The Therapist (7) (Chase Walker)
Page 6
With each moan of her pleasure, he thrust into her a little harder. With each lift of her ass, his balls cinched a little tighter. Until he plunged into her so deep her face mashed against the wall and her ass bounced back at him every time he withdrew.
Reaching back, she scrabbled at his hip, but in an effort to make him go faster rather than stop him, it seemed. Her eyes, half-lidded, seemed to looked at everything and nothing. At a sharp slap to her ass cheek, her body jolted and she gave a yelp, but a second later, her mumbled, “Yes,” told Chase she liked it. She liked it a whole lot. So he did it again. And again. Whilst fucking the hell out of her and smashing her against the wall like he wanted to hurt her, all while not harming her at all.
By the time his balls had cinched into a tight knot of tension, he had his own hand braced against the wall over her shoulder, his other arm wrapped around her tight enough to hold her in place, his own grunts mixed with the higher-pitched cries of the woman. But he waited. Waited until he felt the fisting pulse of her cunt around his cock. And he fucked her hard. Harder. His cum shooting into the johnny making his body twitch all over the fucking shop.
Seconds later, they both ceased to move. His panted breaths seemed to steam the back of her blouse, while hers steamed the tiles.
Still breathing hard, she shoved against the wall, and he moved back, allowing her to straighten. Reaching behind herself, she pushed him away until his cock slipped free of her pussy, and she adjusted her underwear, tugged her skirt back down over her hips and thighs. Patting at hairs that’d broke free of her chignon, she turned to face him, her eyes still carrying the heaviness of a good orgasm.
She seemed to study him for a moment before she spoke. “You’re a good looking boy.”
His brow creased a little. “Thanks.”
“I might have some work for you, if you play your cards right.”
That time, his brow arched up. “What kind of work?”
Without answering, she weaved around him and made for the exit. She didn’t look back at him as she stepped from the shower block. Nor as she paused by the benches and dropped something small down by his piled-up clothes. And she still hadn’t when she reached the end of the locker row.
Frowning, he called after her. “Wait.”
She paused, glancing back at him like he’d no right making demands of her.
“How am I supposed to play my cards right when I don’t even know your name?”
The smile toying with her lips made her look like she’d just won a prize. Except, Chase didn’t know the name of the game. And he had no idea he was the pawn. “Mrs Pacton to you, boy.”
As soon as she’d left, he stepped out and crossed to the bench, picked up what she’d left behind.
A business card that carried the name she’d just given. Its reverse side held a printed phone number.
The following day, Chase had called her. A week later, Mrs P had sent him on his first escorting job. The first of hundreds.
Dragging his clothes from his gym bag, Chase tore his focus from the shower block where it’d all gone down. Seeing it always reminded him of his encounter with Mrs P. The day his life had shifted, and he’d gone from a bum begging for work, with no experience to back himself, to a sought-after escort—a role that had women paying through the nose for his company, paying even higher for his body, and showering him with gifts like they needed to make sure he returned when asked.
Chase would’ve returned without the gifts. Partly because he’d loved his job. Mostly because Mrs Pacton had never really given him much of a choice. As long as he worked for her, she ruled him. And Chase had never really minded that—because being beneath her thumb had earned him his dough.
At least, he hadn’t minded, until Nicolette.
A couple of years into working for Mrs P, he’d gotten assigned to Nic. She’d been filthy-rich from her husband’s money—a husband who was never there. And she’d been beautiful on the level of making everyone stop and stare. Long, slender body, shoulders cut like blades, high cheekbones surrounded by glossy black hair that always seemed to do exactly as she commanded.
Because Nicolette commanded everything she came into contact with. Including Chase.
Within two weeks of being her latest in a long string of escorts, he’d have been willing to get on his knees and beg for each new booking. Not that he had to. Nicolette had a tendency to like at least some consistency—kept the gossipers fuelled, she’d always said.
For some reason, she’d kept Chase around that little bit longer than most of her toys. To a kid on the cusp of leaving his teens, that’d labelled him as special. Wanted. Loved by a woman who wasn’t his mother.
Nicolette had seduced him in every possible way—taken his mind, body and soul, and made them all hers. For the first time in his life, Chase had wanted a woman to want more from him, and for a time, he’d thought Nic did.
One evening a week had progressed to two, then three, until she’d spent as much time with Chase as she had free from her charitable organisations. Not once had she kicked him from her bed after gaining what she wanted—not like with the other escorts she’d booked. No, Chase would still be there come morning, still enveloped within her arms, her long, slender fingers combing through his hair in the best kind of therapy. And their fucking grew slower, deeper, connected. She’d feed him breakfast before sending him on his way for the day.
It had been the time of his life, until Chase realised she no longer felt like a job. Worse, Chase had convinced himself she felt the same way he’d grown to feel about her. It didn’t matter that he still got paid for any time he spent with her. Didn’t matter that he still found a wad of cash in his jacket pocket after any night she invited him to stay. She didn’t love her husband, that much had been clear, but she treated Chase like she loved him. Made him feel loved.
When Chase had told her so, everything shifted. Maybe weaving in the idea of her leaving her husband for Chase had been the clincher, because she’d laughed at him—actually laughed. Even called him a ‘stupid boy’. Asked Chase to explain to her why she would ‘want to leave this’ as she’d swept an arm toward the walls of her extravagant home … for him.
