Riot (Bad Boy Escorts #1)

by Jo Raven

  “I like flames,” he says. “I like it hot. Don’t you?”

  It takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying—that he’s replying to my question. Can’t remember what I was asking.

  “Hot,” I repeat faintly, and wonder if I should run away just in case. He’s hands down the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. He could be a model. He could be a sex god.

  “You’re not done yet,” he says, and I blink.

  Huh?

  “Not done. With undressing me.” He looks pointedly down at his pants. He’s already kicked off his boots, and now he stretches out his long legs on the mattress. “Time’s ticking, Pax.”

  Crap, he probably has another appointment after this, although I thought the agency guy said on the phone that he was free all night. Unless someone called last minute and booked him...like me.

  Another flare of anger, and I honestly need to stop it. He’s not mine, not by a long shot.

  Not mine at all.

  “You wanna stop?” He leans back, props himself on his hands, looking at me from under his lashes. “You’ve come this far.”

  He’s right, I have, and why can’t I stop looking at his mouth, his chest, the fine dark trail of hairs leading down into his jeans? Or the still very evident tent there.

  My face is warm, my neck burning, my breasts tingling. I honestly can’t remember the last time I lusted after a boy so much.

  I only have to undress him. Unwrap him.

  Okay, then.

  His gaze follows my hands as they reach for his zipper. His abs contract when I touch them as I work to unbutton his jeans. I pull down the zipper. He’s wearing white briefs, and my mind’s stuck on this little fact while my hands rest on top of his hard-on.

  Like before.

  Only now the barrier is thinner, and I can actually see the outline of his cock—long, thick, the flared head large, caught under the elastic. And the piercings. Barbells, poking through the stretched fabric.

  Hot is correct. I need air.

  “Hey.” He sits up a little, giving me a concerned look. “Are you okay with this? You have to tell me what you need, Pax.”

  What he doesn’t know is that it’s not fear making me stop this time. It’s desire. So strong it’s causing my hands to shake. I’ve never wanted to touch someone so much.

  I nod then, and yank on his jeans. His brow smooths out and he lifts his hips to help me take them off. A small tug of war, and the pants come off, together with his socks, and he’s left in his underwear.

  Okay, I’m totally staring. Damn. He’s real eye-candy, this guy with his muscles and long limbs, those beautiful proportions—thick thighs, narrow hips, broad chest and muscled, inked arms.

  And my eyes keep returning to his crotch. Crap.

  “What now?” I whisper.

  “Touch,” he says and winks. He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, his hands firmly planted on the mattress, but he leans back a little bit more.

  An invitation.

  God, some girls I know would pay good money to run their hands over his body.

  Scratch that—I am paying good money for this.

  Come on, Pax. You can do this.

  I lean forward, touch his flame tattoos, tracing them over his arm, up his shoulder, down his firm pec. His eyes are half-closed as I trail my fingertips over his other pec, up his other shoulder.

  Warm, velvety skin stretched over hard muscle. His abs ripple when I touch them and his head falls forward. He peers at me under his hair, his eyes slits of gray.

  It’s like petting a big cat—beautiful, strong, predatory. Dangerous, but too pretty to resist, especially when he shifts, lifts a hand and puts it on top of mine where it’s resting on his stomach.

  “This okay?” he rumbles.

  “Yes.”

  He’s watching me. “You sure?”

  I start to nod, then change my mind and bend over him. His lips part and I brush my mouth over them.

  “I’m sure,” I say.

  Chapter Eight

  Riot

  She kissed me.

  Hot damn. I lick my lips, hunting for her taste. It was too quick, too soft, but a hint of sweetness lingers.

  Damn if it doesn’t make me harder. She’s already got me worked up, just by touching my chest, my stomach, her hand stopping an inch away from my aching dick. She’s skittish and I’m careful, not moving, not breathing for fear of scaring her away.

  And then she goes and kisses me, tearing down every defense and every goddamn barrier I’ve put up. How can I not kiss her back, roll over her and explore her mouth, and her body?

