by Xavier Neal
Instantly, I'm greeted by the older gentleman in the corner. “You come to do a job, little girl, or just see what all the noise was about?”
Before J.T. can try to fight my battle for me, I slyly slip back, “Nothing is little about me.” I give my boobs a small touch and add, “Obviously.”
As expected he starts to smirk.
“Now, my name is Brynley and I'll be bringing you pleasure this evening.”
The room seems to fill with collective chuckles and quiet cheers.
“Mr. Reese brought the whiskey and I brought something to enhance the flavor.”
He shoots me an uncomfortable look from my choice of words.
Unsure of what seems to have him suddenly a little stiff, I proceed forward not wanting this evening to be a bust before it even really begins. “I'll be keeping your mouths filled and a few ladies will be joining us momentarily in case your hands aren't busy enough.”
“Now we're talkin',” calls out a man, poorly sporting a goatee, from his position across the table of the older gentleman.
“Are you going to be keeping our laps warm too?”
“No.” J.T. quickly denies. “No, she will not.”
I give him a pointed look and correct, “I will be the one to make that choice.”
“Agree with her,” one of the men states loudly.
J.T. approaches and leans over to whisper, “We have an unexpected extra guest who is not comfortable with that idea.”
My eyebrows dart down in confusion. His eyes flicker to the side hall that leads to a private exit. I try to catch my gasp from the sight of the disapproving mismatched eyes. The lighting in the hallway has been dimmed to the fullest making it hard to see any other distinct features.
I can barely whisper back my question, “Why is he here?”
J.T. shrugs slightly. “He says to oversee this project but I have a feeling it's to oversee you.”
Awe and irritation fuse to create an unfamiliar emotion. Not sure if I should swoon or slap him for showing up, I simply turn my attention back to J.T. and state, “I have a job to do and I plan to do it. Now, do you want me to offer them cigars while you pour or pour them tastes myself and then convince them to put something even more expensive in their mouths?”
At a loss for the right words, he sighs, “I'll pour...”
In a well-executed tandem, the two of us make our way around the small room, advertising much more than what's in our hands. While I flawlessly sell some of the most expensive cigars we have to more than half of our guests, he solidifies deals for their whiskey to be the only one served at a line of social events and one of their highest priced bottles to join another man's private collection. Between the sultry dances from Vanessa and Phoebe and the overly flirty conversations, the night flows as smoothly as the liquor. The idea that my every move is not only being watched but judged, sways the occasional choice here and there to be a little more sexually abrasive than I normally would. I'm not certain if I wanna punish him for choosing this moment to break his beloved commandments, condemn him for not trusting me around other men now that he's had a piece of me, or praise him for taking a long overdue step in his life.
“Sugar tits,” one of the younger, more intoxicated men calls to me at the same time he tugs me into his lap. “What's it gonna take to get you to dance around for me like that?”
Other than my dead body? Good question. “I don't get paid to dance. I get paid to put dirty things between your lips.”
The sound of a low grumble from behind me causes me to glance over my shoulder.
“And why don't you let me put even dirtier things....” his hand grazes my thigh, “between your lips?”
“Out of his lap. Now.” Wes commands from the shadows.
The man tries to move his touch higher and I fight back. “No...That's really not an option.”
“Let's make it,” his whiskey-soaked breath poorly tries to persuade.
Attempting to get up, I repeat, “No.”
“I've got more money than those pretty blue eyes of yours will ever see...Give me a piece of you and I'll give you a small piece of it.”
Now disgusted and ready to inform him of how deeply, I drop my mouth to snap, when I'm ripped from his lap with one swift tug. “We're. Leaving.”
“We are not leaving!” I snap loudly, flailing around until my arm is free.
It's not until we're in the dim hallway, he lets go and yells back, “Yes we are! I'm not gonna stand by and watch you sell yourself like a cheap ten dollar whore!”
“Expensive ten thousand dollar whore is more like it!”
“You'd sleep with him for ten grand?!” The shock and rage on his face can't be contained by the dark.
“I've got ten grand!”
The man's announcement fans Wes' fury, forcing him to take a protective step towards him. Thankfully, J.T. blocks the path in an attempt to defuse the situation as well as save the possible business opportunity.
“I wasn't saying I would fuck him for ten grand, I was simply saying I'm not behaving like a run of the mill hooker. I'm behaving like the high dollar piece of ass I get paid to be!”
A hurt hits him harshly and I almost feel guilty for having to spell out what I do in order to pay my bills. All of a sudden he shoves both hands against the wall beside my face, trapping me from all directions. “That's what you get paid to do?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'm paying you to walk out of that party and come home with me.”