That’d been the last time Chase had seen her. The last time she’d booked him. The last time Mrs P had permitted him to go—because Nic had tattled behind his back about his ‘immaturity in the role he should be playing as escort’.
For far too many months, he’d pined for Nic. Pined for the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d touched him, the way she’d looked after him. His stupid young brain had fallen in love with every scenario they’d shared. The pampering. The compliments. The richness of it all.
It’d taken a whole lotta time, and a few kickings from Jones, for Chase to finally understand. He’d only truly been in love with the lifestyle.
Something banged against one of the lockers, breaking into his thoughts. Some kid Chase only knew as Tooney stuck a key into one of the doors, sending Chase something that might’ve been a nod as he swung open the locker.
Lowering his gaze, Chase focused back on his foot. Without even paying attention, he’d switched out work trousers for sweat-shorts, shirt for vest. He already had a set of his trainers on his feet, and he finished tying the laces that’d previously broken three times.
He probably should’ve replaced them—not just the laces, but the shoes themselves—but his ma had always taught him the importance of knowing his roots. Remembering that which he’d come from. Kept a man humble, she always said.
Chase had to agree.
When he’d been with Nic, he’d forgotten it all.
With his removed clobber in one hand, his gym bag in the other, he carried his gear back to his locker, and after grabbing out his gloves hanging from the shelf, he locked everything else inside and turned for the gym itself.
Out there, a couple of extras had shown up. Guy called Masters from their old neighbourhood, and his kid brother—the two often trained together. The
couple of guys lifting weights had condensed the space they took up to make room for the newcomers. One of the good points about Roy’s—nobody caused shit about anything.
Ignoring the slaps he could hear on a bag over in the nearest corner, Chase cut a path for the ring in the centre. Only one of the earlier two stood within its ropes. Jones. Like he knew what Chase had turned up for and he had every intention of being the one to give it. Something Chase had been counting on.
His intense eyes poured heat over Chase as he hopped up onto the platform and ducked between the ropes. Straightening took him face-to-face with Jones, and the smile he wore. Not a smile of victory. Nor one of vindication. More a Now, what the hell has you climbing into a ring with me, kinda smile.
Kicking out each of his legs, Chase rolled his neck side-to-side, while Jones watched his every move. He tugged one glove on, pulled it hard up over his wrist, then did the same with the other. Jones just kept up that watching of his, until Chase started feeling like a specimen about to get squashed.
Though, hadn’t that been his whole purpose in going there?
Jigging his shoulders up and down to loosen them, he took a few steps closer to his friend. Slapped a fist against his palm, reversing hands to do it a second time. Finally stilling, he sniffed hard. “I’m sorry.”
Jones’s eyes twitched—about as close to taken aback as he ever looked.
“You were right.”
“About?” Jones asked in that deep tone of his.
“The client. Abi. She’s fucking me up.” He banged a gloved hand against the side of his temple. “In here.”
“And you think me fucking you up instead is going to help with that?”
“If anyone can thump stupid out of me, you can.” Chase shrugged. “Gotta be worth a try.”
Glancing away, Jones nodded toward where a mixed race kid pounded the hell out of a punch-bag. “Hey, Cam. We’re gonna need a protector in here.” He turned back to Chase. “Don’t want to be spoiling that pretty face of yours, Walker.”
Chase didn’t argue. Mostly because he couldn’t afford for his face to get messed up. Not in his line of work.
A couple of seconds later, a helmet flew into the ring. Jones caught it, tossed it to Chase, and he stuck it on his head, made sure the face grill was well attached.
“I’m taking you home after this,” Jones told him, his voice a solid wall of don’t argue.
Anyone else might’ve minced Jones’s words, but Chase had been boxing with him since their mid-teens. And Jones had been battering the hell out of Chase for the entirety of that time. So Jones knew as well as Chase did: the two of them in the ring together never ended pretty—even more so for Chase. It definitely wouldn’t that night, anyway. Chase wasn’t sure he even had it in him to fight back.
Nodding, he jogged a couple of steps back. A couple forward. Bringing his elbows in to his sides, he lifted his forearms, beckoned to Jones.
Like the human equivalent of a battering ram, Jones swung toward him, his fist filled Chase’s vision, and pain exploded through his head like the antidote he’d gone there seeking.
Staggering to the left, Chase shook his head to demist his focus. Bouncing stiffness from his limbs, he regained his stance, made the pretence of defence in the placement of his arms. Nodded to Jones.
And Jones hit him again.
And again.
Until Chase lost count of the hits. And lost the clarity of the room. And lost the use of his legs.
Not once, though, did he lose sight of that he’d gone there to boot clear.
No, Abi O’Shay clung to his brain like she’d no intention of letting go. And if not even the earthquakes of being thumped by Jones could shift her, Chase had no fucking clue what else he could do.
***
Need more Chase Walker?
The Therapist: Episode 8–the final episode in Chase and Abi’s story– is coming soon!
Find out more HERE!
***
OTHER TITLES
Holloway Pack
Beginnings
The Wolf Within
Blue Moon
Caged
Unnatural
Cornered
Hereditary
Enticed
ABOUT
Best known for her Holloway Pack Stories, J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with her husband, two children, a cat and two dogs. She writes paranormal romance, with a second love for urban fantasy. And now she writes erotic romance, too. Because she can. ;)
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