  Fucking hell. Not fair.

  I bite back a groan as I struggle to keep still, waiting to see what she’ll do next. Reminding myself I’m her toy to play with as she wishes, to use in order to overcome her fears. This is about her.

  Not about you, Riot. Or you, dick. Back the fuck down.

  Fuck, I’ll need some alone time with my hand after this.

  She’s still bent over me, her dark hair a cascade on my overheated skin, tickling where it touches, leaving shivery trails behind.

  “Pax.” My voice is strangled. Every muscle in my body is tense. Why the fuck do I have to lust after the one girl who is too scared to let me fuck her? “I’m gonna—”

  “Oh crap, it’s late.” She stares at her thin golden watch like it’s about to bite her, then climbs off the bed.

  “—go to the bathroom.” I blink. “What?”

  “It’s been almost two hours since we came here. My appointment was for one hour only.”

  “Shit.” Fucking goddamn shit. Can’t believe time passed so fast. She obviously has someplace else to be, because she’s gathering her coat and purse from the chair.

  Yeah, she’s going. Fully dressed and unruffled, while I’m half-naked on the bed with a hard-on that could drill through walls.

  She undressed me, touched me, kissed me and now time’s up.

  Fuck my life.

  And what did you expect? I sit up and grab my pants, dragging them on. Not her fault your dick got over-excited. It’s a miracle she went that far.

  That kiss, though…

  “I’ll let you get back to work,” she says, already closing off, not looking at me. She pats her hair, and fuck, I think I’ll jerk off to the memory of it trailing over my skin today. “Thank you for tonight.”

  “Pax, just…” Just what? Dammit. Can’t you wait? Where are you going? Will I see you again? “Take care.”

  She shoots me a quick smile, and then she’s hurrying away. The door opens and closes with a soft click.

  I throw my legs over the edge, bend them and clutch the back of my neck with both hands.

  What in the fucking hell? She left, and there’s a weight on my chest, a pressure behind my eyes I don’t understand.

  She’s just a client. That’s all.

  Then why the fuck do I feel like the world crashed down on me the moment she walked out?

  ***

  Just season blues, I tell myself as I pull on my boots and T-shirt, as I shrug on my jacket and head out. The woman at the reception desk is trying to catch my eye, but I ignore her and step outside.

  Which isn’t like me. She’s a potential client, and I should be friendly and flirty. What the fuck’s wrong with me these days?

  I straddle my bike, kick off the stand, rev the engine. Need to work some stress out at the gym—and pass by the agency.

  Should start with that. Johnson wants to talk to me. I wonder what the hell for. The agency isn’t very far from the hotel Pax chose.

  Pax. Jesus. That girl is driving me up the wall, I swear to God. I want to think she’s getting better, getting used to me, to my body. That she’s overcoming her fear. But what do I know? I’m not a therapist. I’m just a fucking escort with problems of my own.

  Besides, with the way she keeps running out of our meetings, I don’t know what to think. Can never tell if she’ll call to make another appointment or not
. If that was it, and I’ll never see her again.

  The thought really fucking hurts, and that’s a bad sign. Need to set my head straight.

  Yeah, the gym is a good idea. Work up some sweat, get rid of some frustration and anger. Do a few rounds with the punching bag. Or with anyone willing to meet my fists on the training mat.

  The agency is located on the first floor of an old building. The small brass side outside simply says “Bad Boys Inc.”, leaving the rest to the imagination. I park my bike, lock it and take the steps two at a time.

  Yeah, too much excess energy. Too much going on inside my head. Need to burn it out.

  Johnson looks up from his place behind the desk. He runs this company in all but name. He nods at me, frowns and types something on his computer.

  “Johnson.” I lean against the desk, and it reminds me of the hotel where I meet with Pax.

  Dammit.

  “Your blood tests came back,” he says without looking up.

  “And?” I try not to tense up more. I’m always careful with clients, but you never know.

  He finishes typing whatever the fuck it is he’s typing, takes his time while my heart booms in my chest.

  “You’re clean,” he says.