I snip, “You do know I'm not an actual escort, right? I only get paid extra to carry myself as one. I'm not fucking anyone, including you, for cash. I already told you that. You wasted your breath and energy if you marched all the way down here to verify it.”
“I came down here because I haven't seen my girlfriend in two days!”
The declaration softens my expression but not my response. “Since when am I your girlfriend? Since when do I belong to you?!”
“Since I finger fucked you at my goddamn dining room table!” Hearing his relinquished control threatens to make me smirk, which is when he adds, “You're leaving. Now. I don't give a shit if I have to shove twenty grand at your boss for the inconvenience, throw you over my shoulder and march you the hell out of here kicking and screaming. This work night is over.”
Wes doesn't wait for my approval or agreement before he plants his mouth firmly on top of mine. My hands hit his solid chest, convinced he'll not only back down but back off if I continue to pound just long enough. Rather than cave, he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head as his mouth harshly dominates the situation. His determination defeats mine and I become a slave to every stroke his tongue delivers. Inevitably, I melt into his firm grasp. Without meeting further resistance from me, Wes quickly guides us in a whirlwind of nips and sucks out the private exit and across the small lot to his luxury town car.
My back hits the side of the vehicle with a hard thud but it doesn't stop him from desperately devouring a path from my neck downward.
The sound of the door opening is proceeded with a muffled command. “Walk away.” His teeth drag themselves back up the blazed path before he adds forcefully. “Now.”
His driver doesn't bother arguing and Wes once again doesn't bother waiting for a response. The two of us less than gracefully fall into the back seat with his hard body wedged on top of mine. Our tongues swivel and spin while my hands savagely shred the dress shirt he's wearing. Wes' attention oscillates between coating my neck with nips and teasing my thighs with rough touches. With every moan I surrender, the last of his self-control, dwindles. We grind and groan as we grab at one another relentlessly. In a blinding haste, he pulls a condom from his pocket, sheds his pants just enough to wrap his cock, and slips past the sweltering heat.
The passionate invasion is followed by tumultuous thrust after thrust forcing my nails to anchor onto his arms for leverage. His face falls forward until our foreheads are gently knocking together with every rock. While
I do my best to try to open my eyes and relish the moment, I'm too overwhelmed by the raw ecstasy cultivating between us. Wes' taut body brutally pounds past our beautiful bellows and breathless orgasms that endlessly burst through me. For what feels like hours the two of us remain tightly tangled and oblivious to life outside the car.
Suddenly, his movements begin to stagger, and his breath hitches. Loving both the fact I know what it means and that I'm the only one he does it for, spurs me to assure his first time back in the sex game will be one he never forgets.
I brush my lips beside his ear and command, “Make sure I belong to you...”
Wes pistons forward one final time before vivaciously vibrating with enough force to violently shake the car. The feeling of him swelling inside ignites a new desire to have him repeat the action without the thin barrier. Instead of letting my mind wander down a highway of commitment and closeness I've yet to experience in life, I refocus on the one at hand. The one I can more or less handle.
His breath struggles to return to him. “You do belong to me, Bryn. And now I belong to you.”
Wes' lips meld with mine and I surrender to the statement. I've never belonged to anyone in the sense he's declaring. I damn sure have never had anyone belong to me. Maybe he's not the only one who should push those comfort zones. Maybe connecting with someone on a new level is exactly what I need too. Maybe Wes is what I need. Not in a weird, damsel in distress sort of way but maybe more in a compliment form. More importantly, maybe for once in my life, I'll get a shot at happily ever after instead of happily right now. Gotta admit though, even if all I get is a happily right now, at least it's one of the most amazing moments I've ever had, hands down, with one of the most incredible men I've ever met.
I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to wake up. Before Brynley and I started spending every evening rolling around the sheets for hours, working in the middle of the night didn't feel so mind-numbingly monotonous. It seems like all the paperwork from earlier in the day is just re-filtered with new words in even more obnoxious phrasing.
