by S. Van Horne
She swallows and looks away for a moment, before meeting my eyes again. “I need t…to apologize. Sal, I was out of line.”
I nod before remembering my manners. Extending my arm, I offer a silent invitation to sit on the couch. She takes a moment, but settles on one side while I sit on the other side of the only place to sit in the apartment.
“I had no right.”
Definitely don’t disagree with her there, so I nod again.
“I was wrong.”
My nodding continues along with my silence.
“I made a mistake.”
I nod.
“Will you say something?”
I nod.
“Well?” she huffs, frustrated.
“What can I say?” What does she want me to say? “You’re right. You made a mistake. You were wrong, judged too quickly, and made me feel like even more shit than I already felt, Alejandra.”
Her eyes close in pain or regret, I don’t know.
“But, you were right that escorting was not the answer. My mother would never truly understand, and you gave me a full understanding on how I would feel if she ever found out before I was in any deeper. I’ve also seen what it does to some of the guys. It desensitizes them, and I don’t want that.”
Her eyes open, her hands wringing in her lap.
“But, I can’t say the job was all bad. Can I, Alejandra?”
She tilts her head.
“It brought us together again,” I reply. “If you hadn’t been my first client, that would have been it. That one hospital visit.”
“Why?” she whispers, before straightening her back. “Why didn’t you say something to me at the hospital?”
“You were my patient, and some people kind of frown upon that. Plus, look around, Alejandra.” I wave around to my humble apartment room. “Look at me, and look at you. I can’t give you what you’re used to. You’re a princess, and I’m a pauper. A date with me would be cheeseburger and fries with a pop, that is, if I had any money left after paying all my bills. You’d hate it, Alejandra.”
“You’re wrong.” She scoots closer, but doesn’t touch me. “Throw some bacon on and make sure there’s mustard, lettuce, and extra pickles on the burger, make the fries crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, and make sure that coke is ice cold, and I’ll be putty in your hands.”
“Coke?” Her food order has me laughing because she’s exact. Then her use of that word, ‘coke’ instead of ‘pop’, something I haven’t heard.
“Sorry.” She grins. “Looks like I’ve been working in Texas too long. It’s starting to rub off on me.”
She looks so fucking adorable, I can’t help but bring my hand up and caress her cheek.
“I’m not the one for you, sweetheart.” My voice is soft and reluctant.
“You don’t know that.” She wraps her hand around mine and turns further into my caress. “Now, it’s my turn to ask you for a chance, Sal.”
“My name is Antonio, but my friends call me Sal.”
She smiles. “An…to…nio…” she voices each syllable, as if tasting a fine piece of chocolate. “A fine, strong name, my grandfather will say when you meet him, and my grandmother will adore you.”
“Really?”
“Who do you think tore my hide off for the way I reacted, Antonio?” Her hand halts my correction of my name. “I’m going to call you Antonio because I love your name,” she answers, so I do whatever every smart male does, I shut my mouth. “My grandparents took me to task because I acted like a spoiled brat. And yes, I can be one…a major one,” she adds when she sees my smile at her use of the word brat. “I was wrong, Antonio. Especially in judging you because I am spoiled. I’ve never been in your situation, and I’m sorry for all the hurtful words I said. Please, tell me you’ll give me another chance. Let’s get to know each other and see where we go. Help me to be the woman you wanted, the woman you thought I was. Help me to be a woman worthy of you.”
Tears burn my eyes, threatening to fall. That strange feeling in my stomach is back, like something is moving around. Nerves, fears, maybe something more.
I should say no. We’re from opposite worlds, and there is still so much for me to accomplish, but I want her. My body craves her like a starving man needs food.
There’s also that feeling that says: If I let this pass by, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I need to say no, but I can’t, so I remain silent. Maybe, with my silence, she’ll come to her senses.
“Antonio?” Her passionate voice is, once again, small and unsure.
As my head lowers, my eyes close.
