‘My kiss?’
‘Your moves, your style. What drives the ladies wild?’ I pulled back, just an inch, hardly at all, but her eyes widened instinctively, and she took my hand. ‘What does a kiss mean to you, Matt?’ She let out a breath and pressed her forehead against mine. ‘That’s what I should have said.’ She held my chin again. ‘I’m sorry. This is so…’ She stopped and I pushed her face up by her jawbone, needing the eye contact.
‘So?’
‘Confusing.’
‘It doesn’t have to be,’ I said.
‘Tell me how you kiss,’ she whispered, her hands sliding into my hair. She was right. This was confusing. ‘Show me how you make them feel.’
‘It’s not just about a kiss,’ I replied, wondering if her questions had catapulted us back to the article, not something that was real and raw. ‘There’s more to it than that.’
‘Show me.’ I dropped my gaze to the floor, battling with myself. Should I do this? Make it natural? Or give her what she really wants? A piece of writing, an escort’s guide to the perfect kiss?
‘First, I’d help settle their nerves. There’s always nerves. I’d put my hand on her face.’ I was tentative at first, watching her reaction as my hand framed her cheek. ‘I’d go slowly, so her mind could catch up with her body.’ I moved in, close to her lips. ‘I’d wait a second, like I’m still deciding if I’m going there because everything changes once lips meet.’
I brushed my mouth against hers, then pulled back and took a breath to drink her in, making her swoon a little.
‘Then what?’ she whispered, eyes closed and head turned up, offering herself to me. I pushed my finger across her lips, smiling as she parted them.
‘I’d still need to assess what she wanted, give her a second. Wonder how I got so fucking lucky to be in this position.’
‘What?’ She gasped.
I’d never felt this way with a client. Never felt lucky to be kneeling before them, holding their face in my hands, about to press my lips against theirs. Were we still trying to balance on those blurred lines?
‘I wonder if she’s with me,’ I continued. ‘I check her eyes, hope for a small clue, a smile, a shine.’
She smiled and I closed my eyes, unable to shake the feeling she would believe this was my escort party trick, not because I was going out of my fucking mind with the need to touch her. I felt her press her forehead against mine and opened my eyes for a second to find hers closed, biting her lip, taking shallow breaths. Beautiful.
‘Do you think if we stay like this, your thoughts will transfer to mine?’
‘What are your thoughts?’ she asked.
‘I need to kiss you.’
‘I’m waiting,’ she said, a small laugh escaping that appeared to light up the room.
‘Some kisses are a tangle of mouths and tongues,’ I teased, rubbing my nose against hers, nudging lightly, lifting her head to find her lips. ‘A mutual wrestle of noses.’
I felt her smile against mine and I wondered if I was floating, had lost track of time. Where even was I? My spine tingled, goose bumps erupted. Ecstasy ensued. ‘You have to appeal to every sense. Like this.’ I pushed my hands against her neck, digging into her hair in the hope of sparking tingles and shivers. ‘You create a feeling so overpowering, you can feel it in the tiny nerve endings.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Her eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted.
‘Like you’re trying to crawl under each other’s skin.’ I pressed my thumb on her lip, dragging it down with a pop.
Pursuing her jawline with my fingers, feeling her mouth against mine, Stacey sat forward, gripping my neck to pull me closer before a smashing of mouths so powerful, we couldn’t get enough of each other.
We met each other on every kiss—small ones followed big ones, mouth kisses, neck kisses, peppery kisses over our cheeks, noses, her hands.
We had desperation, something I hadn’t felt before. A need to keep the connection before everything else fell away if we didn’t touch. She moved forward, sitting on my lap, and wrapped her legs around me. I pushed up her dress, revealing her long legs, smooth and soft as I moved my hand to the top of her thigh. I couldn’t help an ass grab and more neck kisses, frantic movements and thrusts. The definition of dry humping in glorious technicolour.
‘I love the way you look at me,’ she said, pulling back to catch my eyes.
‘How?’
‘You know.’
