by Megan Hart
I really had no more excuses after that, but as I followed his motorcycle in my car down Harrisburg’s dark streets, I almost chickened out. Three times. Jack pulled up onto the sidewalk and parked the bike, and I found a spot for Betty between a beat-up Metro and a garish green Accord. I got out and locked my doors, then looked up at the brick building.
“C’mon in.” Jack held out his hand, and I took it.
Chapter 14
He lived on the third floor, and though the place didn’t look like much from the outside, his apartment was clean. Almost stark. Plain white walls and bare wooden floors in one main room with a small bathroom and bedroom tucked off to the back. His furniture looked battered, but his sink, unlike my own, wasn’t piled high with dishes and his garbage pail didn’t overflow with trash.
Jack hung his jacket and helmet on a set of large metal pegs drilled into the wall and tossed his keys into a glass dish on a small table by the door. He gestured. “This is my place.”
“It’s nice.” I looked around, noting the art on the walls. “Did you draw those?”
“Some of them. Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Some are from friends.”
I was no expert, but even I could see he had talent. “You’re good.”
He put his arms around me from behind, pulling me back against him. “Yeah, I think you told me that before.”
I mock elbowed him. “I meant your pictures.”
He turned me in his arms and pulled me flush against him. “I know.”
It was different without the money between us, in a subtle way I couldn’t put my finger on and didn’t want to think about. Jack didn’t seem to have any trouble. He slid his hand under my hair to cup the back of my neck and bent to kiss me as he backed me toward the bedroom.
We’d done a lot of role playing, but this time there was no pizza delivery boy, no naughty schoolboy. No bored housewife or demanding boss. No more lessons, as a matter of fact, because he’d learned them all very, very well.
He undressed me carefully, using his hands and mouth to map the curves he revealed. His mouth lingered at the swell of my breasts above my lacy bra while his fingers skimmed the edge of my matching panties and slid beneath my ass. He took his time but didn’t do it slowly, and his careful haste, his eagerness to reach my nakedness, thrilled me.
Still kissing me, he tugged open his belt, undid the zip, pushed the jeans over his lean hips and to the floor. He took his mouth from my flesh only long enough to pull off his long-sleeved T-shirt. I stopped him when he put his hands on the waistband of his boxers.
“Wait.”
He gave me a curious look.
“Let me.”
Standing at the edge of the bed, Jack lifted his hands in acquiescence as I scooted forward.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I curled my fingers into the soft fabric of his boxers and pulled it down.
We’d spent a lot of time on making me happy. It was what I paid for, after all. To be pleased. Jack had learned my body far better than I’d learned his.
I also took my time, but didn’t hesitate in revealing his body to me. I’d seen it many times before, and yet tonight it felt different to trace with my tongue the outline of the stylized sun on his lower belly. He kept his pubic hair trimmed short, and I nuzzled his skin as I breathed in his scent, purely male. His cock brushed my cheek and my hair tangled over it as I mouthed his tattoo. I gripped his ass and held him still as I licked and sucked and bit his stomach, hip and thigh, but I let him go and looked up at him without taking his erection into my mouth.
“Tell me what you want.” It was the first time I’d ever asked.
Jack passed a hand over my hair and down to caress my cheek briefly. He stroked his erection slowly a few times with my hair still wrapped around it in places. “Use your mouth on me. Please.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable request, considering the times he’d done the same for me, but I liked the way he asked. I lifted a hand to smooth my hair off him, but didn’t take him into my mouth right away. I looked first. Really looked. I’d spent hours with him inside me, but had never really seen his prick up close.
I studied the smooth, thin skin beneath which his blood pulsed. I slid my hand slowly down his length and cupped his balls, then moved up again and gripped his cock just below the head. Jack put his hand on my hair, but didn’t push me. His breathing got heavier, but he waited.
I liked that, too.
“Tell me something. Did you used to have…something?”
He smoothed his hand over my hair. “Something like what?”
“A…thing? Here?”
“A Prince Albert?” Jack laughed, low. “Yeah. Got tired of it. Took it out. Why, do you like that?”
“I don’t think so.” I studied his cock and saw something that might have been a small scar.
“No. I like you the way you are now.”
“Good.”
When at last I dipped my head to close my lips around his cock, Jack groaned. Such a simple, basic noise of pleasure, but something tightened low in my gut. I closed my eyes when he murmured my name and I thought of Sam.
I thought of Sam’s eyes and mouth and hands, of Sam’s impossibly long legs and the glint of his earring. Of his shaggy hair that begged for the taming of scissors and comb. I had another man’s cock in my mouth and my own hand between my legs, but it was Sam’s face that filled my mind. His voice, and the strum of his guitar as he sang a song that could only have been meant for me. I took Jack inside my mouth, and I knew something he didn’t.
This would be the last time we fucked.
I couldn’t afford this anymore. This was costing me too much, and not in dollars.
He pushed forward into my mouth and I put a hand at the base of his cock to control his thrusting. Using hand and mouth in tandem, I sucked and stroked until his fingers tightened in my hair hard enough to hurt.