Her small, rough hand lays on the side of my face. Her thumb caresses my cheek. I feel her touch down to my soul, awakening and calming those deep feelings within.
Centering me.
Grounding me.
Giving me peace.
I turn further into her caress; my lips kiss her wrist. She inhales, and I feel her move closer. Her flowery scent drowns out everything but her.
Then, her soft, warm lips touch mine. The kiss disarms me. All I can do is feel her body against mine when she climbs into my lap, straddling me. Pushing me against the couch, she grips my hair and takes.
She tastes me—once, twice—before tracing my lips with her tongue, begging entrance. My heart races, my breath comes faster, and I grow thicker. So much so, I’m pulsing almost to the point of pain. It’s in that moment that I lose the battle. There’s no winning against Alejandra because she fights dirty.
Opening my mouth, I allow her entry and let her take the lead, but only for a moment.
With one hand, I bury my fingers in her hair. With the other, I hold her mid-back. Then, I push forward and twist our bodies, laying her out on the couch. Using my body, I trap her beneath me, or so I think, because before I know it, her legs are wrapped around me. Strong, tight, not letting me go.
Our tongues explore each other, making love and heightening my desire.
Suddenly, she pushes my head away. “I want you. In your bed. Now!” she orders, unwrapping her legs and pushing me up.
Once I stand, she jumps on me, gripping my waist with her strong thighs. Her fingers dig deep in my hair. Her mouth fuses again with mine.
Without breaking stride, I walk to the bed and lay us down, my body under hers to take any impact. Taking advantage of our position, she spreads her hands over my chest, then pushes and sits herself on top of me.
My chest rises and falls rapidly as I take in the wonder of Alejandra, an unparalleled beauty, straddling me like an Amazon woman.
There’s a whisper in my ear saying she’s meant for me.
All. Mine.
She grinds against me, and I grit my teeth. Grinning, knowing full well what she does to me, she pulls her dress off. Full, succulent breasts encased in a sexy-as-hell pink bra cause my mouth to water. Careful not to knock Alejandra down, I jack-knife up. With clumsy fingers, because I’m definitely not an expert at disrobing women, but I do enough from past experiences to ensure my Alejandra will be pleased, I unlatch her bra and take one nipple into my mouth. The other, I tease with my fingers, then I switch. I twirl my tongue around her nipple, then suck.
She gasps and arches against me, making me feel on top of the world. One hand runs up and down her body, caressing every curve. When I reach her ass, I squeeze her butt cheek and pull her closer to me.
She gyrates her hips, and when I move my hand inside her thigh, my fingers are drenched in her wetness.
“Antonio,” she gasps, breathlessly, rubbing herself against me. “I need you. Now. Please…”
Cradling her, like the cherished woman that she is to me, I roll our bodies, and lay her on the bed. Within seconds, I throw off my clothes, roll on a condom, and tear her matching thong, the last piece of clothing barrier, away.
I want to taste every inch of her. I kiss my way up each of her legs as she tries, without avail, to pull me upwards by my hair. Her determined pulls only add to my need
to tease, torture, and drive her insane with longing. My kisses turn into nibbles until I reach my destination.
Her sweet arousal overpowers everything, and I turn weak. Instead of the teasing, torturous, loving caresses I meant to drive her insane with, I give in to her demands and taste her. My tongue swipes over her slit, my fingers spread her open, and I dive in with my tongue—stroking, lapping, sucking. She tastes sweet and tangy—so fucking delicious. I don’t bother with my fingers, instead, I suck her deep. Her body arches and tenses, she cries out my name, and then gushes. Her juices cover my tongue, chin, and run down my neck.
When her body falls back to the bed, I use the wetness from my face and rub it on my aching latex-covered cock. Aligning our bodies, my face hovers over her. With a tender smile, I lean down and kiss her. My tongue separates her lips, and I thrust inside. She arches up. Her hands move up to my back, and her fingernails dig in. I swallow her gasp.
