by London Hale
She nodded, set her plate down, and finally met my eyes. Her face was drawn, her expression nearly pained as she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Do you know what an escort is?”
My stomach dropped, the pieces of the puzzle all sliding into place. My suspicions proved. I swallowed through the tightness in my throat. “Of course I know what it is.”
She nodded, glancing toward the living room. Avoiding my eyes again as she said, “So you know not all escorts have sex with clients, right?”
“Yeah, Lo.” I squeezed her thighs to try to reassure her with my touch that I’d accept whatever it was she had to tell me. That I wouldn’t judge her for what had gone on.
For long moments, she stared into the other room. When she finally looked back at me, there was no smile. No glint in her eyes. No dimple. No Lola.
“I started off in the…standard role. Dates, money—” She paused, scrunching her nose as if the word she was looking for somehow tasted bad. She bit down on her bottom lip, gnawing for a second before taking a deep breath. “Sex. Dates, money, and sex. Totally what people expect. But at some point, the owner of the company realized the fact that I look young, that I was so short, even, was a more profitable asset.”
“Jesus, you’re talking about yourself like you’re a commodity, Lo. You’re a fucking person.”
Her eyes shone with wetness, and a pained expression ghosted across her face. “Not always. When I’m her—when I’m Lolita—I’m something for sale. I fulfill a need for a client that usually revolves around…nonsexual yet intimate acts.”
I could barely process what she was saying—referring to herself as something for sale. Like she was a product and not a human being. I hated it, hated everything about it. But it was her life, her choice—my gut churned at the possibility that it hadn’t been. To be sure, I asked, “And last night… Last night was…a job?”
“Yes. He was a client of mine, one I’ve seen regularly for almost two years.” She frowned as she played with the hem of the sweatshirt she wore, her eyes downcast. “One I hope never to see again.”
Something in the tone of her voice sparked my instincts, made my stomach clench and my throat tight. “Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?” If that fucker did anything to her—laid a hand on her without her consent… “I don’t have jurisdiction off the island, but I’ve got a few buddies over there. I can make a call.”
She started shaking her head before I could even get all the words out, placing a hand on my arm as if to calm me. “That’s not necessary. He didn’t do anything to me. When you got there, when you saw me running out, that was all on me. He never crossed a line—I couldn’t go through with the appointment. It was my fault.”
“That’s bullshit, Lo. If you don’t want to do something, it’s your right to walk away. You don’t owe your body to anyone. Ever.”
She stared at me, the look on her face nearly enough to kill me. The lack of life in her eyes downright scary. “Unless they pay me for it.”
I didn’t give a single flying fuck if they gave her fifty gold bricks. She didn’t owe anyone anything if she didn’t want to give it. Jaw clenched, fists balled up against her thighs, I said, “Even then.”
“Connor, I had a job to do. An appointment with a man who relies on me to act a certain way and trusts me to keep his secrets. Yes, I had a right to tell him no, but I also had a responsibility as a professional to make sure he had someone there to fulfill my role or to follow through with the deal myself. And I couldn’t.” She raised her hand and rested it against my cheek. “I couldn’t go through with it because I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
I turned my head to press a kiss on her palm. “Why now? Why, after all this time?”
“I don’t know. My job…it changed me. Made me not trust people. Made me feel disconnected from everyone because I had to keep my secrets.” She dropped her hand from my face and set it on top of mine where it rested on her thigh. “My life was already hard because of my family going back to Ecuador after I graduated high school. Living with the lies and knowing how strange some men could get only made me pull inside myself further.” She shrugged, a smile lifting up one side of her mouth. “But you never let me hide. You barged into my life and stayed there, and I adore you for it. You’ve always been special to me.” She hooked her legs around my hips, tugging me closer. Pressing up against me. “I never wanted to bring that life into ours.”
I wrapped my arms around her, slipping my hands under the sweatshirt and settling them against her back. She sighed, melting into my touch. “You know this doesn’t change anything, right? I promised you whatever you had to tell me wouldn’t change my feelings, and it hasn’t.”
