“Oh, I believe it,” she murmured, gazing up at me. She looked away quickly, her cheeks spreading with color at the innuendo. “This was nice, Coop,” she said as we approached the apartment complex. “Thanks for helping me reignite my love for cheesecake.”
I held the door open for her as we entered the foyer of the apartment complex. We walked to the elevator, both lost in our own thoughts. The doors opened on our floor and she stepped out, followed by me.
I opened the front door, letting her in first. She waited as I locked the door, and then walked with me through to the living room.
“Well I guess I’d better get to bed,” she smiled.
“I guess you had better,” I echoed.
She stood there awkwardly for a moment—which is how long it took me to realize she wanted me to kiss her. I leaned forward and cradled the back of her neck. My body jolted as my fingertips brushed gently over her soft skin. I pulled her close to me, until her lips were almost on mine.
“Sleep well,” I whispered as my mouth melted into hers. It was just a kiss, but a kiss that touched the core of my body. So many emotions flooded through me when those lips met mine.
I so badly wanted her just then. I wanted to touch every inch of her body, and explore what turned her on. But I didn’t want to mess this up. If I rushed things, that’s what would happen. As hard as it was for me to pull away from her, that was what I needed to do. The last time I’d felt that way about anyone was with Kara, and the heartache I’d suffered back then was still raw.
“Night,” she whispered, her hand dropping away from mine.
Chapter Eleven
I stumbled down to the kitchen shortly after ten, my head spinning from another night of poor sleep. I spotted the full coffee pot, which at that moment felt as good as winning the lottery.
Thank fucking god. I poured myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
“Nice boxers.”
Huh? Oh shit. I turned around and winked at Mia, who was smirking at me from the end of the counter.
“Yep. What can I say? I rock my boxers.” I shrugged and leaned against the counter, my coffee in my hand. I stretched my body out, completely unashamed of how ridiculous I looked in my red satin love-heart boxer shorts.
She shook her head and laughed, her cheeks glowing red.
“God, you’re an idiot,” she giggled, her face lighting up.
“Yeah, well, I’d love to hang around for more of this abuse, but I have work to do.” I raised my eyebrows at her and sauntered off to get ready.
As I got dressed, I thought about our kiss the night before. More accurately, I continued to think about our kiss because in reality, it was all that had occupied my mind since it had happened.
It had taken forever for me to drift off to sleep, and when I finally did, I dreamt about her. Then I woke up thinking about her. Fuck. Everything right now was about her. Not just my attraction to her, either, but literally everything about this woman was driving me crazy.
When I walked past the bathroom I heard the shower running. I imagined her standing in there, naked, hot water running over her beautiful body. I felt myself getting hard.
Focus, Coop. You’ve got work to do, and that doesn’t involve Mia.
A wave of guilt swept through me. What was that about? Guilt for lying to her about my job? It’s not like we were together. I wasn’t cheating on her, so why did it feel like I was? I pushed aside my thoughts of her and forced myself to focus on work.
Because that’s all it was to me, work.
I wound down my window and buzzed at the gate of Amalie’s mansion. For her, this was safer than meeting me in some random hotel where you never knew who was watching. That and Amalie had specific tastes that could only be met here.
You’re intrigued now, aren’t you?
The first time I went to her house, which was only shortly after I began escorting, I was shocked. My initial thoughts were focused on how a woman could possibly get pleasure out of all that shit—especially one of the most well-known women of this generation.
Amalie Prescott was a household name. Everyone knew her sweet little smile and could spin off a handful of her movies. Seeing her in the flesh that first time had left me feeling starstruck. She was one of the first celebrity women I’d had the pleasure of meeting. Until Amalie, every client had been in a position of power, but not famous. Fucking them didn’t have the same impact as sleeping with a movie star did.
In saying that, I appreciated and respected every single one of my clients. As much as I was there for them to satisfy whatever desire they had going on, they all repaid that satisfaction right back to me.
Another reason why I loved my job so much.
Amalie was a regular, in that she had an allotted time with me every fortnight. Same time, same day, as a gym instructor or manicurist might drop by, I’d be on her doorstep every second Wednesday night at eight on the dot. She felt it was more inconspicuous that way, and less likely to attract attention.
I rang the doorbell of her huge double story mansion. The house sat well back on the perfectly landscaped property, the entire back of the home fitted with floor-to-wall double-glazed glass that overlooked the ocean. It was fucking magnificent. The door opened. Amalie stood in front of me, her smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Coop,” she said, tilting her head. “Come in.” She didn’t move, forcing me to squeeze past her—a deliberate move that caused her breasts to brush past my chest. Fuck, her nipples were hard. The sensation of them running over my shirt had made me hard.
I was barely in the door as she was on me, her lips connecting with mine, her tongue exploring my mouth. She unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off my shoulders, disposing of it on the stone tiled floor. Her hands ran over my chest, her breathing shallowing.
“Fuck, you’re so sexy, Coop. So smooth and hard.” Her fingers moved down over my abs, grasping at my belt. I took her face in my hands and kissed her, kicking my pants aside as they fell down my legs. I hoisted her onto my hips, my mouth never straying from hers. She locked her ankles around my waist, allowing my hands to explore her body.