Her warm, tight pussy grips my dick, and I fight to hold back. With one hand, I caress my way down and manage to fit it between us so I can tease her clit. I release her mouth and move down to her breast—first one and then the other, I suck and then bite. With the stimulation to her breast and clit, her pussy muscles tighten on my cock, she tenses, then calls out my name as more wetness soaks my balls.
That’s when I let go.
I kneel and bring her legs over my shoulders. My thrusts become stronger. My headboard slams into the wall, but I don’t care. It feels so goddamn good.
“Fu…uck…” Alejandra screams out, pushing her body up against mine.
My balls tighten, and I swear, we are almost one body when I release.
I explode.
Shattering.
My body shakes, and I go weak. With no more strength left to hold me up, I fall and turn to lie beside Alejandra.
We lay there, until our breaths come in sync.
Then, I grin and pull her toward me, and our lips meet.
“I take it it’s a yes,” she whispers against my lips.
With nothing else to do, I laugh. “Yes, Alejandra. It’s a yes, sweetheart. For as long as you’ll have me, it’s a yes.”
THE END…FOR NOW.
CHAPTER ONE
ESSEX
LIFE IS FILLED WITH FLEETING moments. Just flashes of time that go by in the blink of an eye. Some of them—like the day I graduated as the valedictorian of my high school—make you feel like you’re on top of the world, happy, free, and flying high. Conversely, some moments have the power to make you wish that you were six feet under, much like when I realized my husband was eventually going to kill me in one of his violent rages. And still, some moments are completely different. They’re introspective. They make you wonder if this thing called life is really worth all the trouble that comes from living it.
See? Those are some deep thoughts to have, aren’t they?
I’ve been having lots of those kind of moments lately.
So many that I was beginning to scare even myself with the dark direction my thoughts had taken over the last few months. Not to mention the crazy number I was doing on the only friend I had in Chicago. Hell, the only friend I had anywhere.
That was what had led me to this very place, sitting on a weather-worn park bench outside one of the city’s busiest meat markets with the only person, outside of my immediate family, who really knew me and all my secrets.
“I mean it, Essex Landry! You’ve gotta do this. It’s the only thing you haven’t tried yet, and like I told you, you don’t have to fuck him if you don’t want to. Just spend some time with him. Learn that not all men are the bastards that your late husband was.” That was the emphatic urging from the girl that I’d shared every single one of my secrets with for the last fifteen years, her youthful voice firm and unwavering.
Looking toward the butcher shop’s window at the trio working behind the counter, I worked hard to suppress a shudder of revulsion at the well-built men. Sure, those guys were good-looking, but they were also huge. All three were tall and muscled, their legs like tree trunks and their arms powerful as they wielded cleavers and knives against the meats. I knew the center one…he was the head butcher. With his bright blue eyes and friendly smile, he was hard to miss. He was also the one we were here to meet since he was also the guy that took women’s “orders.”
“You’ve got to at least try this, Essie,” my best friend insisted again, this time adding a sharp poke to my ribs with her bony elbow to emphasize the level of her seriousness. “You start your new job at the hospital next week, and I doubt as an emergency room nurse you’ll be able to avoid having male patients in varying levels of undress cross your path. You need to get used to being around guys again. Especially since men make up at least half the population. I understand why you hid for so long, babe. But now that the fucker you married is dead, you’re safe. It’s time to get back out there and deal with your fears. You don’t wanna freak out on one of your patients, do you? You can’t avoid men forever.”
I knew that not only did she have a really good point, but she was right, too. After all, Lennon Fairchild was rarely wrong about anything related to me, but still…I just wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that I had put the length of half the United States between me and the quaint Cape Cod house I’d once shared with my ex-husband Foster Nelson. It didn’t matter that Foster had died of a self-inflicted gunshot to the head because—as he’d stated in his scrawled suicide note—he’d rather be dead than live without his beloved wife, or his interactive punching bag as I’d come to think of myself during those dark days. It didn’t matter that the vile beast I had married was currently rotting away inside the cheapest coffin I could find for him deep beneath the Texas soil that he’d once called home. It didn’t matter that he could no longer use his fists against me, beating me black and blue just because his food wasn’t cooked to his exact standards or I hadn’t gotten the grass stains on his jeans out in the wash. It didn’t matter that my living nightmare had, according to the police, my family, my minister and my best friend, supposedly come to a close.