With a deep sigh, I scribble my signature to another form and add it to a pile for J.T. to take to our head office in the morning. Over the past three weeks, there has been a slight shift in my outings. While I have yet to step foot into our place of business, I have begun to have a sideline view of the social events J.T. pitched. We had four lined up for this first month excluding the one at Fire and Ash. After that minor incident which cost me a heavy check to clean up for Brynley to keep her job, we discussed the idea of transitioning me back into the social world as well as the business one, gradually. I do things such as observe from a nearby table or closed off area, keeping my face hidden and true identity mainly a mystery. Brynley was my date during one of the gatherings, which required me to not only speak with others but dance in a public venue. Despite that instance, I rarely stay for long. J.T. has cleverly pointed out my presence merely seconds before I exit, which has had social media buzzing, anxious more than ever for a photo of me. I’m in no way ready for that. I've limited my outings to as few as I can get away with. So far Brynley has been fairly understanding at my attempt to compromise. For instance, I cleared out her favorite Italian restaurant, allowing us to enjoy dinner 'out' together. I also rented out an entire theater, so she could see the new showing of some horror movie she had been dying to see. Could've passed on the over budgeted haunted mansion film, but it did keep her curled up close to me all night afterward. She kept swearing she felt like we were being watched. I laughed off the feeling at the time, though lately, if I'm completely honest with myself, it feels like we might be.
A small knock at the door grabs my attention.
Brynley's beautiful body is covered in the white button up shirt I wore earlier to the dinner we shared on the terrace. She leans her shoulder against the door frame and yawns. “You really do this shit every night?”
I grace her with a sweet smile. “Just about. The business world never sleeps, baby.”
“And what exactly are you not sleeping over?”
“Just signing some paperwork. Glancing over the promotional ideas for our anniversary,” I reply and slide down into my chair.
She gives me a scrunched look. “Sounds thrilling.”
“The promotional products part is,” my argument is met with a sarcastic expression. “I'm serious! Deciding what to promote to collectors for each anniversary is something I take pride in.”
“Oh yeah?” She moves into the room. “Why's that?”
“It's like sharing a piece of my family history in a way that's frozen in time.” As she settles into the seat across from me, I continue, “When I was a kid, I used to love listening to my grandfather talk about distilling for hours. The process. The smell. The importance of the right barrel. The significance of aging. He used to talk about how it wasn't enough to taste our family’s legacy but to preserve it in a way that would make those before us proud. So, I personally oversee every anniversary and holiday packaging promotional idea with those words in mind. Doing my best to leave my contribution before it's passed on to my son or daughter.”
Slowly, she starts to smile. “Are you hinting at knocking me up because I gotta say, it's a bit early for that. Not ready to stop taking my birth control just yet.”
The thought of her swollen with my child surprisingly stirs my cock. Once upon a time I thought I'd have kids. A family. The lifestyle my parents lead. However, after their deaths, I just assumed I would leave it behind to J.T.'s son or daughter. He's practically been family since we met in middle school. His mother was a teacher at the private academy, which allowed him free admission. Naturally, we bonded over a crush on the same girl, a habit that followed us well into high school. I'm grateful it faded. The notion of competing over Brynley is enough to make me question our friendship. As much as I can't imagine not having J.T. in my life, I'm edging to a point where I can't imagine not having Brynley either. If that thought isn't enough to scare the shit out of me, the fact that it's the only thing I want to tell her every night before we go to sleep is. It's too much, too soon, for both of us. I feel compelled to blame it all on her being the first woman I've been with in ten years, but the truth is, I could've changed that at any time and didn't. It's not like Brynley is the only woman to ever express interest in me. She's just the only one I've ever wanted in return.
After a giggle, she questions, “Do you want the whole enchilada?”
“Are we talking about food here or something else?”
“Ooo,” she purrs. “Can I get an enchilada in the middle of the night? I don't wanna wake Lucky up....”
“We can sneak off together to get a snack if you can wait a few more minutes. Just need to give these another look.”
“Sure. I can wait.” Her feet curl up in the seat with her. “As much as I do want an enchilada now, I meant, do you want a wife and kids and grandkids and great grandkids some day?”
My eyes lock with her eyes. “Truth?”
“Always.”
“I do...” Leaning back in my chair, “But only with you.”
Her eyebrows lift in question.
“Those aren't just run of the mill things I think about anymore. The night my parents died all dreams of a normal life died with them. And then you showed up...barged your way into my world and for the first time in a decade I believe that might be in my future. My very very far away future.”
“So...No pressure?”
I shake my head slowly.
Brynley hums in return.
“What about you?”
“I never thought anyone would put up with me this long. Can't imagine anyone would wanna spend a lifetime with me. I mean, we've met, right? Who would ever wanna deal with this mouth for that long?”
Her twisted joke, which reveals a small lack of confidence, causes me to counter with a cocky grin. “Me. And I will for however long you let me.” She tries to resist the urge to smile. “Just for the record, having that mouth anyway, s
hape, or form does it for me.”
My wink makes her giggle and I finally allow my eyes to drop back to the work at hand. To no surprise the silence that follows is brief.
“Do you ever listen to music while you work?”
I shake my head at the same time I toss an idea in the 'no' pile.
“Do you not like music during the process?”
