Riot (Bad Boy Escorts #1)

by Jo Raven

  “You’re sick?” He says it like I’ve announced I’m on my deathbed, some of the color leaving his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just a cold. Nothing important.”

  He steps closer and I move aside to let him in. “You sure? You don’t look so good.”

  The heat climbing my neck now has nothing to do with being sick. “Why, thank you. That’s—”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he says softly and turns, taking my face in his hands. I’m speechless as he brushes my mouth with his soft lips, his stubble scratching my chin.

  Then a cough rattles me and I pull away. “Stop.” I push on his chest—to no effect, but hey, I tried. “You’ll catch my cold.”

  “In sickness and in health,” he whispers, and I frown as I struggle to catch my breath. My ears are kind of blocked from blowing my nose all the time.

  “What?” He can’t have said…

  “I was worried,” he replies, and he does look worried. “Let me take care of you.”

  Okay, what the what? This is...“I didn’t call the agency. I wasn’t—”

  “Dammit, Pax, this has nothing to do with the agency. I don’t want money, okay? Just let me be here for you.”

  His dark brows are drawn together over his eyes, his jaw is tight, his chin jutting out. He’s angry, I realize. But…

  “You should be in bed,” he says firmly. “I’ll make you tea, or whatever you want. Go on. I’ll bring you the tea.”

  I’m gaping at him, and resist the urge to pinch myself. “Okay,” I whisper, not sure what else to say, because how do you refuse something like that? Riot offering to make me tea?

  Riot who said he was worried about me, and came by to see me?

  God, I must be dreaming. There’s no other explanation. But hey, if it’s a good dream, don’t change the channel, right?

  Or something like that.

  ***

  I’m lying in bed, under the covers, a stack of pillows behind me, a tray with hot tea and cookies beside me.

  Riot is sitting on the edge of the mattress, going through my stack of DVDs, his lashes throwing long shadows over his cheeks.

  Still dreaming.

  That’s okay. It’s good while it lasts.

  “How about this one?” Riot says, thrusting a DVD package at me—because I’m keeping them in their cases. Guess secretly I’m a hoarder.

  “Tristan and Isolde? That’s what you want to see?”

  “I’m trying to find something you would wanna see,” he says, his tone a bit defensive.

  “I bought all those movies. I like them all. Why don’t you choose something you might like, too?”

  Go with the flow. Let the dream run its course.

  “Okay, this one, then?” He holds up Fight Club.

  No surprise there, really.

  “You sure are a fan of fight clubs, huh? I bet you saw the movie a hundred times.”

  “Never watched it,” he says and gets up to put it into the DVD player. “How come you don’t download movies from the internet like everyone else?”

  I shrug and reach for a Kleenex to blow my nose. “I’m not that good with technology. That what you do?”

  “Nah. I don’t have a TV.”

  “Why not?”

  “No reason. Not much time in the evenings.”

  Right.

  You forgot for a moment there, Pax, didn’t you? What he does for a living. Having sex with all those women who—

  “Scoot over,” he says, and I blink at him, my nose buried in the handkerchief. “Scoot over.”

  So I scoot over and he sits beside me, over the covers, and puts his arm around me.

  Okay, rewind, play: Riot sits down on my bed, next to me, and throws his muscular, inked arm around my shoulders like that’s what we normally do in the evenings.

  Curl up on my bed and watch movies. Together. Like a couple.

  Oh my God. When I wake up and he’s not there I’ll die, crushed with disappointment.

  That’s it, this dream wants to kill me…

  ***

  “How’re you feeling?” A hand is stroking my hair, lightly massaging my scalp. My cheek is mashed to a muscular shoulder, my senses flooded with male spice and musk.

  Riot’s. It’s his voice, his shoulder I’m resting on. His hand on my hair.

  “Good. I mean, yeah...Sleepy.”

  “That’s because you were asleep.” There’s a smile in his deep voice, and his fingers move to the back of my scalp, kneading.

  I moan softly, pleasurable jolts running down my neck and back. “Sorry.”

