocate for providing equal education rights to children in poverty, but isn’t married or has no recorded children. Does she know anything about Ace? Does she wonder what has become of him?
I glance up and see Ace’s softened expression. The usual impassiveness has left its place to warmth and a little sadness, and I stare at him intently and with marvel as if I’ve seen him for the first time. In a way, it’s the first time, since he’s never been this open to me. I extend my hand to give him the phone, but as I drop it in his hand, I can’t find it in me to end the physical contact and lace my fingers through his.
He lets out a sigh, lowering his eyes on our attached hands. “I know what you think, and no, I don’t feel any resentment toward her for almost having me aborted or giving me away. She was raped. What would she do with the product of a rape?”
I wasn’t thinking about that, but I don’t correct him about his wrong assumption of my thoughts. I caress the back of his hand with my thumb, enjoying the softness of his skin. He melts like a kitten being caressed and closes his eyes.
“Sometimes,” he says, opening his eyes. “I wonder to myself if I have any aggressive tendencies toward women. I researched a lot about aggression and rape and whether they’re hereditary to see if there’s a possibility for me to become like the monster who raped my biological mother. The results I found are very confusing. Some state aggression is genetic, others defend that it’s a result of the upbringing. I don’
t know which one to believe. I check myself and my emotions regularly. I watch my words while talking to a woman more than an ordinary man would. Thanks to my work, I’ve seen every kind of sex that can exist between a consenting couple, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand how a man can force a woman to have sex rather than having the chance to watch her moan and shake with the ecstasy of sexual pleasure.”
The pained look on his face breaks my heart and makes me want to smooth those worry lines creasing his face. I shake my head and squeeze his hand, letting the phone in his palm slide onto the table in the process. “I don’t see a rapist in you. In fact, I feel comfortable enough with you that I’d sleep naked in a bed with you and know you wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t agree to.”
“Is that why you yanked my hand away when I was massaging you?”
I don’t reply as I’m not sure how to categorize that behavior of him while he shoved his finger into me without my permission. I must admit, though, the line he crossed was a vague one. He might have thought I’d given my okay on getting massaged inside my vagina as well.
His finger inside me.
That’s not the visualization I need right now, as I’m already soaking wet beneath my panties.
“I believed that the studies that supported heredity as the reason were wrong,” he continues once he sees he won’t coax an answer out of me. “I convinced myself that I didn’t inherit the wickedness of my biological fathe,r and I’d never even dream about raping. Until you came to my life,” he says and moves his hand to grip mine in a hard squeeze. “You’re my nightmare come true. You ruined all my beliefs about my good nature.”
“What are you talking about?” I blink several times, shocked at the new direction of our intimate talk.
“For the first time in my existence, I started fantasizing about forcing a woman into sex. You … You turned me into a crazy mess. I can’t control my thoughts or my physical reactions around you. I’m afraid to be alone with you for attempting to do a wrong move that I’ll regret for the rest of my life, but I can’t help it. My mental faculties take a break and I’m constantly hard when you show up. I can’t stop fantasizing about taking you hard.”
I should get mad at his words, or better yet, get him familiarized with my iron slap, but instead I sigh loudly, wondering if he’s hard for me at this very moment, too, enjoying the thought of him fucking me forcefully. Just like his, my own brain seems to have stopped working, I guess. “How does that fantasy play out?” I manage to ask in my hazed and lustful state.
“Seriously? You want to hear my rape fantasy?”
My arousal overcomes my shame, and I nod with curiosity.
Unfortunately, the server arrives with our plates, interrupting our arousing conversation, and takes her sweet time placing them in front of us, grating cheese on the raviolis and then finally leaves us alone.
Ace pulls his hand away to get his fork and fishes a piece of ravioli out. I mirror his behavior just to appear less interested, but in reality, I’m dying to hear his fantasy. I think I’ve never listened to a man confessing his dirty thoughts about me. Oh, I’ve heard a lot of men’s fantasies. Only, they were about some Hollywood celebrities or porn stars. One was about a fictional character in a space opera. But none about me.
Ace takes his glass of white wine and sips unhurriedly, eyeing me with intent. If he’s planning to torture me with his silence, he’s succeeding it.
“Your fantasy?” I point out, intrigued and upset for him taking so long and making me look impatient.
He places the glass back on the table ever so slowly, glancing at me with dubious eyes, as if weighing his options or trying to get over some kind of internal struggle. “First, I need you to promise me you won’t run for the hills. I can assure you, I’ll do anything and everything under my control to not make this fantasy come true.”
“Okay. Let’s hear it.” And please hurry!
“It always starts out with me spotting you leaving a club, wearing a mini skirt and high heels. Your ass is my favorite part of your body, and I like imagining it wrapped around by a mini skirt.”
Huh! I knew he had a thing for my ass.
“You walk very slowly thanks to your high heels, and I follow you until you’re on a deserted street and then pull you onto another small street. I flip you and push you against the wall. You scream but there’s no one around to answer your call for help. I reach down between your legs and rip your panties off. The rest is just pure fucking until you pass out.”
