Submersed

by Rachelle Vaughn

  “No,” I finally answered. “Too many…” Penises.

  “Hands?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I couldn’t handle that much going on at once. Too overwhelming.”

  Dillon shifted and pulled me closer. “So, what’s with all the questions, Livi?”

  “Oh, I’m just curious. Can you blame me? I mean, what you do is so…taboo.”

  “Yeah, I can understand your curiosity.”

  I was quiet for a minute before asking, “Have you ever had a client you weren’t attracted to?”

  “Sure, initially. But it’s usually pretty easy to find something appealing in every woman.”

  “Do you find me attractive?” I asked, ducking my head so he couldn’t see me blush.

  “Yes,” he answered without missing a beat. He tilted my chin up until our eyes met. “Do you find me attractive?”

  I let out the nervous laugh bubbling up inside me. “Yes. That’s kind of like asking if I need oxygen to breathe.”

  “Well, I’m glad we got that all out on the table,” he said with a dramatic sigh of relief.

  “Do your parents know what you do for a living?”

  He whistled. “Wow, I tell her I’m attracted to her and she’s already asking about the parents.”

  I laughed and gave him a good poke in the ribs.

  “No, my parents don’t know. They think I work in a casino.”

  “Really?” That one surprised me. With the way Dillon was so open and casual about things, I was surprised to hear that he kept his occupation a secret from his family.

  “Yeah. It’s just not something my mom could understand.”

  Fair enough. “So, what would you do if you weren’t an escort?”

  “Well, like I told you before, my dream is to open my own gym. Mike and I are going to be business partners and we almost have enough to make the dream a reality.”

  “That’s wonderful, Dillon.”

  He looked at me like he had been expecting a different reaction. “Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.”

  “Are you nervous about it? Opening your own gym?”

  “Yeah, a little. Sometimes I worry that it won’t work out and I’ll lose everything. But then I remind myself that this is my dream and I get excited about it all over again. There’s a certain amount of risk to everything, Livi. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

  They were words to live by and I envied Dillon for being so sensible about everything.

  “Dillon?”

  “Livi?”

  “Thanks for the music recommendation. It‘s a great album.”

  “You’re welcome.” And then after a minute, “Is that what you were listening to? When you were dancing?”

  “Yeah,” I answered sheepishly.

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I bought it. Downloaded it, I mean.”

  “The whole album?”

  “Yes. And all the other bands iTunes recommended in that genre.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “All of ‘em?”

  “Oh, about a thousand songs.”

  He whistled again. “That’s a pretty pricey afternoon.”

  “I have my own money, Dillon,” I said, sitting up cross-legged style. “I don’t mooch off my father.”

  He sat up too and put his hands up between us. “That’s not what I meant. Besides, it’s none of my business.”

  “No, I want you to know.” I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. “I don’t want you thinking of me as some spoiled rich girl who’s Daddy takes care of. I sold dozens of my paintings in Paris. I just want you to know I earn my own way.” For some reason, it was important to me that Dillon understood that.

  “That’s great, Livi. When you sell the mermaid you can download the entire genre of rock.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning when I woke up, I immediately became aware of Dillon’s warm body next to mine. He was in a deep sleep lying sprawled out on his stomach, his breath a steady whoosh in and out of his lips. He was shirtless with his right arm jutting up above his head and the left spread out to the side almost on the verge of dangling off the bed. His head rested on the edge of the pillow and the sheet lay bunched up tantalizingly low on his waist.

  Ever so slowly, I scooted out of the bed, careful not to wake him.

  For a few minutes, I stood at the foot of the bed looking at him lying there. He was so calm and peaceful. It was just like a painting.

  I hurried into my studio to grab a pencil and sketchpad. I had many images of Dillon burned into my brain throughout the last few weeks, but I had yet to capture him in this peaceful moment of slumber.

  I sat in the chair next to the bed, pulled my feet up and rested the pad on my knees. First, I studied him. The way his broad shoulders gave way to muscle-defined biceps. The way his back curved along his spine. The way his lower back sloped down before it met his buttocks.

  Even in a relaxed state, Dillon’s muscle tone was impressive.

  My pencil flew over the page, sketching, drawing, shading in the contours. Of the defined muscles in his back, powerful shoulders, strong arms. Disheveled hair, parted lips, long thick eyelashes.

  I was so engrossed in the page that I almost didn’t notice him stirring. When I looked up, he was looking over at me with a curious expression. I bit down on my bottom lip and tried to inconspicuously hide the sketch with my hand.

  “Are you drawing me?” he asked, his voice husky from sleep. It sounded like pure sex.

  My body gave an involuntary shudder. I tilted my head and looked at him. “I suppose you could say you were my inspiration,” I answered coyly.

  He sat up and scratched lazily at his chest. “Let me see.”

  I pulled the pad close to my chest and wrapped my arms around it. “Sorry, I don’t let anyone see my work.”

  Obviously, he took that as a challenge.

  I scrambled out of the chair, but before I could flee the scene, I was blocked by the broad expanse of his bare chest.