She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows rising. “So you’re fine with the fact that men paid me to fulfill their fantasies? Sometimes sexually?”
Fuck no, I wasn’t. Even a little. But I wasn’t so much of an asshole to tell her what she could and couldn’t do with her life. I knew enough about her situation to know she didn’t have it easy, that she didn’t come from a well-off family who could help put her through college. That she needed to do that on her own—by whatever means. I could look past a lot if it was her choice. But if it wasn’t? “And did they always have your consent? Did anyone…did they take—”
“Never. Other than the guy last week, no one has ever gotten more out of hand than I expected them to. I may not have wanted to do all the things I’ve done, but I wanted the cash I earned doing them because I needed a job, and the money was easy. I’m not some sad, put-upon girl who got swept up. I made the choice to work in a particular field, and I can’t put that on anyone else’s shoulders.”
I hated it. Hated that it was her job, that she’d gotten into it not because she’d wanted to but because she had to—for money. Hated every single thing about the circumstances. But it didn’t change anything. She was still Lo to me. And yet… “I’m not going to lie to you—I can’t stand the thought of you with them.”
She bit her lip again, looking at me with those wide eyes of hers. Imploring me with her words. “Then stop thinking about them.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that easy. Every time I close my eyes—”
“Stop.” She pushed against my chest to get me to step back, then slid off the counter. “They don’t matter. Whether I did those things just to do them or for money, it has nothing to do with us. And last night was it—the end of Lolita—the last appointment I’ll accept. I can’t keep doing what I have been. Not with how I feel about myself.” Pressing close, she tucked her fingers into the waistband of my sweat pants, staring up at me with eyes bright and full of longing. “Not with how I feel about you.”
I breathed for what felt like the first time since she’d started telling me everything, my chest loosening with relief. No more working jobs she didn’t want to. No more putting herself at risk. Gripping her hips, I held her close. “And how’s that?”
Walking backward, she tugged me along with her hands pulling the drawstrings at my waist, a smile tipping up the corners of her lips. “Let me show you.”
She didn’t stop until she was in my bathroom. Then she turned on the water and came over to me, her hands going straight to my waistband. And as much I wanted to be naked with her, to feel her skin under my hands, I needed to make sure it was her choice.
I stilled her hands before she could pull off my sweats. “Be sure, beautiful. Be sure.”
She looked up at me, then removed her hands from under mine and went straight to the hem of the sweatshirt. And then she tugged it off and tossed it to the side. “I’ve been sure for a long time. Are you?”
I waited on tenterhooks, needing his answer. His admission. When he finally groaned a, “Fuck yes, I’m sure,” I nearly sagged with relief. This was it, us, something we’d both been wanting, apparently. Probably for months…maybe, like me, for the two years since we’d met. I was done waiting.
Without another delay, I pushed
his sweat pants down his legs, baring him to me. Both of us naked for the first time. And he was beautiful—so much paler than I was, with freckles across his chest and hair dusting his body. I wanted to run my hands all over him, wanted to follow those trails with my lips. But first…
“Let me wash you,” I whispered, unable to keep my hands off his skin.
He tugged me closer, looming over me. “I’d love nothing more than to have your hands on me. But I want to take care of you. Let me.”
No one had even attempted to take care of me in years. No one but Connor. Even as friends, he’d cared. Hell, as strangers, he’d ingrained himself into my world and become that overprotective presence that I’d longed to spend more time with. And there we were, naked and alone, about to embark on some sort of physical journey together, and he was still trying to put me first. My God, if I loved the man any more, I’d fall at his feet and beg him to be mine.
Luckily, I didn’t have to.
I pressed my lips to his and pulled him with me into the shower, closing the curtain behind us once we were in the tub. This was our new start, our baptism into something more than friendship, more than secrets and lies between us. This was our rebirth. I took a moment simply to look at him, to try to implore with my eyes how important this moment was. How meaningful. And when I felt comfortable he understood, when the expression on his face was as loving and soft as I’d ever dreamed it could be, I smiled.
