by Louisa Trent
Emily rose to her knees. "Please Steve? Just make me those two concessions and anything else you want is okay. I won't fight you or argue with you or anything else. Any kind of sex is fine with me. You mentioned tying me up-bondage is okay too. So is pain. You want a three-way, I can do that too. Anything. Okay, Steve?"
When he still didn't say anything, she split her thighs, offering him up her full submission, something she thought she would never do for anyone. "Please?" She begged now, and knew that still wouldn't be enough.
From her kneeling position, she drew a finger down the length of his denim-encased erection. "If you want, I can take care of this before we start our day at work."
He raised a brow. "As much as I obviously want you again, I'm not a complete dog."
"You're no dog at all, Steve Gallagher."
"After the way I worked you over last night, your cunt has to be tender."
"I liked it," she said softly suddenly shy because the gentleman Steve had become remarkably frank. "I liked all of it. And now I would like to show you my appreciation for letting me work the fright out of my system on you."
"Don't mention..." he started to stay, but Steve stopped saying anything when she ran his zipper down its tracks and took him in hand.
"I want you to know, it doesn't have to be a pussy fuck today," she whispered. "It can be anal..."
"BDSM, a threesome, and now you're making me a gift of your ass-all before breakfast?"
Steve's use of stronger language, sexual language, thrilled her. But now that the pretense of sex was turning into the reality of sex, she was also feeling a lot inadequate. She'd had one two-minute intro to sex when she was only a kid, while Steve was a sexual sophisticate. He had been a bull last night, but could she satisfy him this morning?
She had to! "I can give you what you need, Steve," she said, and licked the gushing pre-come from the blunt top of his cock before opening her lips.
"No," Steve said, pulling back.
"Why?" she asked, looking up at him from her knees. "Don't you like it?"
"Yeah, I like it. Hell, I love it. Every man wants a woman who gives head."
She opened her thighs wide. "You need it. I can tell you're hurting." She touched her breasts, played her fingers seductively over the erect tips. "Let me take the hurt away."
"When's your period due?"
Birth control! She had never given it a thought. How careless not to consider pregnancy.
He must have read her face because he said, "Not on the pill, huh?"
She had no choice but to tell him some of her background. "Despite what you might think, despite what I led you to believe, I'm not promiscuous. I was never a hooker, Steve," she said with pride. "I've done a lot of stuff, but I've never sold my body."
"And I've never gone in without a rubber. I'm clean."
Steve cupped her breast, thumbing the nipple back and forth. At his touch, a few drops of moisture dribbled down her open legs.
"That's nice," he said, staring at her body's lubricant. "Give me a taste."
The directive was so intimate, that she went breathless as she took some of the moisture onto the tip of her finger and offered it up to Steve.
He sucked her finger, slowly, deeply. "Mmm," he said finally, returning her finger to her with the curt instruction: "Put that back where it was. I'll be asking for another taste in a minute."
Emily separated her pussy with a finger and left it there inside.
"Push it deeper, " he said gruffly.
She did. But more swollen than she thought, she winced at the digital penetration.
"That's enough," he said.
She heard him take a breath. "I'll want you examined. I have a doctor friend on the Cape. He'll give you a general physical and do a gyn exam too, put you on something for birth control. I'll discuss it with him during your exam."
She'd had only one prior female exam, but she remembered it well. Apart from a flimsy paper covering she'd been naked, and her feet had been up in stirrups. The idea of Steve in the room with the doctor during a breast exam, both of them peering inside her vagina at the same time, was just about the most horrifying prospect she could imagine.
"I'll go alone," she said in a very small voice.
"No. I'll go with you. As I say, the doc is a good friend of mine. I'll want to be there when he checks you out, make sure you're gaining back the lost weight."
She nodded, knowing she could no longer push him. "All right."
Leaning over, he kissed her hard. "No need for embarrassment, angel. It's not like I'm a kid with his first girl. I just need to see with my own eyes that you're healthy," he said against her lips. "The doc will understand."
Straightening, Steve thumbed her mouth, then, gripping his arousal at the base, skimmed the enormous head across her lips.
Emily opened to him, tasted him, petting him as he had petted her. It was remarkable how powerful she felt, while naked and kneeling at a man's feet.
His hands clamped on her shoulders. "So good." He grunted. "So fucking good."
She tried not to giggle, both at the feathery brush of his pubic hair against her nose and at the ridiculousness of what she was doing. Sex with Steve was funny and erotic and sublime.
And well compensated.
She never thought she would ever accept money for sex, but what choice did she have but to swallow her pride as she swallowed him?
It was only sex, only sex, only sex, she thought kissing the top of his cock and liking the musty scent, liking all of it, even her own submissiveness. Who would have thought she would get off on a guy taking charge? But his dominance did excite her. Such a relief to let go for a while, to have someone take care of her for a change.
He didn't push it all the way in; he let her grow accustomed to the fullness in her mouth by small degrees. At least, at first. Then groaning, his cock touched the back of her throat.
She gagged.
"Just relax," he soothed, holding himself still, not moving yet, waiting until her choking reflex had settled down.
