by Kira Barker
But, as fascinating a figure as he struck, I wasn't blind to the fact that, like me, what he showed to the world could hardly be the person he really was. I was surprised how much I burned to find out what hid under all that flash and dazzle. With most clients, my interest lay mostly in finding out what they wanted me to be—nothing that went beyond fulfillment of their deepest fantasies. Then again, I was sure he would have appreciated it greatly if I'd told him that I already thought him one of a kind.
I was busy chasing an aberrant strawberry across my plate when he turned our light conversation to a more saucy topic.
“From what I've heard, your education is higher than most people's here today. Why do you still do what you do?”
The incredulity in his tone was real, and I couldn't help a smile as I looked at him to reply.
“You mean why haven't I quit being a whore once I could have gotten a more respectable job?”
“As a lawyer, I have my doubts about the respectability of most well-paying professions, but basically, yes. Why didn't you pursue a different career? Even if there are certain benefits to not having to work a nine-to-five grind, I'm sure there are some downsides to consider.”
I felt like he was racing ahead a little. Almost as if he was trying to keep the conversation light, although it was anything but.
“How about this… I’ll answer your question if you'll answer one of mine?”
He raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow while his mouth took on a wry twist.
“And there I was laboring under the assumption that me paying for your services meant that I'd get what I wanted, without additional charge.”
It wasn't hard to smile at his gripe.
“I don't want you to get bored with me already. You strike me as a man who enjoys the chase as much as the kill.”
For a moment his gaze seemed to harden, but it must have been my imagination, judging from the way he relaxed further into his chair.
“Okay, I'll bite. What do you consider a fair trade for your answer?”
Looking away from him, I folded my napkin properly, but glanced back up as I spoke.
“A man as powerful as you must have a reason why he's paying for what a lot of women must throw at him for free. I want to know that reason.”
He inclined his head, still amused with my game.
“I see where that might spark your curiosity. Ladies first.”
Opting for a winning smile, I straightened, trying to look as prim as possible.
“I like to fuck, plain and simple,” I let him know succinctly, running a finger up and down the stem of my wine glass in a seductive manner. If he noticed, he didn't let his focus stray from my eyes. “It wasn't the career I pictured when I moved into the city, but I've found it's what I'm best at.”
“Did you look for different employment?”
“Before I signed up with an escort service, yes. After, not in earnest. I keep seventy-five percent of what you pay me, so you have an idea of what kind of money I'm talking. Should I forgo that for slaving in an office where I get harassed and objectified much the same by my superiors, for not even a tenth of the reward? And I'm not even talking about personal gratification, just money.”
He allowed himself a wry grin at that.
“And you do find your work personally gratifying?”
“Gratifying and satisfying both, most of the time.”
“So the answer is as simple as that, sex and money?”
While he still seemed amused, his voice held a note of disappointment. Taking a moment longer to formulate my answer, I also wondered why I cared what he thought of me. I generally didn't, or else I couldn't have made it through my very first assignment.
“Nothing is that simple when it comes to human interaction. Even the hooker on the street corner has more motives than fast money, although I doubt that she enjoys her work as much as I do.”
Hunter motioned me to go on when I paused, and after a moment of hesitation, I decided to let him catch a longer look into my cards than strictly necessary.
“I already told you that I believe what I do is a lot more than sell my body for money. You get the entire package, looks and skills included. What I get out of it is the knowledge that with what I do, I can genuinely please you like no other woman can.”
I tried to buffer the underlying arrogance of that statement with a more demure tone than I'd used before, but judging from the calculating quality of his gaze, I needn't have bothered.
“Care to elaborate?”
I shrugged.
“Maybe I should put it differently. I strive to be what every client needs me to be, and that to perfection. I find out what they want, and I mold myself to their expectations. Everyone is different, so I'm a different woman with every man I meet. One day I'm the shy yet caring girlfriend, the next the haughty diva who is so out of this world that any man who manages to tame that beast must be cut from a different cloth than the rest. It's a strenuous task, and I always have to be on my toes to hit the perfect balance between being interesting enough, but not too much of a challenge. I have to read the subtle hints as much as the open directions. Few things are more rewarding than leaving my clients satisfied and wanting for nothing.”
“So this is all an act? Everything you say and do is all about molding yourself into what you think I want?”
“While still remaining the woman I am at the same time. I wouldn't get many regular clients if I was that interchangeable.”
“I doubt that you are,” he mused.
“Able to pull that off?” I playfully joked.
“Interchangeable,” he replied. The way he said the single word, it seemed to have more significance than I could see, but I didn't dwell on that.
“I hope that I answered your question sufficiently?”
“Quite,” he agreed. “I guess I should repay the favor now?”
“If you don't mind, please do.”
Hunter chuckled at the lilt of my voice.