‘Like I want to strip you fucking naked piece by piece until your skin is against mine? Clawing at your clothes, ripping them apart, just to get to you better?’
‘Oh, holy fuck,’ she gasped. ‘Yes, like that.’
‘Then I’d lift you up’—I stood with her legs wrapped around me, my hands on her ass—‘to get more contact.’ I thrust against her. ‘More friction. A step closer to the end game.’ I turned us so we were facing the bed, a dynamic mix of kisses and laughter. I laid her down, her smile wide as I hovered above her, ready to burst. Those blurred lines were now scored out in perfect black and felt miles away from us.
‘It’s not just about a kiss, Stace. It’s not about the meeting of mouths, it’s the meeting of bodies and souls and every fucking inch I need of you.’
‘Of me?’
‘Don’t hold back,’ I said. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Is it me you want, Matt?’
‘Stace—’
‘Is it me?’
I crashed my mouth to hers again, holding her possessively by her hip, and watched as she writhed against me. I was hard, she knew it. It was difficult to miss.
‘It’s you,’ I replied. Of course it is. What was she thinking? I wanted to know so I could say the right thing, make it better, reassure her. ‘It’s only you.’
‘Don’t make me wonder where this is leading,’ she said. I circled my hips, made her feel where I wanted this to lead. She moaned out and I caught it with my mouth, and we gasped out together.
‘Stace, I want you. Tell me you want me too.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, placing both hands against my face. I pulled back, resting on my elbows. She looked astonishing spread out beneath me, her smile open and genuine. I wanted this, wanted to see where we could go. I had an overwhelming urge to hold her, kiss her, fuck her until she had no doubt I wanted her to be mine.
I stroked my hand across her face and kissed her forehead, then sighed as she wrapped her hand around my forearm and said what came into my mind as I took her in beneath me. ‘You look so fucking beautiful.’ She was the woman I’d fantasised about, dreamt of, wished for. ‘So beautiful.’
‘W-w-what?’ she asked, her smile falling. Gone, lost in an instant. A downpour of rain you weren’t expecting. ‘What did you say?’
The grip of her hand got tighter before she pulled away. I sat back, watching helplessly as she pushed her dress down and smoothed her hands over her hair.
‘You called me beautiful? Isn’t that what you say to all your clients?’
‘Stace, you looked amazing, lying there. Beautiful. I felt like the luckiest man alive.’ She nodded but avoided my gaze, dipping underneath my arm and seeking out her shoes that had toppled over on the floor.
‘I think I’ve got enough for the article,’ she said, pressing the heel of her hand to her head. She picked up her coat—also on the floor. We must have pushed it off, before her body caught up with her brain. I dragged my hand down my mouth and over my chin as she put it on and grabbed her bag from the dressing table. She picked up the gift basket, covering her mouth with her other hand.
‘This was lovely.’ She turned. ‘And thoughtful. No man…no one…has ever done anything so thoughtful.’ She wiped her eyes, trying to cover herself. ‘Look at me. What’s going on? I’m a mess. Argh! Ignore me. I’ve got to go.’ She pointed to the door. ‘I have an article to write and’—she lifted the cake box, balancing it precariously under her arm—‘cake to eat.’
I put my hand around her waist and for a second, she f
ell into me, sighing against my neck. ‘I have enough for the article,’ she repeated, pushing me away. ‘You’ve been very generous with your time and you’re a lovely guy.’ She let out a long breath. ‘Woo, that…last bit, there.’ She nodded to the bed. ‘You’re good at what you do. Really good.’ She smiled but it wasn’t a genuine Stacey smile. ‘Well done, you.’
‘Stace—’ I reached for her again and she stood back.
‘I’ll be in touch once the article is finished,’ she rushed out. ‘You’ll need to approve it before it’s published. Sign a contract, that sort of thing. Anna will probably handle it.’ She looked up like she’d hit the jackpot because she’d thought of a way of never having to see me again. ‘I had a lovely time,’ she said. ‘You made me understand how you make your clients feel, so thank you for that. It will help me…with the article.’
‘Stace,’ I pleaded, just as she reached the door. ‘I never thought of you as a client.’