She pulled her short dress over her head so that she was naked apart from her skimpy panties, her smooth olive skin against mine. I took a nipple in my mouth and sucked hard, twirling my tongue around it until it stuck out like a lollipop. I flicked and sucked as I walked her through the house, knowing exactly where I was headed.
“Are we doing the usual tonight?” I always asked, and the answer was always the same.
She nodded, rubbing herself against my cock.
“God, you’re a naughty little thing, Am. To think people think you’re this sweet little girl. If only they could see the side I see.”
She giggled. She loved it when I spoke about how naughty she was.
I flung open the door to the basement and walked down the stairs. Why she had the desire to be locked down here and forced into sex I don’t know, but it wasn’t my place to wonder. I wasn’t her shrink. Did I worry about her? Of course, but if it wasn’t me, she’d be paying someone else to do this. At least I knew with me she wouldn’t get hurt. I only ever took things as far as she wanted it.
I set her down on the cold floor. Grabbing her by the hair, I yanked her toward the brick wall where the handcuffs hung in wait.
“Take off your panties,” I ordered, letting go of her hair.
She slid them off and handed them over, her blue eyes huge and focused on me.
I grabbed her head and shoved them into her mouth. “You’re a dirty girl, Amalie, and you need to learn.”
Taking her left hand in mine, I lifted it up and secured it in the first cuff. I did the same with her other hand until she stood ass up against the wall, on her tippy toes, staring at me and waiting for what was next. The script didn’t change much; she was a girl with a specific urge and she needed that fixed over and over. Sometimes I wondered what an evening with both Delaney and Amalie would be like.
Inter
esting, in the very least.
Pressing myself up against her, I gripped her chin, making her look at me. She looked genuinely scared, which was all part of the game for her. I brought my other hand up to her breasts, squeezing her nipple so tightly she yelped.
“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, pinching it again, harder.
She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut.
I reached beside her on the wall for the baton. She told me once that it was a real police baton and she’d stolen it off the set of one of her movies.
I tossed it in the air, catching the end before it slipped to the floor. “Why can’t you be a good girl?” I asked her, running the tip of the baton between her breasts. “Why do I always need to punish you, Amalie?” I asked.
She whimpered in response.
I ran the baton down the length of her stomach, over her soft mound, resting it between her moist lips. She shook her head gently, her eyes a mixture of fear and want.
“Do you want to be fucked, Amalie?” I asked, sliding the baton inside of her.
She sobbed, fighting against the constraints of the handcuffs.
“I think you want this, Amalie.” I eased the baton deeper inside of her, my mouth closing over her nipple as I fucked her.
She spat out the gag, her body jolting to the rhythm of the baton moving in and out of her wet pussy.
“Oh god,” she cried, her hands clenching as her back pushed away from the wall, trying to push the baton deeper. “Fuck me, Coop. Harder!”
“You’re nothing but a dirty little whore. This is what you deserve. Look at you, loving the feel of this thick steel rod as it moves inside of you,” I hissed at her. “Take it, Amalie.”
She screamed, the handcuffs almost cutting through her skin as her body jolted as though it had been hit by lightning. She groaned softly as I withdrew the baton from her.
I lifted it to my mouth and licked her taste off it as she watched me intensely. Tossing the baton aside, I un-cuffed her and pushed her to the floor. With my fist locked around a handful of her messy blonde hair, I guided her mouth to the tip of my cock.
“Suck me,” I ordered. I didn’t wait for a reply; instead I forced my cock inside her open mouth. “Fuck, that’s good,” I murmured, resting my arms against the brick wall, caught off guard by the force of her mouth on my cock.
God, she was good at giving head. Probably the best of all my clients—which, considering the kind of kinky shit some of them were into, said a lot. She engulfed the length of me, sucking hard, before slowly working my cock in and out of her amazing mouth, the feel of her tongue teasing the tip enough to make me come.
“Oh yeah,” I gasped as she milked me dry, swallowing my release.
“That was great.” She used my hands to get herself to her feet. Her cheeks flushed pink as she smiled. “Do you feel like a spa?”
“Sure,” I replied. Sometimes I got the feeling being famous went hand in hand with being lonely.
I followed Amalie out of the basement and into her bedroom. Her bathroom was the size of my apartment—well not quite, but not far off. She ran the spa and switched on the fifty-inch TV attached to the adjacent wall.
“Get in. I’ll grab us a drink. Beer?”
“A soda would be great,” I replied.
She nodded and left me alone. I stepped into the deep tub, the water barely past my ankles. Sitting down, I put my head back and closed my eyes, completely exhausted and guilty about spending time with another woman when I obviously felt something for Mia.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew the water was almost up to the top of the spa. I rubbed my eyes and yawned, just as Amalie walked back in. She carried a tray containing two sodas and a bowl of chips.
“Thought you might be hungry.” She set the drinks and food down next to the spa, and then stepped in, the water overflowing slightly as she sank into the tub. “God that’s good,” she sighed.