"Start to masturbate now," he said tightly. "Go at it gently. You're sore."
She could do this, she could handle this! It was only sex.
She pushed two fingers up into her tender pussy and jerked them in and out.
"I said gently, dammit! Do as you're told."
His authoritative tone alone was enough to make her come, but the fact that he cared about her well-being touched her soul as well as her body.
She began to pleasure herself, really pleasure herself, as she pleasured him, shuddering as she neared completion, her mouth milking him as her internal muscles spasmed. They were both so close to climax!
"I-need-two-deep-thrusts," he wheezed with a harsh moan. "Okay?"
She nodded her answer.
"You're so ... damned ... tough," he praised and did it, thrusting into her mouth. Once. Twice. Not brutally, not punishingly, just as much as he needed to go off.
She came with him, swallowing convulsively as his shot of cum washed down her throat.
Exhilarated over her daring, bashful because she liked it, proud that she had satisfied him, shamed because she was accepting money for something she would have done for free ... so many conflicting feelings caused her to drop her eyes to the floor.
Unlike her, Steve suffered no mixed emotions. After putting his cock away, he pulled her to her feet, took her chin in hand, forcing her to make eye contact. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that, but I'm real grateful you did."
"You're welcome," she said primly, not knowing what else to say under the circumstances.
He laughed and kissed her cheek. "Can I give you a tip?"
"It's all part of the service, sir. No gratuity necessary..."
He snorted, smacked her bottom. "Wise ass. That's not the kind of tip I mean." He ruffled her choppy black hair. "You know, Angel, when it comes to disguises, sometimes less is more."
"Pardon?"
"The contrast between the da
rk hair and your skin tone is too extreme. It gives you away. Rather than creating a camouflage, the black hair dye draws attention to you."
"I'm not wearing a disguise..."
He held up his hand. "I won't ask, but no more lies." He fingered a jaggedly-cut strand. "While we're in Boston, I want you to see a hairdresser. Have a good cut and lose the ink-black dye. Maybe go to a dark shade of blond. And ditch the heavy-handed make-up. I don't like it."
"Steve, you're paying to fuck me, not ride my ass." She grinned. "Unless, we're doing anal."
"And I don't like the coarse language either."
Her hands went to her hips. "You've recently let go of some choice words yourself."
"For which I apologize. In the heat of the moment, I sometimes forget my manners. In the future, I'll take more care."
"You don't have to, Steve. Not with me."
His hand went between her legs. "Your cunt is so pretty." He turned bright red. "I'm sorry. That was coarse. But I don't mean it coarse; when I think it, when I say it, I'm thinking poetry."
"Oh, Steve..."
"And about my paying to fuck you... I'm a wealthy man. Why shouldn't I give you money for what I want? Why should you give it to me for free? Business is business, and I always pay as I go. You'll get no judgmental morality crap from me about taking money for it."
Nice words. But would a decent man marry a girl who had sold her body? Would he choose such a girl as a mother for his children? Regardless of his well-meaning lip service, she knew a man like Steve couldn't possibly respect a woman who accepted money for sex.
Her eyes started to fill. There had been times in the past, on the verge of starvation, when she had considered prostitution, but she had never gone through with it. Nor had she let a man take care of her in a sugar-daddy sort of way, though she'd had offers for just such an arrangement. Why now? Why had she finally agreed to get by on sex now? She was no worse off now than before. Maybe she had never had a gunman on her tail before, but there had been bad times, and still she hadn't done it for money.
She was doing it for money now.
To disguise the breakdown in her pride, her hand went to her shaggy hair. "My hair is a mess because I haven't been able to do touch-ups here in the loft," she said, pulling on a blond-rooted strand.
"How long have you been staying here?"
"I was sleeping on the beach," she confessed under the duress of Steve's worried look-what was it about him that turned her into a spineless idiot? "But it was cold down by the water. Scary too. So I took up residence in your loft soon after I came to work for you. Take the rent out the money you intend to pay me."
"I don't want rent! I only wish you had told me all this sooner. Anything could have happened to you. Next time, you fucking tell me if you need something!"
Her pride returned with a vengeance. "I've been managing without your help for weeks..."
"Oh, yeah? I can see how you've managed. Your shape is straight up and down," he exploded. "You've lost weight, gotten along by not eating. Well, you're not managing that way any more. I don't fuck boys." He palmed the small bump her breast made on her chest. "I like big tits, so I'll want these to fill out. Same goes for your ass. From now on, you play this my way, and that means, I'm taking care of you."
"As long as you let me take care of my end of things."
Steve was a virile man. Even after giving him head, he was erect again, the head of his penis butting her belly.
Shrugging off his caressing hand, she turned away. Got down on the sleeping bag, all-fours. Lifted her bottom for him. There was no mistaking what she offered. "C'mon, Steve. You know you want it."
"No more today. Get dressed. We have a car that needs working on."
Smiling, she looked around her shoulder at him. "No?"
"No."
But his palm rubbed her raised posterior, the thumb sinking low between her bottom cheeks. He wanted it, all right.
His voice was hoarse when he said, "And no shower. I want the scent of my cum on you all day."