  “Why? I’m glad you’re resting.”

  “You’re still here.”

  His fingers still, then resume their movement. “Yeah. That okay?”

  “It’s great. I just can’t believe you’re really here.”

  A huff or snort, not sure. “Really here? What do you mean?”

  “Like, I thought it was a dream.”

  A beat of silence. “A dream.”

  “If this is a dream, it’s nice.”

  “It’s not a dream,” he says, sounding amused.

  “Then you’re really good at this.”

  “Acting as a pillow?”

  “Taking care of me.”

  He’s silent for a while, stroking my hair, his breath warm against my forehead. He brushes his mouth over my skin.

  “I want you to be well. I care for you, Pax.”

  My heart stops. Then starts again. Okay. Backtrack. What is he saying? My brain’s fuzzy, and I don’t trust my senses.

  “Riot, did you—?”

  “Would you like a bath?” he whispers.

  I blink, lift my head. “What?”

  “A bath.” He pulls my head back down, resumes the stroking. “Would you like one? I mean, it’s not that you smell bad or anything…”

  A snort escapes me. “No?”

  “Not at all.” He sounds earnest. Eager. “I’d love to bathe you.”

  Oh God. I’m warm all over. Smiling against his T-shirt, I nod and think, if it’s not a dream, then what does it mean?

  ***

  The bathtub is full of steaming water and blueberry bubbles when he leads me to it. He’s down to his underwear, and if I wasn’t feeling like crap I’d have appreciated the view more.

  As it is, I let him drag me to sit on top of the closed toilet lid and undress me. He takes off my robe, lets it pool on the floor, and starts on my pajama bottoms. He slides them off me, together with my panties, and I shiver. Not just from the cold.

  He’s so gentle. He’s always been careful with me, but this...The way he steadies me before he moves me, the way he lifts my arms to take off my tee, the concerned look in his eyes…

  Well, it’s not helping with my resolution not to fall for him. It was easier when it was only sex, and overcoming my fears.

  Harder when he’s giving me this other side of him. The one I only imagined until now.

  “Come, Pax.” He lifts me up, guides me into the bathtub, then climbs in after me. He sits and settles me between his long legs, my back resting on his naked chest, my head propped on his shoulder. He takes the sponge and soap from the holder. “Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  More than okay. Warm, comfortable. He’s surrounding me with his body, and I feel protected. Safe from harm. Cherished and cared for.

  He wets the sponge, passes the soap over it, and then runs the sponge over my body. Over my arms, over my shoulders, down my chest, over my breasts. My nipples tingle and pebble from the roughness of it, and when he continues down my stomach, I shift restlessly.

  This feels good. Way too good.

  His stroke continues down my thigh, then circles back up to do the other one. My pussy clenches with need. Crazy that I should need release so badly when I’ve been so sick I could barely get out of bed, but here, warm and relaxed, leaning against Riot, I want.

  Want him. Like every time.

  Maybe my body is conditioned n
ow to get aroused whenever he’s near, I think fuzzily as the sponge touches the top of my mound and presses down between my legs. Maybe soon even the sound of his name will be enough to make me wet.

  Wait, doesn’t it happen already? The other day—

  Oh God.

  “Riot.” I moan his name as he swiped the sponge down, over my sensitive clit, spreading me, stroking me.

  He says nothing, breathing fast against my neck, his mouth branding me. His cock is hard in the small of my back, hot and throbbing.

  The sponge glides back up, and back down. I grab the edges of the bathtub, my body arching backward as he does it again. I’m going to come. There’s no way to stop it. He’s just going to—

  “Fuck, Pax.” He drops the sponge and pushes two fingers inside me.

  I cry out, clenching around his fingers, my body going supernova. The pleasure washes through me in great ripples, taking away my breath. Again. And again.

  Holy crap.

  “God.” He nips at my neck, his hard-on huge at my back. “Need you. Oh fuck.”

  “Please.” Can’t form the words to tell him. “Inside me.”

  “No condom. Not here.”

