The Gentleman Mentor

by Kendall Ryan

  My phone vibrates against my hip, and I pull it out to see a text from Kirby. I left him hanging about this weekend. Oops. I guess I’ve been more distracted than I realized.

  Kirby: When are we hanging out? I need a Brie fix.

  He’s signed his text with a winking face, and my heart swells at his words. Maybe there is hope for us yet.

  I reply with a smiley face of my own.

  Brielle: How about this weekend? I’m at Dazzle getting drunk right now.

  Kirby: Long week?

  Brielle: Something like that.

  Kirby: Let’s hang out soon. I promise to cheer you up.

  Brielle: Sounds good.

  All at once, I feel better and more in control. If Hale’s taught me anything, it’s to let go of my self-consciousness and go with the flow. And right now, all I want is another cocktail, and the DJ to play that hip-hop song I love.

  Lifting my hair off my neck in an attempt to cool down, I approach the bar and signal the bartender for another vodka cranberry. Soon, I’m stuffing a dollar into the tip jar and downing the bitter pink liquid in a long gulp.

  When I feel a hand at my waist, I turn to find a man with messy dark hair and friendly blue eyes is smiling at me.

  “I would offer you a drink, but I see you already have one.”

  I raise the glass. “Yes, I’m all set.”

  “How about a dance then?”

  I open my mouth to refuse, but then the song I’ve been waiting to hear all night starts, and a surge of recklessness bubbles up inside me. I grab his hand, tugging him toward the dance floor.

  Glancing back, I see him smile and set his beer down on a table as we pass. When we reach the center of the dance floor, I throw my hands up in the air and twist my body, dancing with my back to his front, wiggling against his groin and loving the way his hands skimming over my hips make me feel sexy and alive.

  My mystery dance partner and I keep up our pace through three or four songs, until my bladder demands to be emptied. I lean in close to his ear, the intimacy of our dancing for the past fifteen minutes making me feel a false sense of comfort near him. Just as I’m about to whisper-shout that I need to use the restroom, a cool, firm grip latches onto my wrist and tugs me back into a broad male chest.

  Black currant and sandalwood.

  My body responds instantly, my nipples tightening in my bra, and chill bumps break out along my nape.

  I turn and to come face-to-face with Hale, noting his features are twisted. He’s mad, but I have no idea why.

  “What are you doing here?” I shout over the music, not understanding how he knew where I was tonight. Or maybe it’s nothing more than a coincidence, but a flicker of awareness claws at the back of my mind until the alcohol and the angry man in front of me trump it.

  He curls one hand around mine and tugs me from the dance floor. We’re heading for the back hallway and the bathrooms, thank God, so I don’t protest.

  Hale continues tugging me down the dimly lit hallway, past the restrooms and supply closets, until we’re standing near the fire exit. I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, when his mouth closes hot and hungry over mine.

  He assaults me with passionate kisses, and all my questions die on my lips. Nothing matters right now except his touch. His hands slip under the edge of my shirt, tickling the flesh of my stomach, stopping just below the lace of my bra.

  I’m immediately transported back to earlier today when he withheld my orgasm. My body, primed and ready, flexes toward his, my hips pushing forward until I feel his thick erection.

  He bites my lower lip, barely enough to sting, and I can’t help the moan that escapes at his rough contact. Then he pins me to the wall—hard—and my breath whooshes out of my lungs in a gasp.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks, pulling his mouth from mine.

  Me? He’s the one who showed up here acting like a Neanderthal.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, breathless.

  “I denied your release earlier, and now you’re out getting drunk at a nightclub, dancing with a man who’d happily take you home and fuck you. What am I supposed to think?”

  His eyes are blazing on mine and his hair is messy and out of place, both indications he’s out of control in a way I’ve never seen him before. I don’t know if I love it or hate it.

  My brain snaps into comprehension as all the puzzle pieces drop into place. “Are you jealous?”

  His hand grips around my hip, and he squeezes. “You’re supposed to be mine for the next six weeks.”

  “I am yours.” The words have an undeniable truth to them that makes me feel like weeping. God, how did I allow myself to get so wrapped up in a man I can never have?

  “Then let me ask you again, Brielle. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m trying to get drunk and let loose. I’m sorry if you failed to notice, but this is fucking confusing.” I gesture between me and him. The liquor has loosened my tongue, and I don’t care. Suddenly, I want Hale to feel every bit as confused and out of control as I do.

  He presses closer, his hips brushing mine as he asks, “What’s confusing about it?” His mouth is mere inches from mine, his warm breath feathering over my lips.

  “Why did you ask to kiss me that first night?” I whisper.

  He’s quiet for a moment while he watches my eyes as if he’s contemplating how to answer. “I needed to see how you kissed. I needed to know if that was a skill we needed to work on together.” His voice is composed and confident. But the pulse ticking in his throat, and the way his eyes strayed from mine when he answered…something feels off.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why do you think I kissed you, Brielle?”

  “Because you wanted to. Because you’re just as attracted to me as I am to you.”

  “Does it matter?” he asks.

  My heart is slamming against my ribs, hoping I’m about to discover he has secret feelings for me like I do for him.