I watched helplessly as the door closed behind her. Sitting down on the bed, where Stacey had been a few minutes earlier, I put my head in my hands. That couldn’t have gone any worse. ‘Fuck!’
Was she as confused by the blurred lines as I was? Did she feel something, something special and exclusive? The way I’d felt all night?
Kisses never held any importance to me. It was always a rush to the finish line of getting away, out of hotel rooms and back to myself. Even with long-term girlfriends, I didn’t pay attention to a good kiss. They soon turned into a warm peck on the cheek after a long day, not the burning inferno of mouths and sweeping tongues I’d just experienced with her. It was frenetic and frenzied but mindful too. I felt every press of her mouth, listened to every sigh that escaped her.
Longed to have the opportunity to do it again.
I grabbed my jacket, wondering if I could catch up with her, find her waiting for a taxi in the hotel lobby. That would give me time to explain she was more than a client, and we were more than an article for a women’s magazine.
Just as I headed for the door, I heard three loud knocks.
13
Stacey
The door opened with Matt behind it, standing there, silent and shocked. He was a great big wall of a man. Huge and present. I couldn’t get my hand around one bicep, had tried numerous times this evening. I should be scared of him, of this, of how he made me feel, but I wasn’t.
I was brazenly horny.
I never thought of you as a client.
I didn’t know a kiss could feel like that.
It was just an example, a show of how he made a woman feel good, but I was overwhelmed with emotion. It was intimate. More than an act of foreplay. Our chemistry made the kiss spark to life. His hands were in my hair, a small kiss to my neck turned into the devouring of my skin. Biting. Nipping. Delayed intimacy before the spark turned into a wild flame. I already knew I liked him. I was carrying a basket full of tampons, for Christ’s sake, but I left feeling like I couldn’t contain us. That our connection would carry me away, get me in too deep, until I would lose my footing.
I wondered if I’d met my perfect man but at the same time knew I wouldn’t be able share him.
My resolve got me as far as the elevator. The steps there consisted of thoughts of how many women he’d rubbed his beautiful bits against. I didn’t need a calculator to tell me quite a few. The steps back consisted mainly of how rampant I felt after our kiss. How going back to finish the experience would only make the article more authentic and how much I really wanted to put his cock in my mouth.
And then my vagina.
‘Hey, you,’ he said, his voice low, his breaths sharp.
‘Hey.’
‘I’m glad you came back.’
I pulled my shoulders back. Took a good stance. Bold and brave.
‘I’m a professional journalist. A woman of the world. I haven’t had sex in a while and there’s something about you that makes me have to squeeze my thighs together. Even I know that doesn’t come along often. Sex shouldn’t be a “man only” domain. I don’t need to feel shame that I enjoy a good seeing to every once in a while. Also, I had my bikini line waxed earlier today and I don’t want to waste it.’ His smile almost made me weep. ‘So, hurry up,’ I said. ‘Show me your moves. Throw me on the bed and fuck me like a sexual man beast!’
In a second, we were a collision. A brute force. All tongues and noises and mutual pants as we tried to gather what was left of the air. The gift basket and cake box were on the floor now. Rubber gloves, pan scourers, plasters were all spilling out of the cellophane in a tumble of his thoughtfulness. I laughed as he brushed them to the side with his feet, slamming the door shut with his hand, moving me with him, our mouths still pressed together. I slid my coat off my shoulders, then threw my bag across the room.
The rational side of my brain—the treacherous one—spoke out. What are you doing? You’ll regret this in the morning. She was the reason I didn’t go home with a Justin Timberlake lookalike after graduation. She was the cause of my less-than-exciting sex life, my reservations when it came to men, my talent for settling for being second best. But, tonight, I gagged her. Drowned out her voice with the noises of sexual desire filling the room. The moans and gasps and heavy breaths. The sounds of a thousand other voices telling me there was nothing wrong with a woman experimenting with her sexuality, finding my likes, my needs, my yes-pleases-and-thank-you’s.