“Come up here and I’ll rub your shoulders.”
She repositioned herself between my legs, resting her back against my stomach. I began to massage her neck, my fingers moving in deep circles into her skin as she moaned softly.
“I’ll fire my masseuse and just have you come by more often,” she muttered, tilting her neck.
I chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’ll leave you sorer than before. You know how rough I get with you.” I licked her neck, just behind her ear.
“Keep talking like that and I’ll have to drag you down to the basement again.” She giggled.
We lay together submerged for more than an hour, only getting out once the water turned cold. Getting out, I took one of the towels sitting on the vanity and dried myself, before getting dressed.
Amalie slipped on a sheer robe and followed me out into the hall.
As we reached the door, she put her arms around my waist, her face tilting up to mine, our lips connecting. “’Night, Coop. See you soon.”
“Sweet dreams, Amalie,” I said, winking at her as I left.
Chapter Twelve
I got home from work after eleven, with just enough time for a shower before I had to meet the guys. I grabbed a clean towel and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind me—something else I had to do to since Mia had moved in. I was so used to leaving the door wide open.
Not that I’d be upset if she saw me naked. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, and part of me hoped that she wanted to see it again. She wasn’t home anyway, but knowing my luck she would arrive back halfway through my shower with a group of friends. Again, not that I’d complain…
After my shower I wrapped the towel around my waist and walked to my room. Fumbling through a pile of clothes that I thought were clean, I pulled out a pair of jeans that I hoped weren’t dirty, and my last clean shirt. I guess that made tomorrow laundry day. Dressing quickly, I inspected myself in the mirror. My hair was still damp enough that, after running my hand through it a few times, I was ready.
The bar the guys and I frequented the most was Adam’s Apple on Fourth. It was a five-minute walk for me, which came in handy when I wanted to have a few drinks. Even for a Friday night, it was loud and crowded. A mass of people surrounded the stage at the back where a band was playing.
“Coop! Over here!”
I spotted Pete and Sam at a table in the corner. Pete was on his feet waving at me like a dick. Laughing, I heading in their direction, ignoring the flirty smiles of several women on the way.
“How’s my man?” Pete shook my hand, patting my shoulder. He pushed a beer toward me. “Drink up, buddy. You’re already behind.”
“Yeah, well, some of us have to work,” I muttered, having a dig at him.
Pete could only be described as a professional student. The guy had been at college for the last seven years, and still had a year to go. And to think, if I’d followed my dream of medicine, that could’ve been me.
“Yeah, well, some of us wouldn’t call screwing hot women work,” he mimicked, jostling his shoulders. He laughed as his blond hair fell onto his face.
“Come on,” I scoffed. “You probably screw more women than I do.”
Pete liked nothing more than to spread himself around. He’d fuck anyone so long as they were remotely female—his words, not mine. My most memorable “Pete” story was from a few years back. I’d gotten a call at three in the morning. It was Pete, extremely drunk, and whispering from inside some girl’s bathroom. He’d asked me if it was wrong if the vagina in question used to be a penis. We never spoke of that call again, and to this day I still don’t know if he went there. But, knowing Pete, he probably did.
“Maybe true, but the difference is I don’t get paid for it,” he grumbled.
I rolled my eyes and turned to Sam. “How’s things with you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, pretty good. Jessie is stressing about the wedding, but if I stay out of her way it’s all good.” He shook his head as I laughed. Sam and Jessie had been together for years, and were gettin
g married in less than six months. As much as I loved Jessie, I could only imagine the pain he’d be feeling. She was a stress-head at the best of times, and wedding planning brings out the worst in everyone. That I knew from experience
“The key is don’t have an opinion. That’s the only way you’ll survive,” I chuckled.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that.” He raised his eyebrows surreptitiously and took a sip of beer. “How’s work? Did you just come from a meeting?” he asked, winking.
Sam and Pete were the only two people who knew the truth about me. Why? Because you can’t be a single twenty-six-year-old male who never picks up without arousing suspicion.
Trust me, I’d tried.
It took more convincing than I’d thought it would for them to believe me—particularly Pete. He thought he was god’s gift to women, and considering that we’d been in the same business class, he couldn’t figure out for the life of him why she’d chosen me and not him.
“Work is…work.” I grinned. They always asked and I never gave them details. “And work was actually not the most shocking thing that happened to me this week,” I added, cocking my head to the side.
They both turned to me, interest piqued.
“Yeah? Like what?” asked Pete.
“I ran into the chick who gave me my first ever blow job,” I announced.
“Your first ever blowy? Wasn’t that just last week?” sniggered Pete.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah. With your sister,” I shot back.
“What? I was kidding! So sensitive sometimes,” Pete muttered to himself. “So who is this chick, how old were you, and was she any good?”
“My sister’s childhood friend.” I paused for a minute as the guys looked at each other in disgust. “Okay, it sounds really creepy when I put it like that. She was fourteen and I was fifteen. When you’re fifteen, anything is good,” I added, addressing his last question.
“So did you fuck her then? Was she a client?” Pete grinned widely as Sam shook his head, his hand resting on his forehead.
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