The Gentleman Mentor

by Kendall Ryan

  “I want to watch you when you come.” He thrusts forward and this time, I don’t wait to be told; my hips lift from the bed and I meet him thrust for thrust.

  God, we’re quite a sight. His huge, thick cock parting me, sinking deep within my pink, tender flesh. My pelvis rocking against his. Our hands locked together. Our eyes lifting to each other’s.

  “Come all over my dick, baby. Just like that,” he growls, his eyes glued to the spot where his body is joined with mine.

  I fall apart, climaxing almost immediately, moaning his name in a litany of mumbled cries.

  His chest shudders and he lets go, the warmth of his semen marking me all along my stomach and thighs as he pulls out at the last second and strokes himself in the most sensual way.

  Moments later he moves from the bed, and I hear his footsteps in the hall. He returns with a warm cloth that he uses to clean me. I wonder if this is all part of the service, but the look in his eyes is pure adoration, and I’m lost to him. I’ve never been so thoroughly worshipped, taken, and now his kindness feels like too much.

  “That was perfect,” he says, breathless, kissing my temple once again.

  A thousand emotions slam into me at once. Pleasure. Desire. Fear. Disgust.

  I am the definition of a hot mess. With my hair clinging to my damp skin, and my lungs still heaving from my powerful release, I feel lost and broken. I curl onto my side and hug my arms around my body, hating that he’s about to see me cry.

  I’m supposed to be doing this because I want to date Kirby. Right now, he’s the furthest thing from my mind, and I want nothing more than Hale to take me in his arms and never let me go.

  “Hey, hey…” The softness of his voice startles me. “What’s wrong?” He strokes my hair, running his fingers against my scalp and through the length of my hair.

  I can’t answer at first. Tears roll down my cheeks for reasons unknown as feelings of deep regret and sadness wash over me. I have no idea what’s gotten into me.

  Hale leans over me with a pained expression, opening my legs and inspecting me carefully. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. No, nothing like that.” I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

  “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

  I’m feeling confused and… I don’t even know how to explain it. Was that as intense for him as it was for me? Probably not. His face gives nothing away, and his calm demeanor makes me feel unnerved, inferior. I’m nothing more than a client; this is just sex to him. To me, it was the most powerful, incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, but to him I’m merely another appointment in his date book. How do I tell him that without sounding totally crazy?

  “I’m not sure,” I say.

  “The sex between us was intense,” he says as though he’s plucked the words right from my brain.

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “So intense that sometimes it can become confused with something it’s not—something more emotional. It’s a powerful thing, submitting like that, giving yourself to me the way you did. Have you done anything like that with a man before?”

  “No. I… That was a first for me.” I felt wild and uninhibited, and I let myself go in front of him like I’ve never done before.

  “I thought so.” He strokes my hair again, the look of pride in his eyes as he watches me makes me aware that I’d do it all over again—anything he asks and more. “But we can’t confuse what this is,” he says, bringing me back to the moment. “It’s just physical.” The strained way he says it makes me wonder who he’s trying to convince—me or him.

  He tugs me down against him and curls his body around me as he tells me to just breathe, and I do. As I try to get my emotions under control, he holds me and assures me my reaction is normal.

  “Remember when we talked about aftercare?” he asks, still holding me.

  “Yes.” I never dreamed I would be in a position to need it, remembering how hysterical his friend Chrissy was, sobbing and sounding desperate as he coached her through her meltdown. I’ve never been like that after sex, but this felt like a lot more than just sex.

  “We didn’t talk about sub drop, but I think we should. Submitting can be an emotional experience. After a scene, your adrenaline and all the other chemicals that your body naturally produces are at an all-time high. When they crash, it can leave you feeling sad, lonely, and confused. The more intense the scene, the more intense the drop can be.”

  Listening to him talk, I feel relieved. It’s nothing but my out-of-control hormones and emotions playing tricks on me. I focus on relaxing and clearing my mind. Listening to the sounds of his heartbeat, I enjoy the way his hands knead my muscles.

  I have a choice to make. I can enjoy every minute of his attention, every gift he has to offer, or I can go it alone. Why wouldn’t I want his help?

  Convincing myself to relax, I’m soon warm and comfortable and feeling drowsy. Everything is going to be okay. I think. He murmurs calming words, praises me for tonight, and continues stroking my hair and my skin.

  I’ve let him in so completely, and hate that I don’t know him better. “Will you tell me about your nana?” I ask softly, curious about this dominating man’s soft side that I’ve only caught glimpses of.

  “What do you want to know?” His tone is guarded as if he doesn’t enjoy dishing out personal details.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m curious, I guess. Are you close?”

  He nods. “Other than my younger sister, she’s the closest thing I have to family. She’s put up with a lot of shit from me over the years, and now I take care of her.”

  “What’s she like?” I try to picture Hale hanging around a little old lady, and fail miserably. I’d have an easier time picturing him in a BDSM dungeon, clad in black leather, with a sub tied up in intricate knots.

  “She’s an eighty-year-old who makes the best goddamn blueberry pie in the world, likes to knit me hideous sweaters, and continually asks me when I’m going to settle down.”

