‘I don’t feel in control,’ I replied. ‘I feel like my body isn’t attached to my head anymore.’
He laughed, watching me like I was the most important person in his life, and that only added to my confusion. My head was a tangle of thoughts and feelings, the need for Matt to give me a sign he wasn’t in full escort mode, making me feel beautiful and telling me what I wanted to hear. My eyes followed the bumps of his shoulders shaped through rugby and other…rugged activities. Gah! Why did he have to be so manly and hot, with a splurge of lovely and sweet?
‘What do you want, Stace? Are we ending the night here?’
‘I want the full experience,’ I said rapidly. My stomach bounced, mimicking a human slingshot bungee ride, and I wasn’t sure if I was strapped in. ‘I do. But is it OK, even at this late stage, to say I haven’t completely made up my mind?’
‘At least it isn’t a no,’ he replied and held my hand again. That simple gesture made me feel all kinds of twitchy. That was a swoony move. A legitimate two-people-who-want-more-from-each-other move. I couldn’t shake my thoughts, couldn’t find clarity. I still needed a sign.
‘Do you hold hands with them? Your clients?’ I wasn’t sure where that came from, why I asked, but it was crucial, and I needed to know. It was vital for the next step, the decision I needed to make in the matter of minutes but hadn’t reached in the hours slipping away through the night.
‘Sometimes,’ he replied, his voice low, like he didn’t want me to hear him.
‘Then I want something different.’ What the hell, Stace? ‘Something that’s ours.’
He pulled his hand back and I wanted to snatch it, hold it against my body. Trap it there. But then he traced his fingertips across my little finger, soft and slow like he was thinking it through, running it around his head before finally linking them together.
‘This is ours. Just ours,’ he said, looking at our joined fingers. ‘Push them out of your mind, Stace. All the others, the job, the rush of confusion about what you’re feeling.’ He curved his over, pulling them closer together. ‘Just think about us.’ The gesture was intimate and simple, and as I watched our fingers link, I really hoped it did only belong to us.
11
Matt
We’d shared a moment, no denying it. Our fingers stayed curled together as she read the dessert menu, laughing as she changed her mind when she discovered a new option to consider. We continued talking late into the night, but the voice recorder had been turned off, the notes had been folded into four and tucked away in her coat pocket. There were times it felt like a date. A real date. A date I’d chosen to go on with a woman who made my heart race. But although the recorder had been put away, there were times I wondered if she was still interviewing me. If my silly stories of rugby injuries and childhood illnesses would feature in the article. We traded tales of life and what we felt was important within it. Friends, holidays, time to ourselves…cake.
Somehow, we left the restaurant with a box of treat-sized desserts when Stacey couldn’t decide which one to choose. She’d asked to speak to the chef and proceeded to question if his chocolate cake was chocolatey enough or his Panna Cotta was creamy just to her satisfaction. So, he let her try them all. The box of treat-sized desserts, a sample of each from the menu, was tied with a red ribbon and included an invitation to come back again soon. He fell for her tonight, like I had. Completely at her mercy, feeling like you’re the luckiest man just to be by her side.
I held the door open for her, then waited as she turned her attention back to me. ‘Do you kiss a client goodnight when they’ve made it clear they don’t want sex? Are kisses still important to the date?’ she asked, eyes fixed on my mouth. ‘I guess there’s a certain amount of intimacy that they like or…’ She tipped her head slightly. ‘Maybe it’s too much for them? Like a line has been crossed?’
‘I have to make a judgement,’ I replied. ‘Sense what they want.’
‘How?’ She glanced over her shoulder at me, stopping under the shelter of a shop front, the lights and impeccably dressed mannequins in the window fading away to darkness as Stacey dimmed them with her light. ‘How do you know?’
‘A feeling,’ I said, shrugging. ‘I’ve become good at reading people. Body language tells you if they would prefer a kiss on the cheek or a hug to end the evening. There’s something different when they want a full-on snog.’