  “No need. I’m on the pill.” I frown. “If you’re clean. Tested—”

  “I’m tested. Get tested every month. Never done it without a condom, Pax. Ever. With any woman.”

  I blink, absorbing this.

  He shifts, leans back. “Do you want me?” His voice is rough and throaty. Sexy.

  “Yes.” No doubt about it.

  He lifts my thighs so that my feet are braced on the bathtub, and strokes his thumb down my seam. Then he pushes his cock into me.

  I gasp. He’s lying back in the water, and I’m sitting on top of him, his cock slowly sinking into me. It feels so much bigger this way, like it’s going to split me apart, but it also feels good, so good I can’t help but moan as he stretches me.

  “It’s weird,” I gasp again, “not to see your face.”

  He sits up again, and the angle of the penetration changes, his cock pressing forward, increasing the pressure, his piercings rubbing inside me. So incredibly good...We both cry out this time as he rocks into me, his arms coming around my waist, pressing me to him.

  “I’m here,” he whispers in my ear. “Behind you. Under you. Inside you.”

  Holy shit, no way to forget about that, not with his big cock filling me so completely, the barbells sending sparks into my belly with every tiny shift.

  I rock back into him, and he hisses.

  “Fuck, yeah. Do it again.”

  I do, rolling my hips and oh God, the pleasure. I’m shaking with it. It’s different than when he was stroking me, or getting me off with his fingers. This is deeper and sharper and as he pumps in and out, his cock sliding against my inner walls, it’s almost pain, but it’s not.

  It’s mind-blowing pleasure, pressure that’s mounting and mounting, until I can’t take anymore without shattering.

  He groans, reaching down my belly to where we’re joined. He likes feeling it, and when he brushes his thumb over my clit, I jerk and the pressure crests.

  God, oh God...I come apart, moaning, shuddering, stars exploding against my eyelids. And then he comes, too, calling out my name, and the rush of his cum fills me and overflows, hot like fire inside me.

  We rock together, riding the aftershocks, panting and splashing in the cooling water. He’s trembling, his arms tight around me, his cock still twitching in my core.

  “You okay?” he whispers, his voice catching on a moan. “Fuck…”

  “Yeah.”

  He slides his hands up, caressing my sides. He kisses my neck. “Didn’t mean to do this,” he breathes. “I only wanted to help you feel better.”

  “I do feel better,” I reassure him, laughing. “Much better.”

  He chuckles, vibrations traveling from his chest down my back. “Good.” He quiets then. “I’d do anything for you, Pax. I hope you know that. You only have to ask.”

  I blink, my eyes suddenly too hot. I don’t know what to say. After fighting it, telling myself to be rational and cool-headed, he says something like this that knocks reason on its ass, something that hooks me and reels me in, giving me no choice but to fall in love with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riot

  Cradling Pax against my chest, my dick still buried inside her, I’m the closest to happiness I’ve ever felt. I was so worried before I came looking for her. Worried when she said she was sick, worried I couldn’t make her well. That she didn’t want me here.

  That she’d send me away.

  And although I bet this won’t last—she’ll come to her senses soon enough and remember I’m not what she’s looking for—I can’t find it in me to care. Not now. Not when I’m still floating on a post-orgasmic haze unlike any I’ve ever felt.

  Maybe it was because it was without a condom, flesh against flesh.

  Or maybe it’s because it’s Pax and I want her every hour of every day and night. Anything we do together is mind-blowing. But still, this one was...Whoa. My dick is slipping out of her, little by little, and I have to bite my lip not to groan at the sensation.

  Dammit, the water is cooling already. She shivers in my arms. Need to get her warm and into bed, then...Food. She needs to eat.

  I have no clue what to do about that. Take-out? I don’t know how to cook to save my life, except for out of the package Mac-and-Cheese, deep-frozen pizzas and sandwiches. My foster mom wasn’t much of a cook. Besides, two of the three years I spent in her house she was battling cancer. The last thing on her mind, especially toward the end, was cooking.

  And these past years of living alone haven’t helped either. Let’s just say Dexter and Batman aren’t into cooking, either. We make do with whatever is lying around.