  I giggle, picturing the intrusion, because I really can’t imagine anyone questioning him. “And what do you tell her?”

  “Never.” His voice is flat, convincing me he’s serious. He has no interest in marriage or monogamy. The memory of overhearing those two women discussing his tragic past jumps into my brain, and I feel bad for him. It’s a thought that makes me want to take him in my arms and hold him close, but somehow I know he wouldn’t allow that.

  After a few minutes, Hale gets up, blows out his candle, and dresses. I watch the way the muscles in his broad shoulders move, the tone and definition of his firm thighs as he pulls on his jeans. He’s really quite gorgeous.

  A passing thought makes my stomach sink, and I realize this could all be a terrible combination. His overwhelming masculine presence, my desperate need for love…

  Am I headed straight for disaster?

  Chapter Twelve

  Hale

  It’s Sunday, which means I’m sitting in a damp-smelling nursing-home room with Nana. Yet no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to forget my last session with Brielle, my sexy little peach.

  Every detail is seared into my memory. Her tight little ass working against me. Fuck. Her petite body latching onto mine, milking me to the last drop. I could quickly see her becoming an addiction. One I wasn’t allowed to overdose on¸ as much as I might want to. I had a job to do. That was it.

  Nana waves her index finger at me. “Grab me my knitting bag out of the closet. I made you something.”

  I have an entire dresser full of hideous sweaters, knitted caps, and misshapen scarves courtesy of Nana. If I’m ever invited to an ugly-Christmas-sweater party, I’m fairly certain I could go dressed from head to toe in colorful, itchy wool.

  I grab the bag and hand it to her. She produces a royal purple turtleneck vest thingy and hands it to me with a proud grin.

  “Wow. It’s just…I’m speechless. Thank you, Nana.”

  Dear God
, this thing needs to be burned. But hell, it gives her something to do, and gives the dresser in my spare room a purpose. Everyone wins.

  “Put it on. I need to make sure it fits.”

  I hold it up to myself. “Oh, it’ll fit.”

  Satisfied, she smiles, and I return to the armchair next to her.

  I was seventeen when my parents were killed in a plane crash during their dream vacation to Alaska. It was a small bush plane, used for the excursion fishing trip my dad talked about for months.

  Nanette—Nana—was a member of the church they attended. I went only on major holidays and had met her once or twice. I didn’t really know her and she didn’t know me. But she stepped up and claimed ownership for me, along with my younger sister, Macey.

  Seventy years old and a devoted Christian, Nana and I were an unlikely combination. I remember the first time I laid eyes on her at the funeral. Her skin was the color of coffee, and her braided hair was a mixture of salt and pepper. She came right up to me—we were the only two not crying—and as she stood by my side, she leaned toward me and said in a low voice that crying wasn’t going to bring them back. I nodded in agreement and watched as their caskets were lowered into the ground. I felt numb. Empty. And all cried out.

  From that moment on, I liked her. I liked her strength and her character. But when she petitioned the state to grant her custody rather than have us go into foster care, it shocked the shit out of me.

  She got her way. Macey and I lived with Nana through high school. During college and then in law school, I always had a place with her at holidays and breaks. Last year she was moved into an assisted living home. For many years she took care of me, and now I take care of her. It’s the least I can do. She’s family now.

  The afternoon nurse—Trisha, I think—comes in with a tray with Nana’s meds. Something for her blood pressure, and something to help her go to the bathroom. She’s healthy as a damn horse, thank God. Trisha bends over to set down the tray, and pushes her ample cleavage into my face.

  Hello there.

  Once she’s gone, Nana rolls her eyes at the overeager nurse. “That hussy needs to slow down. She’s on you like stink on an ape. A man likes to chase a woman, not the other way around. You don’t want to be smothered, do you?”

  “By her?” I grin crookedly. “Might not be so bad.”

  “You’re wicked.”

  “In all the best ways,” I assure her.

  She laughs, but soon her smile fades and her expression turns more serious. “When are you going to settle down, Cameron? I’d like to see you with a nice girl. I won’t be around forever. I am eighty-one this year, you know?”

  I swallow, hating that her age is something we even have to think about. She’s all I have left. Along with Macey, who I don’t see nearly enough now that she moved. “I know, Nana. I’m already planning a big surprise party.”

  “It’s not a surprise if I know about it.” She raises one penciled-on eyebrow.

  “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a heart attack, or bladder failure, or whatever.” I grin at her.

  “Wicked,” she says again.

  I’m not sure how long I can keep dodging her questions about my future, but let’s hope for a long, long time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brielle

  How in the fuck did I think this was a good idea? Never agree to sex with a good-looking, intelligent man with no hope of it leading to something.

  It turns out I can’t do it.

  I can’t separate sex from emotion. All day at work, my body is going through the motions, showing overpriced townhomes to eager couples, demonstrating the features like walk-in closets and electric cooktops while my mind runs rampant with thoughts of him.

  Hale. His firm hands at my hips, his warm mouth on mine, the dark, hungry look in his eyes when he watches me. In his presence I feel alive and wanted, and it’s becoming addictive. I don’t know how I’m going to give him up in a few weeks. These are the terms I agreed to, so why do I feel like I’m being split in two?

