by Jo Raven
Shit. I can imagine the feel of his large hands on my body. I remember it from our first terrible meeting.
I want to feel them again, feel him, naked, against me. In me.
How am I supposed to focus on child psychology class like this? I throb so badly between my legs it’s uncomfortable. Can’t wait to see Riot again, try more.
Let him touch me, like he says, pleasure me. Beg him to. Feel his arms around me as he kisses me. I’m terrified that I’ll freeze or panic, but our last sessions have given me hope. He’s right. I’m not so afraid of him anymore. I’m used to his face, his body, his voice.
Insanely attracted to them¸ in fact, but that’s also fine, right?
As the class ends and I gather my things and get up, my cell dings with a text from Corey. He wants to get a tattoo and he’s been pestering me to go with him. Man, I really hope it’s not anything he’ll regret later on. He’s still hung up on the guy who dumped him, even though Corey himself has dumped two more men since then.
Jeez.
I text to let him know I’ll go with him—can’t let him do this unsupervised, God knows what he’ll do—and scroll down to the agency’s number.
Why not, right? It’s not like I have a crush on Riot or anything. He’s only helping me work through my fear.
My finger wavers over the number. I know that if I meet him again, it will happen. I’ll let him undress me, take me. It will be the last test. If I fail it, I may as well go away and become a hermit, or a nun.
Oh what the heck. I won’t know until I try, right? That’s what I used to be like, before fear crippled me. Adventurous.
Well, I’m not dead. I survived, and now I’ll do more than that. I’ll find myself. Rediscover sex with a man.
With Riot.
“Bad Boy Escorts, how may I—?”
“Hi, I would like an appointment with Riot.”
“Riot Gallagher?”
“Yes.”
“Your name, please?”
“Paxtyn Page.”
“Oh, Ms. Page. Apologies, I didn’t recognize your voice.”
I shift from foot to foot. Why should he recognize my voice? We’re not friends and we’ve only spoken a couple of times. This guy is weirding me out. “Right.”
“When would you like the appointment? The weekend or—?”
“Today.”
A silence greets my words. Word. Whatever. Why, I wonder. It’s not the first time I called and asked for an appointment on the same day.
“Riot is available at nine,” says the guy, his tone clipped.
Okay, what in the world is his problem? “That’s fine.”
“I’ll let him know. Thank you, Ms. Page. Same place?”
I hesitate. “No. I’ll give you another address.” He hums an affirmation, and I rattle off the address of my apartment.
After another thank you, he hangs up and I put my cell away.
Just weird. The agency guy sounded like he wasn’t happy with me.
Or Riot.
Huh.
Then what I’ve just done strikes me.
Riot in my apartment. In my living room, on my sofa.
In my bed.
Nervousness swamps me. Was that a stupid thing to do, ask for him to come over to my place, know where I live?
Oh stop it, I tell myself as I head to my car in the huge parking lot of the campus. Riot’s on the clock, and the agency checks on him. In fact they did background checks on all their escorts to make sure they don’t have a history of violence. The website said so.
Besides, Riot’s not a stalker. He’d never hurt me. I know it deep in my gut. The way he looks at me is predatory, like he wants to put his mouth all over me, put his cock into me, fuck me hard.
A wave of heat washes through me at the image.
Back on track. He may want to fuck me, but he won’t hurt me. What other guy would let me tie him up and do whatever I wanted? He’s doing all he can to help me, save me.
My place it is.
***
Corey is waiting for me outside the tattoo shop. It’s called Under The Skin, and it’s tucked between a Laundromat and a Thai restaurant. The smells drifting from the restaurant’s open door make my stomach growl.
“Hey, girlfriend.” Corey smiles when he sees me and throws his half-smoked cigarette to the ground, grinds it with the heel of his shoe. He always smokes when he’s nervous. “You made it.”
“You kidding me? There’s no way in the world I’d let you put ink on your skin without my supervision. You’re not to be trusted.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he does the same, because deep inside we’re a pair of two-year-olds.