  I slump against the desk. “Jesus, man. Couldn’t you just say so from the start? Say, Riot, your blood tests came back clean. Easy. Repeat after me: Riot, your blood—”

  “Very funny.”

  Yeah, I know. “Anyway, you brought me here for this? Couldn’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “There’s something else.” He shuffles some papers on the desk and I resist the urge to roll my eyes, because, really?

  “What? Planning on telling me anytime today?”

  “Got anger management issues, Riot?”

  Fuck, he’s an asshole. My hands curl into fists. Fuck him for being the boss’s nephew and thinking he can do whatever he wants.

  “So Mari Oakes asked for you again.”

  “No way.” I push off the desk.

  “Yes way. You can’t refuse a client, and you know it.”

  “Sure I can if she breaks the rules. Told you what happened last time.”

  “Afraid of her, Riot?”

  “Fuck no. But like I told you then, I don’t do men and they don’t do me. Period.”

  “He didn’t do you, though, did he?”

  “No, he hit me. I don’t play with men, period. We done?”

  “You’re going to take this appointment, or you’re out of job.”

  I glare at him. “The fuck you say.”

  “Mr. Kayman said so.” The boss. “She’s a friend of his.”

  Oh, fuck me sideways.

  “Fine.” I turn to go, because I can’t afford to lose this job, not now, and Johnson clears his throat.

  “One more thing. Two guys came looking for you.”

  “What guys?”

  “How would I know? They said they wanted to talk to you.”

  I freeze. “Did they…?” I swallow hard, my throat going dry. “Did they have tattoos?”

  “Tats? I didn’t notice.” He frowns. “Does it matter?”

  More than he’ll ever know.

  “Never mind. Let me know if they come by again, will you?”

  He huffs and returns to his computer. “I’m not your servant, Riot.”

  Jesus, this guy. This day’s turning into a goddamn Monday.

  Who could those guys be? I turn this over and over in my head as I walk to the nearby gym. All the Bad Boy Escorts have a discount there. The familiar surroundings relax me somewhat as I enter and head for the locker room.

  Fucking Johnson. Goddammit. Fucking Mari Oakes and her games.

  I change clothes, pull on the shorts and running shoes I keep permanently at the gym and head out to start with some bike and running on the treadmill. Hope nobody comes to bother me right now, because I itch to throw some punches.

  Then again, the guys aren’t always using their brains around here, I swear. I guess they’ve trained their blood to always flow to their dicks. Part of the job.

  “Hey, man, whatcha doing? Haven’t seen you in a while.” Gale comes to lounge against the treadmill next to mine, clearly not in any hurry to exercise. He’s blond and bearded, tall and strong with ice-blue eyes. “Ladies keeping you busy?”

  “You know it,” I growl, pounding away on the treadmill, sweat rolling down my face, stinging my eyes.

  “And here I thought maybe it was something else.”

  “What the fuck else could it be?”

  Gale chuckles, unruffled, the bastard. “I don’t know, man. A girlfriend?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Did you say girlfriend?” Fuck, now Zeke is standing beside Gale, wiping sweat from this face with a towel. “Congrats, Riot.”

  “What the hell do you guys want from me?” I stop and scowl at them. “There is no girlfriend. Go fuck yourselves or whatever else it is you do in your free time.”

  “Oh, touchy.” Zeke roars with laughter, the fucker.

  “Am I amusing you?” I step off the treadmill and advance on him. “Huh?”

  “Ah, ah, no fistfight today, sorry to disappoint you.” Zeke lifts his hands. “Got an appointment in one hour.”

  “Whatsa matter? Afraid I’ll bang you up? Give you black eyes?”

  “In your dreams,” he sneers but he’s still retreating. “Just not today.”

  “Fine.” I turn to Gale. “You, then.”

  “Need to let off some steam?” He cracks his knuckles, smirking. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  An hour later, dripping with sweat and bruises blooming on my torso and jaw, I stumble into the locker room. I shower, get dressed and head back out. Gale wants me to wait up, to go out with him for drinks, and I’m seriously thinking about it. Getting drunk off my ass sounds like a great idea right now. Could help fix the mess in my head.