  My ringing cell captures my attention and I pull it from my purse.

  It’s Kirby.

  My stomach sinks. Before I have time to analyze my body’s reaction, I answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Where ya been hiding, ladybug?” he asks with his playful chuckle that instantly sets me at ease.

  “I—I don’t know.” I realize I’ve been spending all my free time with Hale, and when I’m not with him, his commanding, masculine presence dominates my thoughts. This whole thing is supposed to be about Kirby, and I’ve barely given him a passing thought the past two weeks.

  “Well first, we need to make plans to hang out. And second, I’m thinking of buying a place. I need your real estate expertise. Think you could show me some condos?”

  “That’s awesome, Kirby. Of course I’ll help you.”

  “Cool. This weekend work for you?”

  “Um…” I hesitate, my mind darting to Hale. We haven’t arranged our next lesson, but knowing they usually happen on the weekend, I don’t want to commit to plans with Kirby yet. “Can I get back to you on that?”

  “’Course,” he says.

  I’m trying to fit my plans for Kirby around my schedule with Hale. It should probably be the other way around, but I don’t care.

  God, what is wrong with me? One night of great sex shouldn’t negate five years of unrequited love. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It must be that sub-drop thingy Hale explained to me. That’s all. I need to enjoy this time and my lessons with him. Ride the wave, so to speak, and whatever other body parts he’ll allow. Because, dear God in heaven, the man fucks like a wildcat.

  “Just text me when you know your schedule,” Kirby says, pulling my mind from the gutter.

  “Absolutely,” I tell him.

  I hang up and check the time before stuffing my cell phone into my purse. I’m due at a brand new condo complex in the heart of the city in less than twenty minutes. It’ll be a small miracle if I make it on time.

  Somehow I make it just on time, using the digital keypad on the front door to let myself in and turn on all the lights before my clients arrive.

  City View Condominiums is a new building that’s still under construction, but their model is beautifully finished and staged with elegant furniture and art. I turn on the lamp in the living room and flip on the gas fireplace.

  Satisfied that everything looks perfect, I pull the brochure from my file folder and wait for my clients. It would be amazing to sell one of these condos today. The commission on a half-million dollar property would make my bank account happy.

  A light knock on the door signals their arrival.

  “You guys made it,” I say, pulling open the door in a way I hope is inviting. “Welcome to City View.”

  I’ve been working with Mark and Sarah for about three weeks now. We’ve toured high-end apartments and luxury condos all over the city, but this is by far the nicest place I’ve shown them. It’s a bit over their budget, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to love it. After all, I love it. I’d love to live here.

  “Wow, this is gorgeous,” Sarah says as we enter the kitchen and take note of the granite countertops, glass-mosaic-tiled backsplash, and stainless-steel appliances.

  “Each owner is able to customize their unit, choosing flooring, counters, and paint colors,” I tell them.

  They seem impressed as we wander from room to room. When we enter the master bedroom, they stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the city views the building was named for.

  My cell phone begins ringing and I fish it from my purse.

  It’s Hale. He’s probably calling to arrange our next lesson, and once I find out the date, I can text Kirby back.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” I say, holding up my cell like it’s some urgent business call. I step into the spacious master bath, since this should only take a minute.

  “Hello?”

  “Peach,” he says,
his deep voice rumbling along my skin as if he’s right here in the room with me.

  “Hi.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m showing some clients the model at City View Condos. Why?”

  “I’m in the mood for lesson number three.”

  My belly tightens. “When are you thinking?” I peek out into the master bedroom to see Mark and Sarah have moved over to inspect the walk-in closet with its various shelves, drawers, and compartments.

  “Right now. Remember when I told you I was going to push you, test your limits.”

  “Yes,” I say, my brow crinkling. I’m unsure what he’s getting at.

  “This is a test, my peach. I want you to touch yourself, make yourself come while I listen.”

  My mouth falls open. He can’t be serious. “I’m showing a home to clients. They’ll hear me.”

  “Not if you’re quiet.”

  I pause, glancing up into the mirror. This is crazy. Completely insane. So why is my heart pounding like a drum and my body thrumming with eager anticipation? I pace the small room from one end to the other, trying to form a coherent argument on why this is a bad idea.

  “Tell me exactly where you are,” Hale says.

  “A bathroom.”

  “Is there a mirror?”

  “Yes.” I glance up and find my reflection. My flushed skin feels hot, and my nipples harden beneath my form-fitting button-down top.

  “Good. I want you to slip your hand into the front of your panties and tell me how good it feels.”

  “I can’t,” I say softly.

  “Brielle.” His tone is firm, and a pang of regret hits me. I don’t like disappointing this man. “Would it help if you knew I had my cock in my hand, and it’s rock hard and aching? All I can think about is your tight little cunt squeezing me.”

  My body clenches at his words. It shouldn’t, but the luxurious opulence of the bathroom is inviting. If Hale were here, he’d lift me onto the marble counter, push my skirt up my thighs, and fuck me hard and fast while I held on to his solid biceps and shoulders. It’s an enticing thought.