The Big Sister - Part One

by Lexie Ray

  I was beginning to like Marcus very much.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, withdrawing suddenly. “Am I being too forward?”

  “No, of course not. You’re —”

  Marcus shook his head vehemently. “I don’t want you to think you have to do whatever I want,” he said. “I actually didn’t mean to kiss you right now.”

  “You didn’t?” I asked, surprised. The man in front of me looked like he had his life together, and definitely seemed like he knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it.

  “Well, I wanted to,” he confessed. “Something about you, Faith. I don’t know. I don’t mean to be corny, but you kind of renew my faith in humanity.”

  I guffawed despite myself, in spite of the fact that it appeared as if Marcus was trying to give me a genuine compliment.

  “Sorry,” I said for what felt like the fortieth time that night. “It’s just … me stuffing my face full of appetizers renews your faith in humanity?”

  “You’d be surprised,” he replied, the corners of his mouth curling upward, obviously bemused. “When you’re a man in my kind of position, so many people fall over themselves to try to impress you. Never apologize for yourself, Faith. You’re more real than anyone I’ve come across in a long time.”

  I was real? That was a new compliment. In my line of work, the less real you were, the better you usually got paid. I couldn’t count the number of girls I’d come across who were firm believers that getting plastic enhancements of or surgical subtractions from their bodies was an excellent form of investment in their futures. Even our dances and costumes and makeup and hairstyles were additional layers of illusion that most of the clientele preferred. I was probably the exact opposite of a sexy cowgirl in real life — just a sister constantly worried about her kid brother and how she was going to make ends meet.

  None of the clientele wanted to look behind the curtain at the reality of the dancers’ various situations. Nothing was as it seemed.

  And yet here Marcus was, someone Parker said would likely become the most lucrative client in my entire career, encouraging me to be real — in fact, saying that my realness inspired him. It was funny the way the world worked sometimes.

  “I won’t apologize, then, for eating the last eggroll,” I said, snagging it off the plate and biting into it with a crunch and a grin. Marcus threw his head back and laughed at my candor.

  “That’s the spirit,” he said, toasting me with his cocktail.

  I got even more comfortable as the night wore on, now that I knew Marcus preferred me in my most natural state. There was no one, of course, who would ever see me at my most honest, but, then again, I didn’t understand how there could be anyone who’d want that. What Marcus got was a fun-loving, easy-going girl with the appetite of a horse. I could be that, at least.

  There’d been a select few of other clients I’d escorted who’d preferred me in several different incarnations, including a demure piece of arm candy who was better seen, not heard, or a sex kitten who’d spent the entire night in his lap. Both clients had paid well and I wasn’t put out at the idea of completing a fantasy for either of them. It was what I did.

  The fact that Marcus’ apparent fantasy was me being what he thought of as natural was even more freeing. I laughed loud and long, filled myself on expensive eats, and danced like there was no tomorrow.

  “I don’t understand,” I laughed, breathless as I plopped down back at our table after having a go at the dance floor. “You ask me if I want to dance, but then you won’t dance with me.”

  “I don’t want to embarrass both of us,” he said, shaking his head. “I just don’t belong on a dance floor. Something I never learned.”

  “It’s not something you have to learn,” I retorted. “It’s something you feel. Come on.” I tugged on his big hand, willing him up.

  “I really have no idea how to make this look good,” Marcus said, ruefully gaining his feet. “I’m afraid you’re not going to want to be seen with me after this.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about the looking good part,” I assured him, pulling him away from our table and toward the rainbow dance floor. “You’ve already got a handle on that.”

  “Well, thank you,” Marcus said, chuckling, and I realized with a flush that I had managed to embarrass the high-octane businessman. Wonders would never cease. Had no one ever told him he was handsome? Maybe he wasn’t, in the traditional pretty boy sense, but I liked the fact that his face had character — the weathered skin, the smile lines, everything. Maybe even more handsome than his actual looks was the fact that his warm personality shone through.

  We sidled on to the crowded space, and I immediately began to shake everything I had. Dancing came naturally to me, and now that I had the skills to back up the passion, I was something of a force to be reckoned with. When I danced — rarely — out at clubs, usually while escorting, people made room for me and whoever I was with.

  Marcus grinned gamely and stood by my side as I danced a space open for us. Then, I grabbed him, grasping his hips lightly as I began to forcibly move him.

  “Just feel the music!” I shouted over the booming bass. “Let it tell you what to do.”

  “I’m usually in the business of telling people what to do,” he yelled back, “not the other way around.”

  “You’re just going to have to let that idea go,” I hollered, holding my hands over my head and shaking my hair around. It was hot with all those bodies packed onto the dance floor, but I wasn’t about to let that stop my fun. I understood that people who engaged in sports or exercise achieved a sort of high. Dancing did the same thing to me.