  As I lift her from the water and wrap her up in a huge fluffy towel she has hanging on a hook, as I grab a smaller one and dry her long hair, I think about what I could make her to eat.

  Or try to, because touching her in any form and way makes me want her, makes me happy.

  I’m way past the danger line. Now I’m full and well in riptide territory. Might as well stop fighting it. Let the current take me deep into the sea.

  I find another towel, which I fasten around my hips, and I walk her to her bedroom. She’s drowsy, leaning heavily against me. Pulling back the covers, I have her sit, then unwrap her from the towel and lay her down.

  “I’m naked,” she whispers as I drag the covers over her.

  “Just the way I like you,” I whisper back and wink.

  She laughs. I love the sound of her laughter—soft and tinkling like a small bell. “You could grab me clean pajamas from the closet.”

  “I could.” I grin at her, but then decide maybe she’ll be warmer that way and I open her closet. It’s made of heavy, dark wood, carved with flowers. Inside she has shelf after shelf stacked with folded clothes. “Um, is there a coding system? A sign pointing toward the pajamas?”

  She laughs again, and I grin like an idiot, proud of myself for wringing that sweet sound out of her. “Bottom right shelf.”

  Right. I grab light blue bottoms and a white top. “Panties?”

  “Top left drawer.”

  I open it, stick my hand inside, and pull out a lacy white thing. Thong? What in the name—?”

  “Riot, did you find them?”

  Turning around, I show my loot. “Yeah.” I eye her thoughtfully. “I might just put them back, though, and climb into bed with you.”

  “Riot!” But she’s laughing delightedly, and if I grin any wider, my face will split in two. “Gimme my clothes.”

  “What will you give me in return?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, I can think of a thing or two.” I approach the bed, look down at her. “We could pick up where we left off in the tub.”

  Color rises to her cheeks. She bites her lip, and yeah, I think getting under the covers with he
r is the best idea I’ve had all day. My dick agrees with me, hardening, making a nice sizable tent in the towel that’s threatening to fall off my hips—when the doorbell rings.

  Fuck.

  “Expecting someone?” I give her the clothes and look around for mine.

  “Could be Corey.”

  “Your friend?” A bitter wave of jealousy hits me as I shove my legs into my pants.

  “Yeah.” She sounds uncertain. “I told you about him, right?”

  That he’s her best friend. And brought her a bottle of whisky, the one we hit on the other night.

  “He probably brought me some food. He’s been worried. He checks on me.”

  Oh I see. Worried, huh?

  “I’ll go get the door.” I zip up my jeans and don’t bother with anything else. Vaguely I’m aware I’m staking my territory.

  My girl.

  And if this Corey who acts all concerned about her is good looking, I’ll redecorate his fucking face.

  Hell.

  ***

  “So you’re the famous escort Pax won’t talk about.” Corey is giving me a blatant once-over, blond head cocked to the side, one brow raised. “Holy shit, the girl has taste.”

  I blink at him. He isn’t what I expected. None of this is. I mean, the guy’s handsome, I guess, almost as tall as me with bright green eyes, but the vibe he’s giving off…

  “And you’re Corey.”

  “In the flesh.” He beams at me and wanders into the living room, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “Okay, go back for a sec to what you said.” I wave a hand, trying to sort my thoughts. “Famous escort?”

  “Ah-huh.”

  “But one she won’t talk about.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So how can I be famous if she doesn’t—”

  “Oh God, have you no imagination?” He strikes a dramatic pose with his hand on his chest.

  I stare. What the fuck is he doing? “No, I don’t. So?”

  “Great.” He relaxes, grins. “Let me explain. Pax has been my friend since our school days. She rarely shares what’s in her heart. But she trusts me.”

  My hands curl into fists. She trusts me. Me, not this moron. “Really.”

  “Really.” Oblivious, he props his hip against the back of the sofa. “She told me what happened two years ago, asked for my advice on what to do. I told her to go to a therapist but she decided to come...to you.”