I squeeze the fork in my hand hard, feeling the cold metal digging into my skin. His eyes are narrowed and burning like fire, as if belonging to another man, not the impassive and controlled Ace who runs a brothel or the hurtful Ace whose birth mother abandoned him. This new Ace is wild and primitive and frankly gives me shivers of fear.
“That’ll never happen,” I say in an attempt to hide my fright.
“I know. I’ll never allow it.”
“I’m not talking about that. It’ll not happen the way you fantasize it, because I’ll not go down without a fight.”
“That makes it all the more exciting. The more you try to fight against me, the bigger my reward will be and the harder I’ll fuck you.”
I gasp involuntarily. “Oh, shut up.” I throw him the cloth napkin and it lands on the top of his head. With the fear that’s surrounding my heart, I start laughing like a nervous wreck. I relax a bit when he laughs too and the savage expression is erased from his face. He pulls the napkin from his head, folds it, and places it next to my plate,
“I have to repeat it; that’s a fantasy only, and I’ll make sure it’ll never happen, even if it means I’ll stop seeing you to protect you.”
“Is that fantasy a result of the assumption that I won’t willingly have sex with you?”
“Possibly.”
“I don’t think you have a nasty bone in you. For one thing, a lot of good men and women fantasize about rape. And for another, you run a brothel to ensure women get sexual pleasure. If that’s not one hundred percent against the notion of raping, then I don’t know what is. If you’re honest about your constant examination of your behavior, even in the heat of blinding lust, your rationale will kick in and prevent you from making a mistake.”
“I hope your assumptions are true. I really hope that, because I don’t want to hurt you or any other person for that matter.”
We eat our raviolis and drink our wine in silence. After the waitress brings us our desert and leaves, I clear my throat to mentally prepare myself for my indecent proposal. “I wanted to talk to you about something else.” I bite my lip, hesitant to go on.
“Sure,” he says when my pause takes too long.
“I kinda decided who I want to have threesome with.”
He raises an eyebrow, a trace of a smile grazing his lips. “Oh, yeah? Who are the lucky winners?”
“One is you.”
His smile broadens with amusement, and he leans back against his chair, the move making his shoulders appear twice their size. “And, the other?”
“Zane.” I watch the smile freeze on his face, and he resumes his old deadpan, controlled expression that chills my heart in an instant.
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Why? Because he’s your adopted brother?”
“No. It’s not that. I can’t stand the thought of being with him in the same room, and you want me to share a woman with him? It’ll likely end up in a bloody fight rather than a pleasant memory to remember.”
“Oh. That wasn’t how I pictured it,” I say, disappointed, although that’s what I feared might happen.
“You actually fantasized about it?” His tone is accusatory and hurtful, as if he hasn’t just told me about his raping fantasy.
If he wants to disguise himself behind his cold mask, I’ll have the up most pleasure to play mean. I frown and shoot him a glare. “And masturbated on it, too.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” His face is
still cold and controlled, but there’s disappointment coating his voice.
“No, I don’t. I don’t like you, either.” I’m angry, and I sound harsh, but that’s okay. I’m not the one to hide feelings, especially when angry. “It’s only sex. Nothing else. Why are you acting like a whiny teenager all of a sudden? He works for you as an escort. You offered me a complimentary man for a threesome, including yourself. I enjoyed both occasions I had with you and Zane, and now I want to have you together. That’s not against the rules, but you’re coming up with irrelevant emotional problems. This is your business. Get over your emotional issues and do your job”
“You’re right. There’s nothing against the rules in theory, but we’re talking about Zane and me here. Zane and I don’t get along at all. There have been more than a couple of times that we ended up hurting each other physically. He doesn’t like me and I don’t like him. There needs to be at least neutral feelings among the parties for a threesome to be enjoyable. In this combination, I can assure you that you won’t enjoy it in the least.”
“If that’s the case, why did you hire him as an escort? Why do you allow him anywhere near your clients and employees?”
“Fair question with a simple answer. Michael. He told me to hire him. I’d declined Zane’s application twice. When he couldn’t get what he wanted, he complained to his Daddy, and once Michael asked me to hire Zane, I couldn’t say no.”
“Why? I thought the company was fully under your proprietorship.”
“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t talk as if you don’t know Michael. The company might belong to me, but I don’t have the power to refuse his orders. Nobody can say no to him, not even his children.”
“Now you’re throwing mud at an additional person.”
A pained smile spreads across his face, not really reaching his eyes. He drops his fork on the table and tosses the napkin beside it. “I’m in no place to tell you what to believe in, but let me at least give you a friendly warning. Michael and Zane are the most dangerous two men you can ever meet in L.A. Please, keep your distance from them. If you ever happen to get into trouble, consider me as a friend. I’ll try to help you as much as I can.” Standing, he pulls out his wallet and throws a hundred on the table. ”I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. I have work to do.” He leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek, and I let him because I’m taken by surprise, and then watch him leave.
Pleasure Extraordinaire 2 (PURSUIT) Page 5