  Marcus slipped his hands around my waist. He felt my shaking and gyrating, seemed to consider it for a moment, then started stepping to the beat.

  “Very good,” I coached, nodding my head emphatically to the music. “You’re feeling it.”

  “I’m feeling you,” he said, and suddenly the fronts of our bodies were pressed together, including our lips. It was simply the most natural thing to do at the moment, and I marveled at it before turning around and pressing my rump to his crotch, trying to hide whatever emotions were crawling across my face. Why was it so easy to kiss Marcus? I didn’t have time to think about it. All I could do was move to the rhythm, guided by his hands on my body, the feel of his chest against my back.

  For the first time, I got the feeling that Marcus not being able to dance was a bunch of bull.

  We stayed out there on the dance floor, just moving together, for more songs than I could count. The melodies all ran together, but the beat stayed the same. It was just us, no matter how the crowd of people crushed around us. I tried to face away from the man as much as I could. Even if he’d told me not to apologize for myself, even if he liked me because I was real, I couldn’t deal with what he was doing to me both physically and emotionally.

  I’d been kissing him all evening. Of course my lips were liking him. It was the rest of my body that I was most worried about. I felt like every nerve ending tingled with anticipation of his touches, his almost accidental caresses.

  I gratefully let myself be led from the dance floor, the changing lights underfoot illuminating our path. The sea of people instantly closed behind us, occupying the space we’d vacated. It was prime real estate out there.

  “All right, you made me dance,” Marcus said, red-faced and out of breath as we found our table again. “I needed a lot more to drink than I’ve already had.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to hear it,” I scoffed. “You danced. You had fun. It was great. You didn’t need to drink to be a good dancer.”

  “What I needed was you,” he said, kissing my hand. “Can’t I at least buy you a glass of champagne to thank you for all of this fun?”

  I shook my head, smiling. “I don’t want to get you in trouble when the waitress asks for my ID.”

  “No one ever asks for IDs when I’m sitting here,” Marcus said. “Look at this gray hair.”

&nb
sp; “Silver fox,” I corrected, running my fingers through the strands in question. “Actually, more like salt and pepper. You look like George Clooney’s doppelganger.”

  “So, champagne, then?” he persisted, raising a devilish eyebrow. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him he looked like George Clooney.

  “I have really bad luck with these kinds of things,” I warned. “Seriously. It’ll be super embarrassing. We’ll probably get kicked out.”

  “More embarrassing than my performance on the dance floor?” Marcus asked wryly. “All right, I’ll compromise. Would it make you feel better to drink some champagne away from the prying eyes of waitresses who might want to examine your birth year?”

  “Like where?”

  “My hotel suite,” he said casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

  With a rush, I remembered him mentioning something about his suite back at the club, when Parker was making our introductions. How long ago that seemed. I’d been nervous about everything, preoccupied with the idea of a big payday, but now it felt as if Marcus was simply a good friend. Even as I justified that to myself, trying to explain away the fact that I really just wanted to stay with him for as long as he’d tolerate me, I realized that I was more than halfway hoping that something else would happen tonight. The throb of my attraction to him made my decision for me. If he wanted to share some champagne with me, that’s what we’d do.

  “If you think you’re done with your dancing premiere, we can go to the hotel,” I said. “Of course, I think that it’s sad you’re depriving these fine people of your rhythmic prowess.”

  Marcus guffawed. “I’m sure more than a few of them will be quite relieved.”

  He left a careless grouping of bills on the table, and I took his arm as we left the club. The last thing on my mind was money at this point, but it still struck me how cavalier he was about it. I didn’t even see him count out the amount he owed, and we’d never asked for the check. How would it feel to just have that kind of money at my disposal? I was sure I’d never know; I was a slave to a budget, and even more of a slave to a savings account.

  Everything I was doing I did for Luke. Luke was all that mattered.

  The moment we tumbled into the car, though, Marcus’ lips became the only thing that mattered. I knew, at that point, what the endgame was. I knew what I was getting myself into. And yet I didn’t care, couldn’t care, not with the way his hands held my hips as he moved me over him, straddling his lap. The surest signal of his attraction toward me was pressed against my pelvis, and it was mind-bogglingly meaningful to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Marcus was as into me as I was to him.

  The car ride was over too soon, and for the first time since the club, I was nervous. I took the driver’s hand and stood awkwardly on the brick of the hotel drop-off area, waiting for Marcus to join me. Some insane part of me whispered at me to run, but I immediately tapped that down. I’d been running toward this all night. It would be ludicrous to flee at this point.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, giving me a sidelong glance as he straightened his trousers and took off his suit jacket. He draped it over his arm and held it in front of him, and it was then I realized he was concealing his erection. Something about the sneaky move tickled me and put me at ease again.