Can’t always hide it.
We head inside and wait until the spunky girl at the reception desk finishes her call. The décor is all metal and graffiti and crazy tat designs.
Gives me tat envy. Maybe I can get a small one, too?
“What are you getting?” I poke Corey in the ribs. He looks distracted. “Hey.”
“Don’t know.” He waves a hand. “Something or other.”
What in the world? “You can’t be serious…”
He grabs a catalogue, starts leafing through it, green eyes hooded, lower lip tucked under his teeth.
What am I missing here?
“You insisted you had to get a tattoo. You asked me to come with you. We’re here. And you actually have no frigging clue what you would like. Then why the rush?”
He glances sideways, then back at me. “It was urgent, okay? What’s the design got to do with it?”
I gape at him. Eyes bulging and all. “You’re not Corey. The aliens kidnapped Corey and replaced him with a dummy.”
“Haha.” He scowls.
“You always told me tattoos are stupid. That only people who—”
“Shhh.” He tries to clap a hand over my mouth but I duck under his arm. Easy when the other guy is over six feet tall.
“Sorry.” Not sorry. “Spill, Corey. What’s going on inside your blond head?”
He says nothing. A guy is approaching us. Tall, muscular, in an Under Your Skin T-shirt, with dark hair and dark eyes and…
Oh dear God, no.
Corey is staring at the guy like he just came down from heaven. I mean, okay, the guy’s handsome, sure, but…
“You booked an appointment?” the guys asks and Corey nods frantically.
“Yeah. Corey.”
“Ethan.” He turns to the desk and bangs his fist on it. “Jasie, my client is here. Note it.”
“Yes, sir.” She mock-salutes, chewing pink gum and blowing a bubble.
Ethan shakes his head at her and turns back to us. He frowns. “Only one of you booked me, right? Corey.”
“That’s right.” Corey’s eyes are shining, green like leaves. He’s fairly jumping up and down with excitement.
“And have you chosen a design?”
“Of course. I want something…” Corey points at a pierced heart on Ethan’s muscular arm. “Something like this.”
Oh. My. God. Shoot me now.
“Follow me,” Ethan says with a faint, bemused smile and heads off to one of the cubicles.
I grab Corey as he starts after the man. “Are you out of your frigging mind?”
“What?”
“We’re here for the tattoo artist?”
“Well, I am.” He winks. “You’re here for me.”
Jesus Christ. “Very funny, Corey.”
“I know.”
***
At least Corey is taking the pain stoically, I’ll give him that. He’s sitting there, letting Ethan draw a heart and arrow on his arm, framed by roses, and says nothing.
Of course he’s staring at Ethan like he could eat him with a spoon, which makes things a little awkward.
“I should wait for you at the reception desk,” I say for the third time, but again Corey grabs my arm and stops me.
“No, no, no. You said you’ll hold my hand throughout this ordeal.”
&nbs
p; Ethan arches a brow.
Yeah. Meet Corey, the drama queen.
“Fine.” Yeah, awesome. I stand there as Ethan works, the silence getting more and more oppressive. I think of Riot, think of his tattoos, and I open my mouth before I even realize. “Hey, do many people get flame tattoos?”
Ethan blinks, lifts the tattoo gun. “Flames, like…? Lots of tats with flames.”
“Orange and yellow. They look like metal sheet. Like gold.”
He looks uncomfortable. “I’ve seen them. Not many people get those, no.”
“What about Hellfire?”
“What about it?” He looks even more uncomfortable now, brows drawn together, jaw clenched tight.
“What are you talking about, Pax?” Corey tugs on my hand.
I tug back until he releases me. “That word. What’s the connection to the flame tattoos?”
“What makes you think there is one?” Ethan asks, his voice careful.
I shrug. “I saw this tattoo on a guy. Flames, and a skull, and that word.”
“There’s a club.” He shifts uneasily. “An underground fighting club. Hellfire Fighters. That’s their brand.”