She laughed, hiding her mouth behind the cake box, her clutch balancing on top.
‘There’s a look in their eyes. A hunger. The ones that want a fun night practically vibrate.’ I shook my head. ‘Frightening.’
She put her hand on top of her bag, steadying it as she laughed loudly. God, she was fantastic. Every movement, every part of her, was raucous and bold. A confidence only Stace could carry off without being conceited. She was unapologetic for her quirkiness. Accepted herself fully and didn’t care if you didn’t get her. I was starting to think I did. I got her. I understood her, wanted her to stay in my life once the night was over and the article written because I loved how she made me feel.
‘I don’t know why,’ she said, eyes narrowed but still a hint of her softness, the warmth that was always there, even when asking the bluntest of questions. ‘You contradict yourself sometimes. A lot, actually. You say you want to tell the story of the women you meet, to empower them and make it more socially acceptable, but then you make a joke or say you’re frightened when you sense a woman wants a freaky night in the bedroom.’
‘I’m not frightened,’ I replied. ‘I shouldn’t have used that word.’ I laughed to break the mood. ‘I was trying to make you laugh, but obviously failed spectacularly because now you’re questioning my mental health or what dark secret has led me down this path.’
‘I don’t like to think you’re doing something you don’t want to do,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to make sense of that.’
‘What makes you think I don’t want to do it?’
‘A feeling,’ she said. ‘I’m good at reading people.’ She smiled when I dropped my eyes to the pavement ahead of me, remembering I’d spoken the same words just a few minutes ago. ‘I get that it’s a quick way of earning good money but it’s extreme, isn’t it? There’s something you’re not telling me. A secret.’
I stood back as she left me outside the shop window. Her ponytail swung in the opposite direction of her hips and I tried to ignore the desire to wind it around my fist, imagine the curve of her naked back as she was on all fours, ready for me to take her, but this wasn’t a good time. Stacey Clifton had found me out in the space of an evening. On a fake date she was documenting through notes and voice recordings. She knew there was more to my story. A story I wasn’t ready to tell her yet, but was getting there. I knew I was getting there.
‘Extreme?’ I repeated ridiculously, like a toddler at bedtime who’d suddenly remembered important info they just had to share alongside requesting a second drink and another story.
In other words, I was delaying.
‘You’ve chosen a career where you’re opening yourself to having sex with women you wouldn’t normally take to bed. Women who don’t fit your normal type. Women who are the total opposite of that. I couldn’t imagine offering my body to someone I didn’t find attractive or appealing in some way.’
‘If you’re asking me how I get an erection and keep it, well, imagery works. Usually involving a three-way with Emma Stone and Lily Collins.’ She looked at me like she was the rabbit and I was the car that had caught her in my headlights. ‘You know I’m joking, right?’
‘Are you?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t judge you if you did. There has to be something that makes it easier for you. Gets you through it.’ She did a thrusting motion with her fist and I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Why are you really doing this?’
That question flashed through my mind and clattered through my ears. How did she know? When did she guess there was more to this? I wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk—would this be the centerpiece of
the article? The man who became an escort because he really had no fucking choice.
‘Money,’ I replied, stuffing my hands in my pockets. ‘I do it for the money. I like the lifestyle it gives me.’
‘What lifestyle?’ she asked. ‘Where do you live?’
‘I’m sharing a flat with my dad,’ I replied.
‘OK. So, you must drive a Lamborghini? One in every colour?’
‘I don’t have a car.’
‘Luxury holidays, then?’
‘I need one after this,’ I deadpanned.
Keep moving. Just keep moving.
‘I thought you were living the dream. Enjoying the lifestyle? That’s rubbish, isn’t it?’ I almost choked on her words, needing to clear my throat to hide the lie behind it. ‘There’s more to this,’ she said, as she cocked her head.
‘There’s always more,’ I replied, as close to the truth as I could get. ‘But that would make a very different article.’