I left his prick covered in the wetness from my mouth and looked up at him. Jack’s eyes had glazed and his mouth was lax from pleasure, but he smiled when he saw me looking.
He didn’t ruin it with talking, just leaned in to kiss me. His tongue dived into my mouth.
We ended up on the bed, flesh on flesh and limbs tangled. His hands roamed over me, dipping between my legs. I was already wet from my own touch, and he slipped one finger inside me, then up and over my clit.
Sensation leaped through me, and Jack swallowed my gasp. His hand moved against me. I was almost there already, but he knew me well enough to know when to ease off. To tease.
I let him lead us, to decide when we’d stop kissing and stroking and licking and actually start fucking. We kissed for a long, long time. Longer than we ever had when I was in charge. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent so long kissing and stroking without moving right into sex. High school, probably. We kissed for so long I thought I might come from the pressure of his tongue on mine alone, or the skid of his fingertips along my belly. He’d slid a leg between mine, my cunt pressed to his thigh, and I thought I might come from that, too.
I didn’t look at the clock. I didn’t care about the time, though hours were passing. This was the last time, and I wanted to remember every moment of it. I wanted to make this as good for Jack as he’d been for me.
In the midst of our foreplay we’d moved all over the bed. I don’t know when or from where Jack got the condom, but when he finally pressed it into my hand my hands shook too badly for me to put it on him. Desire and anticipation made me clumsy. So did another, deeper emotion, something like sad tenderness or tender sadness, or something not like that at all but indefinable.
He took the packet from me and tore it open, kissing me as he put it on. Kissing me when he pushed me onto my back and parted my legs with one of his. Still kissing as he slid inside me with one, smooth thrust.
My orgasm stuttered, struggling, and my body arched to meet his without my conscious effort. I’d reached incoherency, my thoughts reduced to flashes of raw need.
Want. Thrust.
Clench. Pull, push, fuck. Come.
My body strained as Jack moved inside me. I pulled my mouth from his, the distraction of his lips and tongue too much. He buried his face in the curve of my shoulder. He bit, harder than he ever had, and the pain was so sweet I cried out.
It wasn’t the first time we’d come together, but it was the last, and I held on to it all the more tightly for knowing it.
After, sweat glued us together until he rolled off me with a sigh. I stared at his ceiling and listened to the sound of his breathing as it slowed. Jack kissed my shoulder and got out of bed, used the bathroom and came back. I hadn’t moved. He crawled into bed next to me, our shoulders and hips touching, and he linked his hands on his chest with another sigh.
“Damn,” he said after a while.
I smiled. “Mmm, hmm.”
He turned to look at me. “You can stay if you want.”
I turned to my side to look at him, and reached to touch his face. “Thanks, but I’ve really got to get home. It’s late.”
“Yeah. And you have to work in the morning,” he said with a wry grin.
I had nothing scheduled, actually a rare Saturday in which I had no obligations. The thought of falling asleep here wasn’t tempting enough to make me do it, not compared to what I imagined waking up here would feel like.
Jack looked to the ceiling and yawned. “Did you know that guy?”
I didn’t bother feigning ignorance. “Yes.”
“That song was about you, huh?”
“I think so. I guess so.” I sat and swung my legs over the bed, thinking of a hot shower and my own warm bed. Of the phone call I knew would come.
Jack was silent while I used the bathroom. When I came out, he’d pulled on his boxers and lit a cigarette. The ashtray rested on his belly.
“You shouldn’t smoke in bed, you know.” I hunted for and found my clothes and started dressing.
“Yeah, yeah.” He blew a smoke ring. “You like him a lot, huh?”
I tried not to pause, but my hands wouldn’t keep buttoning. “Oh, Jack.”
“Grace, why do you do this?”
I jammed my shirt into my skirt without finishing the buttons. “Because I owed you a tip and I had no money.”
It wasn’t a kind or honest answer, but Jack didn’t appear to hold it against me. “C’mon.”
I looked at him. “Because I prefer it.”
“Why?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You don’t need to pay to get laid. Plenty of guys would go out with you. You’re pretty. And fun.”
“I don’t do it because I can’t find someone to go out with. Okay? I do it because I want to.”
Jack smoked and looked thoughtful. “That guy likes you.”
“Gee, Jack. What makes you say that? The fact he wrote a song about me?” Ah, sarcasm, defense of the defenseless.
“Hey, I’m just saying.”
“Well…don’t.” I shoved my feet into my boots. “I don’t pay you for commentary.”
Jack snorted. “You’re not paying me right now.”
“Well, what about you?” I whirled, hands on my hips. “Don’t think I didn’t see how that girl was looking at you!”
“Girls always look at me.” He blew another smoke ring and wooed me with his smile.
“You were looking at her, too. I saw it.” I finger-combed my hair and shuddered at the sight of the hour on the clock. “God, I’ve got to go.”
Jack sat up higher and stubbed out his cigarette, then put the ashtray on the nightstand to get out of bed. “Her name’s Sarah, and yeah. I like her.”
“And yet you brought me home,” I pointed out.
Jack stretched. “She can’t afford me.”
“I can barely afford you.”