“That’s my favorite smile,” he said, his voice soft, his fingers brushing over my cheek. And then, even though this had been my plan, he began to wash me.
There was something so meaningful about that moment, something beyond sex or sensuality. There was a coming together, a feeling of intimacy that hadn’t been there before. Even when I’d straddled his hips, even when he came while on top of me—nothing compared to this.
With gentle hands, he pulled my hair back and wet it from the crown. He brushed his fingers across my neck, his body pressing into my side as he cupped his hand and pulled the water all the way to the ends. Then he washed it, and that brought sensations I’d never experienced. Strong fingers ran through my hair, gentle in their motions. Loving, almost. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the feeling, letting Connor do as he needed. Giving myself to him in that moment.
When my hair was clean, he let his hands swoop lower, spreading soap and suds along my shoulders and down my back. Rubbing me. Cleansing me. His breaths matched mine, his need something palpable in the air around us. How such a simple act could be so sensual, I had no idea. But I liked it. No, I loved it.
When I was clean, Connor pressed against my back, sliding his hands around the front of my hips. Pulling me close and trapping his hard cock between us.
“I hate that they had their hands on you.” He kissed my neck softly, gentle in ways I never knew he could be.
And his words… I understood that statement better than he could have thought. I hated that I’d let them have their hands on me, that I’d potentially shadowed my future with the decisions in my past. The idea that I could have missed out on something as wonderful as that moment in the shower with Connor—that I could have lost him completely—was heartbreaking and the sort of reality check I needed.
Wanting to give him as much care as he showed me, I turned in his arms, rising onto the balls of my feet to reach for him. To brush my lips against his. To press our bodies together for one moment under the falling water. We both hated that I’d been touched, but we could fix that. We could start anew. We could start again with something more, something meaningful. Something that was just us.
“We’ll wash them away,” I whispered before placing one last kiss on his lips. “We’ll wash them all away and start fresh. Just you and me.”
Connor stared at me for a long time, holding me close. Not moving except to raise his hands, to cup my face. He held me like I was precious, like I was something special. Something I’d never experienced. And when he finally spoke, when he rocked us closer together and used his fingers to tuck my wet hair behind my ears, he gave me the one response I needed.
“Okay.”
All the stress I’d been carrying disappeared, and the weight of my worry evaporated. Okay was enough. Okay was perfect. And it was time I let him know that.
“Duck,” I said, pulling away from his body enough so I could pour shampoo into my hand. Connor didn’t even blink at my command, bending at the waist and holding on to my hips as he did. The man had a thing for keeping me close. For keeping us connected. And I loved it.
I scrubbed through his hair, massaging his scalp and neck on every pass. Leaning closer with every touch. He held still for me, though his hands kept moving. Kept pulling me closer. Kept kneading my flesh. His touch was killing me, making me need. Making me want things I wasn’t sure how to ask for.
“Done.” I inched back when I was finished, grabbing his bar of soap with shaking hands so I could cleanse him. And I did—I scrubbed him from the tops of his shoulders to the tips of his toes. Worked my hands over every inch of skin, over parts that made him jump and squirm and parts that made him groan. He was so hard the whole time, his cock practically bouncing as he followed my movements. I wanted to touch it, taste it, make him come again…wanted to take him in my mouth and feel his hands in my hair as I swallowed around him. I even reached for him at one point, wrapped my hand around the base of him and stroked him from root to tip.
Connor, though, had other plans.
“Come here, Lo.” He lifted me to my feet, letting me brush his body with mine. Pulling me until I stood before him, still under the shower spray. Still naked. Still needy.