It just didn’t matter!
Foster’s dark presence lingered, his ghost both haunting and taunting me even from his grave. The fact was his reign of terror seemed to be unending. I still felt as trapped today as I had every single day of our four-year marriage
At twenty-two-years old, I felt positively ancient. The idea of beginning my life again—sans my abusive asshole ex—seemed both incomprehensible and impossible.
“This is a big step for me, Lennie,” I tried to argue, even though I knew I was going to lose as I met her probing gaze. “I mean…an escort? Am I really that desperate?”
“What do you think?” she snorted. “Look, we’ve talked about this. These men aren’t just escorts. It doesn’t have to be about sex unless you want it to be about sex. What it is about is companionship. You need to know that you can be in a guy’s company without having a panic attack that sends you under a dining room table.”
“That happened once,” I hissed indignantly as I recalled that embarrassing incident at the local dinner by my apartment. “And that waiter could have been Foster’s clone and you know it! When I called the manager last week, she said the guy’s nose was healing nicely,” I continued defensively even as I remembered the pain my hand had felt when I’d punched the poor server in the nose before diving under the table for cover. Honestly, I was hugely lucky the guy had listened to Lennie quietly explain my history and agreed not to press charges against me. It had been a close call and had been the catalyst Lennie had been looking for to get me to try her version of “therapy”. “I’m making progress, though. I was able to go to the gym every day for the past week.”
“It’s an all-female gym, Essex,” Lennon informed me dryly. “That is not progress.”
“It’s managed by a freaking man,” I informed her snottily.
“Yeah, it is. A man that is a hundred and three years old if he’s a single day,” she retorted. “Face
it, babe, that guy hasn’t used his dick since Reagan was in office!”
Huffing out a frustrated breath as I cringed at her crude, but accurate accusation, I threw my hand in the air. “I don’t know how you and I have remained friends all these years. You’re a bully,” I pouted, crossing my arms over my pink My Little Pony t-shirt.
“No, I’m not. I’m ballsy. There’s a difference. And we’re friends, my little buttercup, because you, a sweet kid from Upper Middle-Class America, kept a poor foster kid rolling in Little Debbie snack cakes and juice boxes during my most formative years. I owe you and your family, Essie.”
Smiling faintly at our shared past, I shook my head. “You really don’t, but I love you anyway and I’m not giving you up.”
“Great. Then can I go across the street, have a conversation with the butcher, and finalize your weekend with Italian Sausage yet?”
Eyes widening at her question, I shook my head dumbly. “Do you even hear yourself right now?” I asked her in a low voice. “Are you actually telling me that this place is actually a cover for a ring of escorts?” I lifted my hand to point at the glass fronted butcher shop called The Meat Market.
Smacking my hand, Lennon glared at me. “Will you please keep your voice down?” she hissed. “Part of why this operation thrives is that we all keep it on the down low. And yes,” she bit out. “That is exactly what I’m telling you. Jason Somers runs the shop, and they call him the butcher. He makes all the hook-up arrangements for the guys that work at the Meat Market. Each of the guys have a different code name. Currently, you are looking at the butcher. He’s the guy in the white apron.”
“They all have white aprons,” I grumbled, pursing my lips as I stared at the men.
“Fine, he’s the one with the piercing blue eyes, buns of steel and white apron. The other two guys are known as Tenderloin and KC Strip. They generally man the counter,” she shared as she nodded at the three men who stood behind the glass meat case.
“How did you even hear about this, Lennie?” I whispered as my eyes followed the movement.