He smiled. I raised an eyebrow until he shrugged again. “You answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”
“I don’t want to get hooked up to someone only to have it end. Okay?” The words shot out of me.
“Whoa.” Jack raised his hands.
“Yeah. Whoa.”
“What makes you so sure it would have to end?” My face must have looked scary, because he amended himself quickly. “I mean, that’s just such a downer way to look at it, that’s all.”
“Everything ends, Jack. Everything. One way or the other.”
He studied me. “Someone hurt you?”
My laugh tasted more bitter than it sounded. “No. Not really.”
Jack looked bemused. “It’s just that you’re—”
“Pretty and fun,” I cut in. “I know, Jack. You told me that already.”
Now, finally, I’d wounded him, but I could take no pleasure in seeing the way his expression closed against me. “Sorry.”
I softened and touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. But I think maybe this was a mistake.”
I patted his shoulder and moved toward the front door, grabbing my purse along the way.
He came after me, not content to let his voice stop me. His touch wasn’t rough, but I turned at it with a look that made him drop his hand.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he said.
“Good night, Jack.”
“Grace, wait.”
I waited, but he said nothing, though I could see his mind working. I sighed, a headache starting. If I got to sleep in tomorrow, it would hardly count.
“You’ll call me again, right?”
An easy lie rose to my lips but was kicked back by the truth. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Because of him?”
“No, Jack.” I touched his arm, the bare skin warm beneath my fingers. “Because of you.”
“Because…you don’t like me?”
I shook my head and backed toward the door. He followed, brows knitting and mouth gone grim. His arms were longer, and he reached over my shoulder to slam the door shut as I tried to open it. He caged me with his arms.
“Why, then?” he demanded. “I didn’t give you your money’s worth?”
“Stop it!”
“Then why? I want to hear you say it!”
“Just the fact you’re asking me should be the answer!” Our voices had risen, and I wondered briefly about neighbors, but I wouldn’t have to answer to them.
“Well, it’s not!” Jack leaned in close, but I turned my face.
“You stink of smoke.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not planning on kissing you.”
That stung, and I put a hand on his chest to push him away. “You’re being an asshole.”
He shrugged and grabbed up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the table where he’d put his keys. He lit up and took a few steps back, leaving me free to go. “So go.”
I didn’t want to go like this. Messy. Emotional. “You see what I mean? Everything ends.”
“It doesn’t have to end.” He pointed at me with his cigarette.
“Yes. It does.”
“Why? Because of the money? I think it’s pretty obvious I don’t mind fucking you for free.”
Tears swelled in my throat and behind my eyes, burning. “Stop it.”
Jack said nothing.
“I like you,” I told him, each word sharp like glass. “Okay? I like you a lot.”
“But not enough? What?”
“This is supposed to be a business arrangement. I pay you to give me what I want, which is uncomplicated, no-strings sex. That’s it.”
His shoulders hunched momentarily before he straightened them. “Yeah. Well. I guess it got a little complicated.”
“Yes. And I don’t want that.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “Because it fucking sucks.”
I wanted to touch him but didn’t. “Maybe this isn’t the right line of work for you.”
Jack laughed around a mouthful of smoke. “No shit. Being a fucking lapdog for rich old bitches who can’t be bothered to learn my name? Being arm candy for uptight career chicks who just need a date to impress their upti
ght career-chick friends? Being a cover for lesbians who don’t want their families to know they’re dykes?”
It was a tirade, and a surprising one. “It’s a job.”
“Yeah. And I get paid really fucking well to be a whore.” He spat out a crumb of tobacco and stubbed out his cigarette on a plate on the table. “But it was different with you.”
“No,” I told him gently. “It really wasn’t.”
He sneered and looked away. “It was. You’re the only one who ever took the time to talk to me like I was a real person.”
“You are a real person.”
I could see the quirk of his mouth even though his face was turned away from me. “But you’d rather pay me to take you out than just hang out with me.”
“You should ask her out,” I told him. “Sarah.”
He looked at me then. “And you should ask him out. That guy. Sam.”
We stared at each other in silence until he shivered and grabbed a sweatshirt from the back of a kitchen chair. I put my hand on the knob and opened the door, and this time, Jack didn’t try to make me stay.
“You really are perfect,” I told him.
Jack looked at me. “Yeah. Maybe in the morning I’ll cross-stitch that on a sampler and hang it on my wall.”
“It’s already tomorrow morning.”
He smiled, finally, and the tightness eased inside my chest. “I’d better get stitching, huh?”
“Goodbye, Jack.”
He nodded and lifted a hand, but made no move toward me. I ducked out the door and closed it behind me, and drew a shaky breath.
Everything ends.
Light was breaking in the sky by the time I crawled, bleary-eyed, into my bed without even washing my face or brushing my teeth. No sooner had I closed my eyes than my cell phone jangled from my purse, which I’d tossed onto the chair in my bedroom.
I had to answer it.
It rang again, but I couldn’t move.
I had to answer it. It could be a death call. At this hour, what else would it be?
“Dammit, Sam,” I breathed into the mouthpiece when I answered it as it rang again.