“As you've doubtlessly already gathered in your emotional data mining, I'm a perfectionist, and I expect the same from everyone around me. I also believe in rewarding that expected perfection. My clothes, the cars I drive, the service provided by people who cut my hair and trim my fingernails—everything is the best money can buy. Why should I not set the same standards for sex?”
“Not every woman you date is a call girl,” I interjected.
His laugh held less mirth than probably warranted.
“I should have added, if obligation will let me. I also have to deal with incompetent interns sometimes, and if called for I also support philanthropic projects I know will not bring the highest revenue, and yes, sometimes I'm obliged to surround myself with women whose merit I'm not completely convinced of.”
I didn't have to feign surprise at his answer.
“If left to your own devices, you'd only deal with professionals then?”
“Why not? As you said yourself, you want to provide the perfect service, in exactly the amount of time I'm asking for. If I want sex, you'll drop your clothes in a second. If I want company, you'll dine with me. If I want eye candy for a social function, you'll be the perfect combination of a beautiful doll and a razor sharp wit that any companion of mine needs to be. And I never have to care about forgetting your birthday, talking with another woman for too long for whatever reason, or whether you get rug burn from being fucked too long and too hard on your knees. Not to leave the wrong impression with you, I see it as my duty as a respectable”—he flashed me a brief grin there—“man not to mistreat any woman, not even my whore, but I know I won't get any passive-aggressive crap from you if I'm not acting like the perfect, caring husband.
“Those other women I mentioned are mostly socialites my PR people are convinced I need to be seen with, or women who are themselves powerful enough that it is against my best interest to antagonize them. And why should I, if I stand to gain from spending time with them. But the fact remains that if I want exc
ellent sex, I'll go to a woman who deals in exactly that.”
His explanation made sense, even though it underscored just how calculating a man he was. It didn't put me off, though; I wasn’t here to date him, and for a well-working business relationship, his attitude was favorable.
My inner reflection on that must have gone on too long as his brows drew together in an almost mocking frown.
“Too candid for you?”
I shook my head and looked back at him with what I hoped was a shrewd expression.
“Not at all. In my business I seldom encounter honesty, but I appreciate it when I'm confronted with it. I also appreciate the ego stroking,” I added as an afterthought.
Hunter raised his glass to me in salute, and I followed along with mine.
“To a wonderful business arrangement. May we both profit from it, each in our own way.”
Laughing softly, I clinked my glass against his but only took a dainty sip. Like everything, the wine was perfect, but I made a point of not becoming too intoxicated when on a job. I simply couldn't allow my judgment to become impaired.
Waiting for him to set his glass down again, I reached across the table and ran my fingers lightly over the back of his hand.
“Speaking of which, care to assess my standard of excellence now?”
He gave me a wry smile, signaled for the check, and off we went.
Chapter 5
The limousine that picked us up seemed to be the same as before, but the driver was different; I figured he was part of the firm's private fleet. Being a top-notch lawyer must come with benefits besides being able to afford me. After settling into the plush leather seats in the back, I was of a mind to resume light conversation, but I realized I was the only one.
That definitely called for a change of plan.
Reaching across Hunter's firm body, I engaged the control to roll up the privacy screen and used the same motion to straddle him. He took his time looking up my body, lingering at my chest before his eyes fastened on my lips. A rocking motion of my hips proved that he was beginning to be game, but when I reached up to undo his tie, his fingers touching my arms made me go still.
“I want to see you first. All of you.”
His husky tone brought a slight smile to my face, and I was only too happy to oblige.
With my dress already bunched up around my hips, it only took a few practiced moves to unzip it and pull it over my head. I let the soft fabric drop onto the seat beside him, but kept my arms elevated, pretending to fuss with my hair but really giving him ample time to look at my chest. One of his hands came up, but he didn't fondle me, just touched my side at the lower half of my ribcage, then smoothed it over the expanse of flesh until it met the lace of my garter belt.
While he was busy studying the see-through contraption—or the lack of anything underneath—I unhooked my bra and let it join the dress. Touching his knees behind my back, I inclined my body, not quite incidentally inching my hips forward as far as the position would let me. The hand on my hip slid down to my thigh but stayed there, and after his eyes had roamed over my body again, they came back to my face.
“You're beautiful,” he whispered, and I could see in his gaze that he either meant it or was a truly accomplished liar. My answering smile was equally sincere, coaxing one out of him, too.
Again I reached for his tie, but he shook his head, so I skimmed my fingers down his chest to the fly of his pants, this time not meeting any resistance. Letting my smile dip into more lascivious registers, I pulled the zipper down and reached inside, finding his cock smooth, warm, and very eager for attention.
The position was rather awkward for a hand job, but as he grabbed my ass when I wanted to slide off his lap, I did my best to make it work. Once he was hard enough, I moved my hips closer still as I continued to stroke him, the head pressed against my pussy lips.
Hunter kept watching me watch him, but he gradually relaxed, until he let his hands drop away. I took that for a sign that he was happy to deliver me from humping him when I could barely move in this position, and inched my way backward onto the floor of the limousine. His eyelids fluttered shut as my lips planted a soft kiss onto the head of his cock, then closed around it, while my hand continued to stroke him.