  “We both know this isn’t headed anywhere. We like fucking each other. It’s an added bonus to our lessons together. Don’t read something into it that isn’t there.” His voice is whisper-soft, and his eyes are pleading with mine. I have no choice but to believe him.

  Fuck.

  The overwhelming urge to cry is back in full force. I want to understand why I haven’t thought of Kirby once since Hale came into my life. I want to know why Hale puts up the wall that he does. I want to know where he works, what he likes for breakfast, and if he snores when he sleeps. I want to see him with his nana. The image of him helping a frail old lady up the steps to church makes me teary. And most of all, I want to understand how I’ve grown to be so desperately attached to him in such a short time.

  “I have to pee,” I say, breaking away from him and striding toward the restroom.

  Once I’ve latched the stall door and covered the toilet seat with paper, I sink down and empty my bladder. Taking a deep breath, I ball the toilet paper in my fist.

  My sessions with Hale creep into my mind. The first-time post-sex sub drop made me question everything. That was the best and most intense experience I’ve ever had with a man. Kirby was the furthest thing from my mind. And even in my buzzed state, I question if I can handle three more sessions. But how can I say no to the most beautifully brutal thing I’ve ever felt?

  With absolute clarity, I realize that falling for Hale is a very real and terrifying possibility. And what will I do then? I certainly won’t be okay with him mentoring and fucking the brains out of women all over Chicago. Besides, he’s made it very clear that he and I do not have a future, so why am I sitting here dreaming of things that will never be?

  Feeling somber and broken, I finish in the bathroom, taking a few moments to pull myself together before I go to find Hale.

  He’s waiting for me outside the ladies’ restroom, looking solemn.

  “Can I take you home?” he asks, his tone demanding.

>   My grand plans that included alcohol, dancing, and regret suddenly seem childish. “Yes.”

  I pull my phone from my purse to text Julie and tell her I’m leaving, when I see that she texted me fifteen minutes ago to tell me she was going home with the older guy she met at the bar. Okay then.

  “Do you have a tab to settle?”

  “No. I’m ready.”

  His hand on my lower back guides me to the exit, and I let him help me into the car.

  We’re both quiet on the drive to my place. The alcohol is starting to wear off, and I’m vaguely aware that I should be embarrassed that I practically admitted to feeling more for him than I should.

  “Can I come in?” he asks, stopping the car on the street outside my building.

  I should refuse him. That would be the logical thing to do. My current emotional state and growing feelings should signal that I need a breather from him—at least for the night.

  Glancing over at him in the moonlit interior of the car, I see the ghost of a smile form on his lips as he says, “I left you hanging earlier. I can take care of that for you.”

  I don’t know if this is a lesson or a mercy fuck, but I also know I won’t refuse him. “Okay,” I say, my voice flat.

  He takes my chin in his hand and turns my head to meet his eyes. “I need a yes or no answer. Do you want me tonight?”

  “Yes, I want you.” There’s so much truth in my words it hurts. I force a smile onto my lips.

  Once we’re inside, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to my bedroom. Carefully, he lays me down in the center of the bed, then removes my high heels, kissing the top of each naked foot. His lips are warm and soft, and send tingles rippling along my skin. He’s being so tender, so sweet, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.

  Slowly, methodically, he removes every stitch of clothing from my body, kissing me softly from head to toe. He’s never been so attentive and careful like this with me before.

  My head is spinning with questions, and I feel like I’m drowning in this big, beautiful man. I watch him in the moonlight, reveling in the feel of his rough stubble against my neck, breathing in his scent until I feel so full of him, I could burst. He’s looking at me like I’m the beginning and ending of everything.

  “Just feel,” he whispers against my thigh.

  I want to ask him what tonight’s lesson is about, but I don’t want to break the pleasurable spell he’s cast over me. So I close my eyes and let the exquisite kisses he’s placing just below my belly button push all the other noise from my brain.

  Soon, he nudges my thighs apart, and I let my knees fall open to grant him the access he demands. There’s no shyness, no self-consciousness with him. I want this so badly I can taste it. I want him to take me where only he can—where nothing exists but mindless pleasure, in that space where I shut off my brain and just feel, as he’s commanded. It’s a feeling I’ve grown to crave.

  Warm, wet kisses placed delicately between my thighs make me gasp out loud and tug at his hair. He stops and pulls away, a smile on his lips, then goes to my dresser and searches the top drawer while I watch him, curious about what he could possibly be looking for. When he finds it, he strides confidently toward me and uses the black tights he’s found to tie my wrists together above my head. I wonder if I’ve been pulling his hair too hard, or perhaps he simply likes seeing me tied up. He tugs his shirt off, and I’m treated to the smooth, muscular planes of his bare chest.

  Before I can ponder his unique sexual preferences further, he lowers his mouth to my core once again and continues the punishing rhythm with his tongue that I know is going to make me come much faster than is ladylike.

  My hips twist and my body trembles, cries claw their way up my throat, and still he doesn’t relent. A powerful release pulls me under, and after what seems like an eternity, I emerge, breathless and disoriented.

  “Holy hell,” I mutter, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back onto the pillow.