“This guy isn’t an illegal fighter.”
“No? Well, I guess not. Some fans like having the symbol inked on them as well.”
All right. Interesting. Crazy. I should ask Riot about it. Doesn’t fit what I believe about him—his rich boy persona.
Is he a rich boy working as an escort to pay for his expensive lifestyle and gambling debts? Not so sure anymore, and I also don’t know what shifted my perspective, made me change my mind. Maybe it’s the fact he’s always wearing that leather jacket and those worn dark jeans, the biker boots and those plain, soft T-shirts. Maybe it’s all the ink he’s sporting, or the fact his hair badly needs a haircut.
Maybe it’s the way he speaks, soft and growly, cussing every other word. Or the way he looks at me. Like he’s never seen anything so fine.
Yeah, Pax. And then the fantasy ends. You keep forgetting. It’s his job to make you fall for him. Like you have.
No, I haven’t. I seriously haven’t. I kick at an imaginary stone as I head back home, leaving Corey to get his aftercare instructions from the handsome Ethan.
One last time. One last meeting and I won’t need Riot anymore. I’ll let him take me, show me I can do this, be with a man, and that’s it. His job will be done, and my life will go back on track like a well-oiled machine.
As if life hasn’t taught me anything. As if things are ever that simple.
Still. I’m getting better, and after tonight...After tonight I can tell myself I did it and can do it again. I’m only using Riot to test myself, because he’s a safe bet. To prove to myself I can do this.
That’s all.
So it makes no sense, really, that I take my time showering and applying scented body cream to every inch of my body, then pass an insane amount of time in front of the mirror in my bedroom, trying on lingerie.
Like I’d do for someone I’m dating. Like I’d do for a hot boyfriend.
Disgusted with myself, I decide on purple bra and panties and put them on.
Then change my mind again.
Ugh.
It’s not important if Riot likes what he sees, I tell myself. If his eyes go a stormy gray when he takes me in, when he pulls the clothes off me and sees me in my sexy undies.
Nope.
I check myself out one last time in the mirror. Lacy black bra and panties. Classic. Tried and true.
And I still don’t care if Riot thinks they’re sexy or not. That I’m sexy.
He’s seen me at my worst, for Christ’s sake. He had his hand on my breast. Slapped me, like I asked him to. Then untied me as I screamed at him to leave.
My hands shaking, I pull on my long black dress and snap my hair back into a ponytail. This is reality. The history between me and my escort.
Jesus.
Maybe I should have selected another escort for today. Break the circle. Problem is, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to go through with it with a guy I’ve never met before. I’ve grown used to Riot. I trust him.
Which makes the whole experiment moot, doesn’t it?
I’m overthinking this again, and besides I don’t have time for this because the doorbell rings and my heart gives a lurch.
He’s here.
***
I peer through the peephole. He’s standing a ways back, hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. My mouth goes dry, like every time I see him. His jacket is open, and that T-shirt is like second skin, molding to his powerful chest.
He looks way too good to be standing outside my door. I can hardly believe he’s going to step into my apartment, my space. Very few people have been here. Corey, obviously. A few friends.
Never a boyfriend.
He’s not your boyfriend, Pax.
With a sigh, I unlock the door and pull it open. Not fair, right? Who wouldn’t want a boyfriend like him? Handsome, strong, kind, sexy.
“Evening,” he says, and something’s off. I don’t know at first what it is as he strides inside my living room and looks around. “Nice place.”
He’s not smiling.
That’s what’s off. Every time he saw me, he gave this bright smile that made my heart pound like mad, but tonight he’s...cool. Reserved.
Blank. Like he doesn’t know me. Like we’ve only met in passing.
“Is everything okay?” I wring my hands together, worried. “Riot.”
“Hmm?” He turns toward me, gives a brief smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh yeah. Sorry. My mind’s on other things.”
Other things than me, than being here with me. It stings. I never realized I had his full attention every time.