With that, his hand dropped away and Steve Gallagher slammed out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Steve stumbled up the driveway to his house, his cock sore from the unaccustomed protracted sex, each step searing him.
In the loft above his garage, Emily had used him for sex. He understood. After his wife's death, he'd done the same thing. He was a big boy, and he didn't take her lust personally. Emily didn't really want him per se; he was only her any port in a storm. Afraid for weeks, angry too, and that was probably for most of her life, Emily's body screeched for a release valve, any release valve. Christ, did he know how that went! Who needed a 'script for Prozac when sex could be taken right before bedtime? Yep, he understood all about self-medicating.
Last night, Steve thought he had it all figured out. As long as he controlled the sex, slowed it down, made it fun and recreational, he figured no one would get hurt when it ended. But as he dragged his ass up the driveway, his nuts stinging, he realized he figured wrong. Slow and fun and recreational sex didn't apply to Emily. With Emily, there was no taming the beast-the big bad beast had broken through its civilized chains. With Emily, the sex was wild and animal and hot and sweaty. This, after years of abstinence. Man, he was one hurting hombre
He had lost control with Emily. No holding back, no condom, and very little finesse. And he wanted her again, despite his searing meat.
When Emily got down for him, sinking onto her knees with the morning light streaming in the room, looking provocative and bold and submissive, all at the same time, he went weak in his own knees. He didn't want her giving him head out of gratitude. He didn't want her on her knees because she felt like she owed him. He didn't want her to do it because he was paying.
But the truth was, he was paying for it.
And he would continue to pay for it because paying Emily for sex allowed him to hang onto his heart.
Naked and sleep-tousled, sticky between the thighs with his cum, she was the one with all the power, the one really calling the shots. She could take off at any time, and that made him so scared he could hardly sleep knowing the only thing holding her was her need for money and safe harbor.
And wasn't that a two-way bitch?
Right now, in trouble and broke, she stayed. As soon as she had money in her pocket and the heat was off, Emily would leave.
And he would ensure she both had money and the heat was off her, thus fulfilling his own prophecy.
What had triggered that episode last night? What had happened during the day to cause her hysteria? A little fright was understandable, even reasonable, considering he caught her in a vulnerable moment, but her reaction was way over the top. She had needed sex so badly to get over her fear, she had vibrated with the need.
In his bedroom, Steve immediately went to the nightstand.
He opened the top drawer, checked the placement of his weapon, his gaze stumbling over the box of recently purchased condoms.
He shut the drawer; the box remained untouched inside.
No condoms with Emily, he decided. Skin to skin, man to woman, mating. It felt too good to give it up. Naked sex was their only truth.
He would just need to be more careful until he got her on birth control, Steve resolved, stepping into the shower.
* * * *
Two days later, Steve faced his ace mechanic over the breakfast table. Since Emily wouldn't stay with him up at the house, he had spent the nights sleepless in the garage, and so not only was he horny, he was a mite cranky too
Good thing for the Dusenberg's plush interior; he was getting too old for stakeouts on cold garage floors. Naturally, Emily had no clue he had camped there, his guard duty being strictly confidential. Something had happened to frighten her, and since she wasn't talking about it, he wasn't taking any chances. When would she open up and tell him what the hell was going down?
"Eat your French toast," he grumbled, pouring on additional syrup.
"I'll
get fat."
"I want you fat. Eat!"
"Yes, sir," she said, digging into the breakfast he had prepared.
Emily wore a man's white cotton tee-shirt. That was it. That was all she wore. Ronnie had called Emily Parker a 'waif', and after looking up the word in the dictionary, Steve had to say the definition applied. Emily did look like 'an abandoned young animal or an orphaned child.'
He didn't like the description. The abandoned part was okay, as long as it was sexual abandonment. The animal part was okay too, as long it applied to bed. But the image of Emily on her own, an orphaned kid, stuck in his craw.
Emily was not on her own, not any more. She had him now. At least she did for the summer. And after that?
Steve's fork pushed the French toast around his plate, his appetite departing with the question.
No reason he should feel guilty about Emily. She was twenty-two years old. That was no kid. And he hadn't been her first. She said she had never whored on the streets, and he believed her, but she wasn't a virgin either. Inexperienced, yes, but not an innocent. Besides, she had agreed to his terms, money and all. No reason to feel guilty there. And he would never abandon her; when the summer ended and he returned to New York, he planned on keeping in touch. If there was anything else he could ever do for her, anything she needed, all she had to do was say the word. And come September, if he still hadn't resolved The Cuzin case, he would make alternative arrangements for her. He was no cad; he would never turn his back on her; never just cut her loose. Never! His semen had been inside her; that meant something to Steve.
"You and me-we're playing hooky today," he muttered.
Emily didn't look up from her plate. "It's your dime."
Steve thought he took that slap in the face rather well. "As I recall, I'm paying you more than a dime."
"Touché," she replied, her gray eyes growing distant again.
He would not feel bad. She could have at least pretended she was here with him because she liked him, maybe felt a little affection. But no. Emily was lying to him about everything else, but when it came to the monetary part of their arrangement she was the bleeding edge of honesty.