I continued walking, hoping desperately that she’d follow me. Preferably with an understanding smile, no more questions, and final decision about coming to my hotel room. My stomach upended when I found her glued to the spot, her face still puzzled.
‘Come on,’ I shouted. ‘I thought you wanted the full experience.’
‘I want the full story,’ she replied.
I clutched the gift basket to my chest, shaking my head before I found the strength to meet her gaze and smile. ‘It’s not mine to tell.’
She nodded lightly and joined me. ‘We’ll stick to the one you’re happy to share for now.’
‘Thanks, Stace.’ She glanced at me, her smile wider now. ‘For not pushing.’
‘It’s fine. No problem,’ she said quietly, her plump lip fixed under her teeth. ‘And just for the record, I still haven’t decided if I want the full experience.’
‘Yes, you have,’ I replied, pushing her softly against the window, caging her between me, her box of cakes, and the basket of practical items she forgot at the supermarket.
‘What makes you think that?’
I took her hand, linking our little fingers together. ‘A feeling.’
‘We were talking about goodnight kisses.’
‘Want one?’ I asked, leaning in, getting closer. I traced my finger across her jawline, the bone structure of her fascinating face. She met my shallow breaths, closed her eyes, and kept the curve to her mouth. A blissful, serene smile. The jagged pattern of the movement of her chest was the only sign that this moment had urged through, making her lightheaded and shaky. I was expecting a quick tap on my arm, a raucous laugh followed by an adorable snort, but instead, I got this small piece of wonderful.
‘Take me to your hotel room,’ she said breathlessly, eyes still closed. ‘I’ve finally made up my mind.’
12
Matt
‘Is this your usual hotel?’ she asked tentatively as I inserted the card key and let us into the room. I’d booked it earlier this week. Bringing her here was wishful thinking then. Now, the only wishful thinking was that I could make sense of the blurred lines between us, and hopefully bring them into focus. I still couldn’t fathom what was just for the article or what Stacey wanted from the rest of the evening.
From me.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ I replied, throwing my bag down and placing the gift basket on the dressing table. I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t. It was an expensive hotel. Rooms were often booked by my clients and could be only be described as budget at best. It was a conscious decision to bring Stacey somewhere new because it wasn’t contaminated by past experiences.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said, laughing as she removed her coat. ‘You would be bankrupt.’
She draped it delicately on the end of the bed, paying it extra attention, smoothing it down before sitting beside it, the box of cakes sitting precariously on her knee.
‘Let me put them here,’ I said, putting the box next to the gift basket.
‘My grandma always used to say if you leave somewhere with more than you came with, you’d had a good time.’
I watched as she leant back, her arms holding her weight, the curve of her boob lifting slightly, and was hit by a feeling I was a lucky bastard. I wasn’t sure what else I could compare it to. Perhaps a sucker punch to the ribs or the breathlessness I experienced after finishing a marathon and dropping to my knees. Her shoulders came into view, tanned and speckled with tiny freckles. The arch of her collarbone framed with silky blue straps. She crossed her legs and bright neon pink toes peeked out from underneath her dress. I was falling under her spell again, a tension in the air I could only liken to something magical. Something I hadn’t experienced before.
‘Do you want a drink?’
‘Is that what you normally ask?’ Her leg started moving, a tiny kick-kick pattern of nerves. ‘I mean, is that what happens. You have a drink first?’
‘Stop analysing,’ I said softly. ‘I’m just asking if you want something to drink.’
I wanted to rewind, stop time. Change the decisions I’d made. Turn down the offer of a job with an escort agency. Remove the complication. Just for her. To be with her. ‘I want you to relax.’
She blew out a breath. ‘I’m trying.’
‘I want you to know everything still stands, now we’re in a hotel room and not the safety of a public restaurant.’ She looked at me with wide eyes. Gorgeous. I imagined the same look when she allowed me to slide my cock into her mouth.
‘What still stands?’ She gripped her neck like her life depended on it. One false move and she’d wilt on the spot.
‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’
‘I’d love that drink,’ she said quickly. ‘Water. Just water. Please.’ I took two glasses and poured us both a drink from a bottle of water I found in the mini-bar. She took the glass from me and almost downed it. She laughed when she saw I was watching, offering a small smile because she was adorable. ‘That’s better.’
‘Thirsty?’
‘A bit,’ she replied, holding the back of her hand to her mouth. ‘Are you ready to start?’
‘Why don’t we go back to banging-on-the-wall-type sex because I fucking loved that conversation.’
‘Happy to revisit that,’ she replied. ‘Should I have sent my sexual requests in an email about three days ago?’ She had found a new angle of cuteness loaded with sass and I loved it. ‘Agreed terms. Seen if it’s part of your sexual comfort zone?’
‘I’m pretty sure anything involving you is my sexual comfort zone.’ I watched as she held her palm across her heart, trying to steady it, find some bravery.
‘What about a massage? I have a knot right here.’ She brought her hand to her shoulder and smoothed it over her skin.
‘It’s not my usual specialty but I’m willing to give it a try.’ I couldn’t hold out anymore. I needed this woman. Needed her on me, under me, and against me. ‘Bring me your knotted shoulders.’
‘No. Come to me,’ she replied, leaning back on her hands, breasts forward. Would it be too much to sink to my knees? The silk of her dress clung to the outline of her body and I was ready to tear it to shreds. ‘I’m making you work for it.’
‘Don’t need to do that, Stace,’ I gritted out as she lost the heels.
‘You’re making me feel all kinds of things. Is that to be expected? Will I be charged for that?’ she asked, fanning herself with her hands before swiping one across her forehead. ‘I’m pretty sure I’ve already orgasmed twice this evening.’
I threw out a laugh. ‘Twice? Is that all?’
‘Isn’t that enough? I’ve not had an orgasm for months. I’m pretty sure I’ve used my yearly quota tonight.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I replied. ‘Stace, you should be fucking worshipped. You’re vibrant and funny, and if your sex life isn’t a reflection of how amazing you are, if the men you’ve been with haven’t feasted on you, made your body burst to life’—I shook my head—‘they’re bloody idiots.�
��
‘Show me how you kiss a client,’ she said, quietly, her eyes fluttering closed. Her breaths were ragged, juddering with every pull. I wished I knew if this was a journalist’s need to feel the story, get in the moment and write the best article of her life, or if this was what she wanted, a desire to get lost in me as much as I needed to get lost in her. ‘I’m paying for your time. I expect a great kiss. Better than any I’ve had before. So, come on, sex guru. What are the first steps?’
I laughed at that, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and tried to ignore the dare in her tone.
Show me a good time. Make me want you.
I stood up, catching her laughter as I knelt down in front of her. She lost control of that shaky crossed leg, and those pink toes rested against my chest. ‘Sorry.’ She laughed. ‘Jesus, I’m a mess already. This is just a kiss. What will I do when I meet your penis?’
‘Fuck, you make me laugh,’ I replied, wrapping my hand around her foot as she went to move it. I ran my finger underneath the curve, knew the spots that would make her moan. Her gasp travelled straight to my cock. Another clue that maybe she was more affected by me than just having an interest in my story. ‘Do you want me to kiss you?’
‘You should be telling me that, Mr I-can-read-people.’
‘You’re impossible to read,’ I replied. ‘You’re so warm and friendly and present. I wouldn’t know if you’re genuinely interested, being polite, or just after a good story.’
‘All of the above,’ she said as we watched each other, sizing up the moment. I wanted to reach out, pull her to me, and kiss the fuck out of that gorgeous mouth. As she wrapped her hand underneath my chin, stroking my jawline with the tips of her fingers, she hit me right in the feels. ‘You’re lovely, Mr Shaw.’
‘Stace,’ I whispered, her words hammering across my chest. She was so genuine; whatever she had to say, she would put it out there. Damn the consequences.
‘Tell me about your kiss.’
One Night Only Page 11