What’s going on?
“Have you had dinner?” I nod toward the kitchen. “I have—”
“I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? I could—”
“I said I’m all right. Relax, Paxtyn.”
Not Pax. It’s the first time he’s called me that since I told him to call me Pax.
A shiver wracks me.
“You cold?” He sits down on the sofa without invitation. Sprawls, draping his arms over the backrest. Spreads his legs, deliberately drawing my gaze to the bulge at his crotch. “Come sit with me.”
I hesitate. He’s so distant. If it wasn’t for those gray eyes, that silky, dark hair, I’d have thought I’d dreamed all our previous meetings. That he’s a double, or…
“Do you have a twin brother?” I blurt out, and immediately I wish I could take my question back.
His pretty eyes widen, and it’s the first ingenious reaction I’ve seen from him today. “No. Why?”
I shrug. “You’re acting so differently. I feel like I don’t know you.”
Something shutters in his expression. He sits there silently, looking at me, and yet somehow not seeing me.
“Did something happen?” I try again and sit down after all. “Since I last saw you. You can tell me, Riot. I won’t tell anyone.”
He cocks his head to the side, those thick brows drawing together over narrowed eyes. Where there was nothing before, now emotions flash through his gaze, chasing one another. Surprise. Happiness. Hope. Fear. Anger.
And back to blankness.
It leaves me dizzy and bewildered, and what the hell is going on here? This isn’t how I expected this evening to start. Not sure how it will develop. Maybe he’ll relax and be himself again?
But he leaves me no time to analyze this or ask more questions.
“Nothing happened. It’s been a long day.”
He does look tired, but—
Riot stands up and starts undressing, with brusque, jerky motions. He throws off his jacket, grabs his T-shirt and pulls it off. Seeing his naked chest always leaves me speechless, but tonight I’m distracted by worry and what starts to feel like annoyance. What is he playing at?
“Riot—”
/>
“How do you want me tonight? On the sofa? Against the wall?” He undoes his zipper and pushes down his jeans, toes off his boots and pulls off his socks. “I brought the bondage rope if you want to tie me up again.”
What the hell.
“Stop it.” I stand up, too, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, a lump in my throat. “What’s wrong with you today? That’s not what I want and you know it.”
“Do I?” He sounds...bitter.
“If you don’t want to be here, then go.” I’m shaking and I can’t help it. There’s a burn at the back of my eyes. “I know I’m just a job for you, but I never thought I was such a chore.”
He stops in the process of pushing down his briefs. His hands are on the elastic, and he’s pushed them down far enough I can see some of the dark curls of his groin. He’s soft, I realize with a start. Never seen him soft before. He was hard every time we were together.
“You’re not a chore.” He releases the elastic, pushes his hands through his hair instead and lets out a breath. “Never.”
“You don’t want this.” I nod at his crotch, and he huffs. “You could have said so. I didn’t realize…” I have to stop and swallow hard. “That you were having such a bad time with me. I mean, I know we had an awful start, because I was acting kind of crazy, but after that I thought…”
That he liked it. That he was glad to see me. That I turned him on.
“Pax…” he whispers and the pet-name breaks something inside me and the tears spill free. “Oh fuck, Pax. Come here.”
He opens his arms and I hesitate, but I walk into them because his eyes are warm again, and deep with sadness. He hugs me close, drops a kiss on top of my head. My head is resting on his chest and his heart thumps fast under my ear.
“Didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says, his voice a low rasp. “Tell me what you wanna do. I’d do anything for you, Pax.”
And it breaks my heart whenever he says that, because he sounds so sincere, so earnest I want to believe him.
“I wanted you to help me take the final step,” I say, safe in his arms, hiding my face against his warm skin. “Tonight.”
His hand that’s petting my back stills. “What do you...You mean sex?”
I wince a little, because yeah, that’s what I meant, and yet I’m scared. Better, sure, but still afraid of what might happen once I get down to it.