  “Of course,” I said. “Lead the way.”

  He rested his hand in the small of my back as we walked through the lobby, the small gesture giving me chills. He knew exactly what to do at all the right moments, it seemed, and I realized that he was probably very successful at his job of wining and dining — though I doubted that any of his potential clients ever forced him to dance at clubs.

  We managed to behave until the elevator doors rolled closed. The moment the upward movement started, however, our lips found each other’s, Marcus’ tongue probing my mouth almost as if it were questing for something. What could he possibly be looking for that he didn’t already have or know?

  I gave myself over to him, let him press my back against the wall of the elevator, experienced the sensation of his arousal digging into my hip. It was my job to make men want me enough to part ways with significant amounts of cash, but this was somehow different. I wanted Marcus to want me, wanted him to need me.

  The elevator chimed open, and we stepped out into a luxurious expanse of space.

  “Is this the right place?” I asked, dumbfounded at the embarrassment of gleaming marble surfaces and glass walls that showcased the twinkling lights of downtown Miami. “I thought you said you had a suite.”

  “Yeah,” he said, as the elevator rolled shut behind us. I noticed him pocketing what had to be a special access card that I’d been too busy to notice before. “The penthouse suite.”

  I gave a low whistle. “Very nice.”

  Those damn butterflies were back, raising a racket beneath my ribcage. Why couldn’t I just stick with being comfortable with him and eager for an experience I’d never shared with anyone? It was so much easier.

  I couldn’t deal with these conflicting feelings. They were going to give me whiplash. I wanted this. I wanted a payday, sure, but I also wanted Marcus. I’d had a great night with him, and we were obviously attracted to each other, so I wasn’t sure what my problem was.

  “I think some champagne is in order,” he said, and I felt a rush of gratitude. The idea of liquid courage had never attracted me until this moment. But when he handed me my glass, all I had time for was a single bubbly sip before he took me in his big arms, knocking both of our glasses to the thick rug at our feet.

  His kisses at the restaurant and club before had tasted of vodka and the sauce from our appetizers. Now, they tasted of dry, sweet champagne and of wanton lust.

  This man wanted me, and I wanted him nearly as bad — if only I could reconcile my absolute lack of experience in this department with my desire.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Marcus said softly, his hands tracing down the surface of my arms. He must have felt me tense up. It made me shudder in a pleasant way, raising the goose bumps over my skin.

  “I’m not nervous,” I lied, easing my body back into his embrace. I couldn’t let my anxiety show. People had sex all the time — even if I wasn’t one of them. This was the payday Parker was telling me about. I could do this. I just had to relax, go with the swing of things.

  “Your back is so tense,” he said, moving his hands across my shoulders before trailing downward. “Let me give you a massage.”

  A massage? That sounded kind of nice. It might help me relax, let what we both wanted to happen take place. “All right.”

  Marcus’ touch became firmer, his fingers targeting the muscles I’d hardened during my time as a dancer. With a long exhale, I melted under his touch, relaxing to the point of feeling like a limp noodle as he spanned my back, going over the same places again and again until my muscles were like putty.

  “Lean forward,” he murmured, his voice soft against my ear. “Lie on the bed. Make yourself comfortable.”

  And give those magic hands even more access to my body? Yes, please. I was more than eager to oblige his gentle instructions, sinking into the down comforter on the bed. Marcus played my body like an instrument he knew intimately, putting just the right amount of pressure on my muscles to make me moan. He worked over my neck, my shoulders, down my spine, in the small of my back.

  Then, his fingertips grazed my rump.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, not going any further.

  I swallowed, my face pressed against the bed. His hands had felt so good everywhere else. Would they feel as good there? Even as I mulled over the thought, I felt a warmth between my legs that crept up and merged with the butterflies still going to war in my stomach. I slowly realized that I was becoming more excited than nervous — and more turned on than excited, even.

  “Feels nice,” I mumbled, doing my best to bury my face in the comforter. A tiny moan slipped out from between my lips as Marcus’ fingers tickled me beneath the hem of my dre
ss. A stickiness between my legs alerted me to the fact that my body was urging my mind to give the go ahead. We wanted this, didn’t we?

  Yes, but I had to be perfectly honest.

  “Marcus, wait.”

  Acute disappointment flooded my body as my words made those hands still and move away. I pushed myself off the bed and sat beside him.

  “I have something else to tell you,” I said.

  He smiled kindly, and I could’ve kissed him for his patience with me. At every turn tonight, I’d pushed back at what he wanted. He was a prince among men. I know that other clients wouldn’t have been as nice.

  “I’m all ears,” he said. “Ignore the erection.”