  “Let me see, Livi,” he pleaded, his voice low. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. He was rumpled and his boxer shorts were wrinkled. It would be humanly impossible for him to look any sexier.

  “No.” I gripped the pad for dear life.

  He searched my face and leaned in close. In a whisper of a movement, his lips touched mine in what was quite possibly the sweetest, most tender kiss I’d ever experienced. It happened so fast that if I had blinked, I would have thought I imagined it, conjured it up like so much wishful thinking.

  As soon as I could suck in a breath, he was pulling away and had slipped the pad from my trembling fingers and was studying the sketch.

  He turned the page from side to side, looking at it from every angle and grinned. “Is that what my back really looks life?” he asked, amazement flickering in his eyes.

  Dazed and breathless, I nodded.

  His grin grew wider and reached from ear to the other. “Wow, all those pull-ups and resistance training really does pay off.”

  “Yes. It’s very…sturdy,” I said, still bewildered by the fleeting kiss. I wasn’t scared, just shocked at how unexpected it was. Even though we hadn’t used our tongues, the whisper-soft kiss still thrilled me to the core. Dillon had kissed me.

  Dillon’s head shot up and his brows drew together. “Sturdy? Is that how you’d describe me?” He tossed the pad on the bedside table where it landed with a thud.

  I flinched at the sound and whispered, “You tricked me.” But I wasn’t mad. I was too busy trying to analyze the feel of his lips brushing over mine. I was too busy trying to read his expression. He was trying to look serious but a smile was tugging at those lips.

  “You called me sturdy!”

  “You’re strong as an ox,” I said, barely containing a giggle of my own.

  He lunged for me then, grabbed me around the waist and carried me to the bed.

  I shrieked and kicked in mock protest.


  Dillon hauled me up onto the mattress, tossed me down and lay down, facing me.

  “You kissed me,” I whispered. It was just as much for my benefit as it was his. I could still feel his heat on my lips.

  “Nah, that was just a peck. Now this, this is a kiss.”

  He leaned forward and touched his lips to mine again with such tenderness I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. I sighed and followed him into the kiss. This time I parted my lips and let his velvety tongue touch mine. I savored the taste of his lips and his tongue.

  It was the kind of kiss I’d been waiting my whole life for. First as a tormented young girl with no date to the dance and then as a shunned young woman plagued by demons.

  A voice inside me wanted to devour him, to claw at his shirt until I reached his bare skin. To climb on top of him and do things to him I’d only read about. But, as always, that reckless voice was countered with its rival, telling me to put both hands on Dillon’s chest and push away with all my might. And run.

  In the end, I did neither. I focused on his scent and his taste and how his tongue made my stomach flutter when he ran it over my bottom lip. I focused on how his hand hovered on the small of my back and the other caressed my cheek.

  Dillon gave and then he took and I wondered exactly how much he was holding back.

  Before long, Dillon pulled away just far enough so we could catch our breath and he rested his forehead against mine.

  “You okay?” he asked, stroking my hair.

  “Yeah,” I said through swollen lips.

  Dillon had kissed me and I was okay.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two days later, Dillon answered his phone on the second ring.

  “Hi, it’s Olivia.”

  “Hey, Livi. What’s up?” he said enthusiastically.

  Dillon’s enthusiasm was contagious and I found myself smiling into the phone. “I need to see you.”

  His tone changed abruptly into concern. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Everything is fine,” I rushed to reassure him. “I just thought we could start on your painting.”

  Dillon had been over twice since I “propositioned” him and I hadn’t even started on his portrait yet. I should have at least finished the sketch by now, but I hadn’t done that either. Drawing him the one time while he was sleeping didn’t count. Each time he’d came over we’d somehow get distracted by watching movies, dancing or talking and now kissing.

  Although painting him had only been an excuse to call him the third time, I really just wanted to kiss him again.

  “Okay, I’ll come over.”

  “Do you have a couple days free?” I asked, trying not to sound overly eager.

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Can you bring a change of clothes and stuff? I don’t want you having to do the Walk of Shame.”

  “Are you asking me to spend the night, Livi?”

  I could tell he was smiling, I could hear it in his voice. “You know you’re going to anyway.”

  “I guess that’s a fair assessment,” he said in a pompous tone.

  “Don’t wiggle your eyebrows at me!” I scolded.

  “I’m not wiggling anything. How about tonight? I can be there at eight.”

  “Okay. And Dillon?”

  “Yeah, Livi?”

  “Thank you.” Thank you for being able to come over on such short notice. Thank you for making me laugh on the phone. And thank you, most of all for being there for me to call in the first place.

  In bed the next morning, I lifted my head, looked over at the clock and groaned. Somehow, most of the morning had gotten away from us. Dillon’s arm was draped protectively over my waist and I was snuggled in against his chest.

  I was getting used to waking up to find him in my bed. Although we hadn’t done anything more than kiss, I still found myself thinking I’d gone too far. I was on a dangerous path that inevitably would lead me straight back to heartache and humiliation.

  But his warm body felt so nice next to mine.

  If my warped conscious already thought I’d crossed the line, then why not take things a little further?

  “Aren’t you going to the gym this morning?” I asked groggily.