He had obviously showered before coming to Brigitte's place, and I liked the clean scent of his body greeting me, carrying a hint of musk and not much else. Like everything about him, his cock fit the perfectly groomed picture, soft skin stretching over hard, warm flesh, with well maintained pubic hair.
Already having looked up his address beforehand, I knew that we had about half an hour from the restaurant to his house, but once I had my lips wrapped around his cock, I found it hard to properly pace myself. He enjoyed me going slow at first, and he didn't urge me to speed up—in fact, he kept his hands on his spread thighs, not touching me at all—but I had to restrain myself from taking all of him in and making him come down my throat as quickly as possible. Looking up his body, my gaze latched onto his face, relaxed now, his eyes half closed. A languid smile started playing around his lips as he realized that I was watching him, and his right hand reached for a lock of my hair to wind around his fingers.
“Touch yourself while you suck me off, but don’t come yet. I want you worked up and yearning for my cock when we get home.”
Of course he couldn’t see from that angle, but I followed his direction immediately, using the hand that wasn’t jerking him off to pleasure myself. At my noon appointment, I’d needed lube to do the job my body was only too happy to provide for itself now. Without a doubt, Hunter was more of a catch than the judge, but it wasn’t just his obvious physical appeal. It was his scent, his voice, everything he’d said and done since he’d walked into Brigitte’s apartment, and I was only too happy to reap the benefits of his effect on me soon.
He went rigid and came with a low, sexy groan just as the car turned into the driveway. By then, my fingers were soaking wet and I considered climbing back onto his lap right there, but the way he pointedly looked at my dress had me reconsider. My breasts ached for a different kind of contact as I forced them back into the constraints of my bra, but I made sure that everything sat impeccably before I let him help me out of the car.
The driver remained with the limousine after he’d closed the door behind us, and Hunter led me up the three steps to his front door. I had barely a moment to catch a glimpse of his house—mansion, really—before he whisked me inside. Everything was dark around us, making the moment it took him to turn on the lights somewhat intimate, but like before, he didn’t give me time to linger as he tugged me along toward a straight staircase leading to the upper floor. I caught impressions of mahogany furniture and richly carpeted hardwood floors, then we were through the door at the end of the upstairs hallway, the master bedroom from the looks of it.
My body screamed for contact, but I kept my distance as Hunter took his time following me toward the bed. He checked his phone, then shut it down and put it into the top drawer of the nightstand on the left side of the bed. Forcing myself to wait, I put my clutch on the dresser halfway between the door and bed, unobtrusive but handy should my exit require to be a fast one. My quick research had uncovered that there really was no—and had never been a—Mrs. Hunter, making it unlikely that I would have to flee, but better to be prepared than end a perfect appointment with fumbling around.
Hunter sat down on the bed, yanking his tie off, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. The cuffs followed with equally precise yet casual motions before he got up to kick off his shoes. Only then did he turn back to me, a slight smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
“Getting bored already?”
I hoped that his question wasn’t caused by actual observation, and did my best to deflect it as I licked my lips and took a step toward him.
“Just biding my time,” I replied, moving closer still.
He didn’t stop me in my advance and let me take over working the buttons of his
shirt free. Underneath, his chest was also that perfect tan only sunbeds could lend, muscles flexing briefly as he shrugged off the shirt. I moved to his pants next, discarding them together with his underwear in one quick yank down his long, muscled legs. He stepped out, then reached down to pull me back to my feet, his hand warm on my upper arm.
I was very conscious of the fact that we’d now traded places, and I reached up to the zipper at the back of my neck to equalize our state of undress. Yet before I could yank on the tab, he stopped me.
“Let me.”
Obediently, I turned around, relishing the warmth of his breath on the side of my neck as he stepped up to me, then unzipped my dress. Warm hands slid between the parted fabric, brushing it off my shoulders to pool around my legs. I made a move to step out of it, but his hands were suddenly on my hips, keeping me in place.
“Hold still for a moment.”
He then went on to divest me of both the bra and garter belt, kneeling down behind me so he could slide my stockings down my legs with controlled, sensual motions. At his silent urging, I slipped my left, then right shoe off so he could finish, leaving me completely bare. The temperature in the room was moderate and in no way responsible for how my nipples tightened, begging to be touched, but I remained still as a statue.
Straightening, he hovered behind me for a moment, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, but barely. Then his hands were back on my shoulders, caressing my arms, then my hips as he slid them downward. I let myself relax into his touch, still waiting with bated breath.
“Stay here,” he told me, then moved around me to the bed, not bothering with the covers. The sight of him stretching out atop the sheets, cream on a sea of deepest burgundy, made it twice as hard to obey his order. His cock was semi erect again, ready to salute me proudly, and I wondered just why he was drawing things out like this.