‘Something about you makes me want to do things I shouldn’t,’ I said as he pulled back, looking at me like I was an angel, a vision that wasn’t really there.
‘Fucking do them,’ he rasped, his hands travelling against my neck, up and around as he held me there, waiting for my next move, needing my full consent.
Wrapping my hands around his, I pulled them away from me, kissing them gently before unbuttoning his shirt. The huge breadth of what only could be described as pure man-chest came into view. Broad and unyielding, with a thick scattering of chest hair that suited him perfectly and needed exploring with fingers. I traced the tips across it, featherlight in touch, his head falling back as I caught his nipples with my nails. On that animalistic noise, I fell to my knees before him.
‘Stace—’
‘Let me,’ I replied, looking up past the definition of his stomach muscles, the V I thought only existed in women’s minds, and had only seen in movies or pictures in magazines. Never in the flesh, never standing above me, ready to trace my fingers across and…lick.
‘Fuck,’ he whispered as I flicked my tongue along the ridge of muscle.
Something inside me stood up, at full attention, with a desperate need to please him. I opened his trousers, slipping down the zip, unfastening the button like a pro. I’d never given an enthusiastic blow job before. It wasn’t an act I enjoyed or looked forward to. With previous boyfriends, I’d try to distract them with my fantastic hand-job skills, hoping that would be enough before we moved on to the main show, blow job forgotten.
But I needed to make him feel good, make this different from a client-escort situation. He’d said his own pleasure wasn’t high on the agenda and that felt all kinds of wrong. To me, his pleasure counted, was necessary and important. I wanted him to feel my need for him. Not just a need for intimacy, or a breakneck orgasm, but a desire to make him count for something more.
His erection strained against his black and sexy-as-hell boxers. My fingers dipped into the band, pulling them down slowly until I was face to face with intimidation. Flipping. Heck. I sat back and bit my lip, staring at his almighty cock. My first thought was, How the hell would I fit my mouth around it? Second was, Christ, that’s the most amazing cock I’ve ever seen. A thing of beauty. A masterpiece. Complete glory.
I stared up at him, watching the adoration on his face, and felt my stomach bump up and down quickly as my feelings collected together and rushed around my body. I leant forward, held the almighty in my hand, and gently kissed the tip. A look of bliss escaped him. His hand clutched against my chin, a gentle
grip, a slight tip. His mouth parted with mine as I put his glory to the back of my throat. Willingly. Not a dutiful act, but a complete need. I was in full control of a sexual experience I knew I was never going to forget, and would never find with anyone else.
I was Stacey Clifton, currently desired and adored. A career woman going somewhere. A sexual being and a feminist, doing it all with a humongous cock in my mouth.
Power to the people.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and gave a running commentary in between his seductive man-on-the-edge-noises and stunned silences. You’re amazing. That feels so good. Fuck, your mouth. Catch me if I collapse. When he opened his eyes, we maintained contact because I was sexy and those usual embarrassing moments of shy glances, the anxiety of doing it wrong, worrying if it felt good, disappeared.
I knew it felt good.
I was rocking this blow job.
‘Your mouth was made for my cock,’ he gritted out.
I laughed around it, made him moan out my name, but after the words came the discovery. This man was beautiful, in more ways than just giving good face. I didn’t want to close my eyes—I needed the connection and he met my gaze when an adoration too big for me to make sense of.
‘Never stop looking at me like that,’ he said, his hand pressed against my face, a sliver of his finger lightly touching my jaw. ‘You’re so fucking sexy. Look at what you’re doing to me.’
I held his cock against my lips, and glanced up. ‘I don’t know. Tell me.’
‘If I do, can I see you again?’
‘Don’t make me think about what happens next,’ I replied, wanting to stay in the moment and enjoy him, not think if there should be further steps. He pushed his cock into my mouth, hitting my throat again. His bum tightened under my fingertips, and he gasped.
‘Stace, I’m close, sweetheart, what do you want me to do?’ I dragged his cock out of my mouth, watched it bob against his stomach, and stared in disbelief at the proportions I’d managed to get my lips around. Then, I did something very un-Stacey like.
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