Connor stared down at me for a long moment, his hands endlessly sliding over my flesh. Seeking something. Searching for what, I had no idea. But on one pass, he didn’t come back up when he reached my thighs. No, he kept going, dropping his entire body to his knees right there in the shower so he could kiss and nibble at my tummy. At my hip bone. At my—
“Connor.” I grabbed his hair as he ran his nose along the front of my slit. As he moved as if to do something I had never been the recipient of.
“This okay?” His grumbly, deep voice made me tremble, and I nearly fell back against the wall because of it. Connor simply followed me, keeping up his pressure. His teasing. Swiping his tongue along the very top of me as if waiting for me to give him permission to move lower.
Oh God, did I want him to move lower. “I’ve never… I don’t know…”
His eyes turned hungry, a sort of feral gleam in them as they darted up to meet mine. A sexy-as-fuck sort of gleam. “No one’s ever licked your pussy?”
That word on his lips made said pussy quiver. I shook my head, too embarrassed to speak. Too turned on to lie. I’d seen all sorts of things—done all sorts of things—but intimacy like that? Having someone to be willing to do that to me? Never.
Apparently, my time as a cunnilingus virgin was coming to a close.
Connor ran his nose over me again, reaching out his tongue to flick across my flesh. Delving deeper, lower, teasing me as he pulled my hips toward him. I gasped and jerked, wet already from his touch. Soaked, really. Aching for him in ways no one had ever made me feel before.
Connor took his time, though. He was a caretaker, after all. He lifted one leg and washed my foot, kissing the top of it before moving his lips up to my knee. Higher yet, to the fleshiest part of my thigh. I was a trembling mess, one hand locked in his hair, the other pressed flat against the wall behind me as he rose on his knees to press his face between my legs.
But he didn’t.
Before he could reach where I so wanted him to be, he moved on to the next foot, lifting me right off the ground and supporting me as I leaned against the shower wall. His touches were soft, his kisses gentle even as he used his strength to hold me up. I could barely breathe, could hardly stand to watch him progress up my thighs, but I had to. The image was too perfect, the picture something I would never forget. His shoulders flexed with ev
ery kiss, his grip growing tighter as he pulled my thighs apart. And this time, when he reached the top of my thigh, when he kissed so high, his cheek brushed against my pussy, he didn’t stop.
And he wasn’t gentle.
Connor dove in with the appetite of a starving man, his tongue and lips seeking and finding my clit on their first pass. On the first swipe that set my entire body on fire. I gasped and slammed my hands against the shower wall, hanging on, staring down at the amazing man between my legs. How could he do that? How did he know how to make me feel so good? How was he strong enough to hold me up and still press his mouth against me and—
“Oh God, Connor.” I writhed against his face, unable to hold still, seeking more no matter how much he gave. Falling deeper into my orgasm spiral with every swipe, every suck. Every second that he worked me over. He flicked and licked, he spread me with his thumbs and suckled, he even ran his teeth along me. But when he hummed? When the combination of the stubble brushing against my thighs and the vibration of his lips on my clit met?
Done.
I came with a short yelp, rolling my body forward as if to protect myself from the pleasure burning within. Every twitch enhanced the sensations, every brush of Connor’s skin against mine intensified the deep throb of completion. Of connection. Connor set my feet back on the ground and held me up, letting that pleasure roll through at its own pace, keeping one hand between my legs to tease out every ounce. Every drop. Every shake and tremor.
“I don’t—” I moaned as another tremble shot over me. “I have no idea how you do that.”
“Does that mean I did okay for your first time?” The cocky grin he shot up at me should have been annoying, but how could it be? The man had practically made me forget my name.
I didn’t even try to answer him with anything more than a groan. I also didn’t try to move—I was pretty sure my legs had stopped working. Connor, luckily, seemed to know exactly what to do. He shut off the water and picked me up, carrying me out of the tub. I clung to his shoulders, curling around him, wanting so much more of his touch. His warmth. Like the caregiver he was, he set me on the rug and grabbed a towel to dry me off. He even squeezed the water out of my hair. And then, with a lustful look in his eyes and a sexual tension that seemed to vibrate around him, he picked me up.