  “Why? Am I getting flabby?” Dillon patted his six-pack and pretended to inspect his non-existent flab.

  I snorted, throwing my leg over his. “Hardly. I just thought you’d have already have gone this morning.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. Do you want to get rid of me already?”

  I sat up on my knees, my baggy nightshirt pooling around me, and tucked my hair behind my ears. “No, never. I just know it’s something you enjoy. So, why don’t you go down and work off some of that sexual frustration and I’ll order up some breakfast for when you get back.”

  He sat up and yawned, spreading his arms out wide. “All right, drill sergeant.”

  Before I could climb out of bed, he snagged me into a warm bear hug. “I’ll see you in an hour. Don’t go anywhere,” he murmured into my neck.

  I puffed out a breath of air. “That’s a laugh.”

  He patted me on the butt and strode into the bathroom to change.

  “Don’t let some gym hottie snag you up,” I called to him.

  He stuck his head out the door. “Yes dear. I’ll come straight back to you.”

  Several minutes later, when I heard the front door click securely behind him, I hurried in to the bathroom.

  That morning, I broke the record for the world’s fastest shower. Quickly, I lathered up with soap, careful not to linger on the places begging to be touched. I couldn’t risk it, knowing Dillon was downstairs and coming back any minute. I scrubbed like a madwoman, using firm, robotic pressure. When I stepped out of the shower, I was out of breath.

  I had to be dressed and ready before he came back to avoid any shower awkwardness. As much as I wanted to lather those bulging muscles with soap, I wasn’t ready yet.

  Not for that, anyway. But I was knocking around an idea of something else.

  An hour later, Dillon came back to me as promised. I loved seeing him after he worked out. All sweaty and handsome. Strong and energized.

  “When am I going to get you in the shower?” he asked after pulling me into a sweaty hug.

  My thighs twitched and I crossed my legs at the ankle. “Maybe someday.”

  “What about today?”

  I followed him into the bathroom. “Well, I kind of had something a little different in mind.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He turned around to face me, his face lighting up. “Like what?”

  “Well, I was thinking that…” Criminy, the words were sticking in my throat like peanut butter. “I was thinking I could watch you take a shower. I mean…through the glass. If that’s okay. Oh, God. That’s weird isn’t it?” I wheeled around to escape and hide my face.

  Dillon grasped my wrist before I could flee and pulled me to him. He smelled of sweat and that masculine scent that was uniquely his.

  He tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. “It’s not weird.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Besides, you don’t ask for much, so when you do, I’m inclined to accommodate you.”

  “I won’t look,” I promised.

  “You can look if you want to. That’s the whole point.”

  It sounded like he wanted me to.

  “No. I’ll just be in here while you’re in there,” I stammered.

  Dillon fought back a smile and squeezed my hand. “Okay, Livi. Whatever you want.”

  He started to take off his shirt and I forced myself to watch. Not that I didn’t want to, but because I was painfully embarrassed. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him without a shirt, he slept without one all the time. It was watching him in the act of taking it off that felt elicit.

  As he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor, his eyes never left mine.

  When he pulled his shorts down, I watched how his thigh muscles moved when he stepp
ed out of them. His briefs were next and my heart hammered. I closed my eyes when he reached for the elastic band.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  I motioned for him to continue and I turned around. “Keep going,” I said, eyes still shut, back still turned.

  “All right,” he mumbled.

  I heard him open the shower door, turn on the faucet and adjust the temperature.

  Only when I finally heard the door slide closed, did I slowly turn around. I was relieved to find he hadn’t tricked me and was actually inside the shower and not standing in front of it.

  The outline of Dillon’s body was tan against the white tile, but blurred slightly by the opaque glass doors.

  Not able to trust my legs, I lowered myself down and sat on the edge of the bathtub.

  While I watched his silhouette lather soap over his torso, my fingers gripped into the ledge, the tile cold on my hands. First, he worked the soap up and down his left arm and then the same with his right. Through the shower door, I could see the layer of lather on his skin. The water quickly chased the lather away as he worked the soap down his chest and belly and lower.

  As he skimmed the soap over his skin, I imagined it sliding over my body instead. Down my neck and shoulders, breasts, belly and between my legs. The heat there would warm the suds and Dillon would look at me with that dark hunger in his eyes. He’d run the soap between my legs and back up between my cheeks and up my spine.

  God, I was a coward for demanding the shower door be between us. Unfortunately, it was how it had to be. If I were to see Dillon naked straight away, I knew a heart attack was inevitable. This was the only way I knew to work up to it.

  Luckily, Dillon didn’t seem to mind. He was probably getting a kick out of being on “display” in my shower. I wondered if he was deliberately spending so much time lathering up his thighs.

  Ah, forget the soap. I wanted to lick him from head to toe until he had no choice but to cry out my name.

  I swallowed. In a room full of water, my throat was as dry as the Clark County desert.

  Dillon flipped open the shampoo bottle and I jumped at the sound. I was surprised to discover I was breathing hard like I’d taken the stairs all the way down to the lobby. My fingernails dug into the tub, my knuckles white.