  Don’t know why I’m so hung up on Pax. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t pay me on the spot, so that I forget sometimes what this really is. If I see the cash on the table, I’ll remember that this is a job.

  Still can’t get why she keeps meeting me, a nice, rich girl like her, a psychology major of all things. What she thinks she’ll find in a street-bred guy like me, raised in the sound of bar brawls and motorcycle engines.

  Gale joins me and gets ready quickly. We ride our motorcycles to a bar he knows and enter the dimly lit building.

  Quincy’s says the flickering neon sign over the entrance.

  “How do you know this place?” Lots of young, well-dressed guys and girls. “A student bar?”

  He shrugs. “Why not, huh?”

  “Who are you meeting?” I give him a suspicious look.

  He only laughs and pats my back. It doesn’t matter anyway. Booze is booze, and I need to start working on my goal for the night.

  I order whisky at the bar and knock the first glass down before I take another look around. Yeah, student bar all right. It’s a weird feeling, seeing them flitting around the place, seemingly without a care in the world, giggling and dancing and taking group selfies.

  They’re practically my age, minus a couple of years. I’m twenty-five and they’re, what, twenty?

  It’s like we’re from different planets. Been working my ass off since I was sixteen and my foster mother got sick with cancer. She died two years later, and by then I was already fighting in the underground clubs of Chicago. It was the only job I could get that really paid, and I was damn good at it.

  Until I decided to retire, find something else, something less dangerous, and caused Markus’ death.

  The rest is history. Because Markus was the son of one of the founders of the club, and the blame is on me. His death is on me. I know it.

  It should have been me.

  Ever since, I haven’t been welcome at the club. Not that I want back, but still. It was my whole family for a while. I had friends there.

  And this isn’t helping me straighten
out my thoughts. So I ask for more whisky, and knock that down, too. It burns going down my throat, spreading inside my chest.

  Pax. When I’m with her, my mind is quiet. Calm. Filled with the need for her. The need to be inside her. The need to make her smile. To like me. To want me back.

  Fuck.

  “Hey,” a girl says, sidling up to me and pulling a stool. “You look lonely.”

  Yeah. I am, at times.

  “Why don’t you buy me a drink?” she goes on, and I take a better look at her. She’s a brunette, short and cute, and totally uninteresting to me.

  Because she’s not Pax.

  “I was just leaving,” I mutter, pulling out my wallet and throwing some bucks on the bar. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Who gave you that shiner?” She puts her purse on the bar and gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Did you get into a fight?”

  I shake my head and walk away. As I exit the bar, I text Gale to let him now I’m leaving. He doesn’t reply. Probably busy with some chick.

  Gale doesn’t seem to have the doubts and conflicts I have lately. He says he’s happy not to have to deal with the feelings and responsibilities that come with relationships.

  He’s never met Pax.

  And a good thing, too. I’m the one she kissed, and touched, and told her pain to. He should stay away, because Pax is...

  She’s mine. Hell.

  All the whisky in the world can’t undo the damage now.

  ***

  Again that itch between my shoulder blades, that feeling of being watched. Again nobody there when I turn.

  My mind’s playing fucking tricks on me. More tricks. More doubts. Shit, that’s the last thing I need.

  I stow away my bike and climb the stairs to my apartment, in a foul mood. As soon as I open the door, Dex jumps on me and climbs up to my shoulder. He starts purring and I pat his tiny head.

  Not sure what I need right now—except the one thing, the one person I can’t have. It’s crazy that I’m so drawn to her. I’ve been with so many women, their faces blurring in my mind, while hers shines like a fucking star stuck in my thoughts.

  Why her? Why now?

  “It’s just a phase, Dex,” I tell the kitten as I head to the kitchen. “It’ll pass. Change of the seasons and all that shit. She’s hot, all right? And she’s sad, and fuck if I know what I’m doing with her. She’s intriguing, you know?”