  Hale rises to his feet. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.” His hands move to his belt, unlatching the clasp, and he removes his jeans and boxer briefs. Standing before me completely nude, he lets me take my fill of the view.

  And a motherfucking incredible view it is. The man has muscles in places I didn’t know one could have muscles. His thick cock is standing tall, a vein running along the length of it, and a drop of moisture glistens at the top. I whimper and squirm on the bed, eager for a taste of him.

  A smile tugs at his mouth as his hand finds his cock. “You want to ride this again, peach?” he growls.

  “Fuck yes,” I say, confidence surging through me.

  All of my manners have flown out the window, along with my sensibilities. He created this eager woman who doesn’t hold back, and now he’s going to have to deal with the consequences.

  His hand stills as he watches me tug against my restraints. “I haven’t shown you my favorite position yet. Though you with your ass turned up, riding against me, is a damn close second.”

  Wicked memories flash through my brain…my butt in the air, wantonly taking him from behind.

  “You look good on all fours,” he muses, remembering the same thing as me, it seems.

  Nothing he says shocks me anymore. I’ve grown to love his filthy mouth, and my body lights up like a Christmas tree at his words. Despite my powerful release, I’m wet and hungry for more.

  He unties my hands, carefully inspecting them before placing a tender kiss on the underside of each wrist. Then he slides a pillow underneath my ass, forcing my hips up off the bed several inches, and kneels between my parted legs, angling his cock toward me.

  “Have you had a G-spot orgasm before, Brielle?”

  A what? “No.”

  He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder and kisses my ankle. “Good. Another first I get to have.” He positions the broad head of his cock against me and pushes forward, carefully at first, letting me adjust to him.

  I open my mouth to ask him what’s so special about the G-spot, when he begins moving his hips, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm, and my body clenches violently against him.

  “Don’t come yet, sweetheart.” He chuckles. “Let me fuck you properly first.”

  With my ankle resting on his shoulder, he rocks back and forth, massaging that sensitive spot deep inside me, and soon I’m clawing at his back, begging him to let me come.

  “Not yet, peach. I want you to feel everything I’m giving you.” His dark, hungry eyes lock with mine and everything else fades into the night.

  His sense of control is so straightforward and matter-of-fact that I can completely tune out the other noise in my brain, the many nonsensical things one thinks about on a daily basis. Did I turn off the coffeemaker? I should go to the gym later. I need to return those pants that don’t fit.

  Turning over all responsibility to this very capable man makes me feel free. All of my insecurities vanish. His touch forces me to stay in the moment and not let my distracted mind wander. He controls everything about my experience. His absolute dominance clears my brain of all the nonsense normally running rampant. It is bliss.

  “Hale…” I cry, gripping his butt.

  Forcing my hands to the bed, he holds me there. His teeth nip at the delicate skin on my ankle, and he sinks deeper inside me.

  With every thrust, he claims his ownership over me. It’s only supposed to be six weeks. So why does it feel like every kiss, every sweet, murmured word means more? Is he really going to let me walk away at the end of this?

  “So fucking perfect…” He moans, his body shuddering as he tries to hold off his own orgasm. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

  Watching his expression change from dark seduction to one of complete surrender almost undoes me. Knowing I’m responsible for making this big, powerful man’s body tremble and shake causes a rush of pride to rip through me.

  When I work my hands free, so I can touch him, he doesn’t stop me. He’s just as consumed b
y our union as I am. Pressing my fingernails into his ass, I give in and my second orgasm of the night takes over, dragging me to that pleasurable place where nothing exists but his body buried within mine. A moment later, he lets go and marks me for the second time today.

  With my heart pounding in my chest, I tug him down on top of me, holding him close, not caring about the warm, sticky mess between us. I feel his heart slamming against mine, and its bliss. This is what happiness feels like.

  This moment is perfect, and I never want to let him go. A therapist would have a field day analyzing why I choose to spend my time with Hale rather than facing my future with Kirby.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hale

  A therapist would have a field day analyzing my work mentoring needy women. Yet tonight was something else entirely. What I just shared with Brielle is unlike anything I’ve done before. It wasn’t just mentoring; it was more. I lose myself when I’m with her, and it fucking terrifies me.

  I scrub my hands over my face, sitting up in bed. After we had sex, I fell asleep with Brielle draped across me. As I rise from the bed, awareness burns inside me that I’ve never fallen asleep at a client’s house. Usually I can’t get out of there fast enough, wanting a hot shower and the comfort of my own bed.

  Yet right now, I can still smell Brielle’s scent on my fingers, and I don’t even want to wash my damn hands. She’s marked me, and I know it isn’t something I can simply wash away. My hands, hanging limp at my sides, already miss the feel of her¸ and my mouth yearns for the taste of her. My pulse pounds in my ears as I try to figure out what this all means.

  She sits up, tugging the sheet to cover her breasts. “Are you leaving?”

  I nod, forcing some composure in my voice. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk soon.”

  She reaches a hand toward me. “Not yet. Stay…just a little longer.”

  For a moment I think she was going to ask me to stay the night, but we both know that can’t happen.