by Bonnie Dee
“I know this is kind of strange,” Ryan said at last. “I guess you can tell I’m not that suave. To use a cliché, I’ve never done this before.”
Monica blinked, taken aback and more certain than ever that this was a mistake. She was his first client and he was nervous. It made her feel like some predatory cougar taking advantage of him.
She’d spent hours over the past few days cleaning her house, re-thinking her wardrobe, fighting off panic attacks and almost cancelling numerous times. Her focus had been completely on herself, her anxiety. It had never occurred to her that her “provider” might be just as uncomfortable.
“Let’s make it easier,” Ryan said. “We’ll pretend this is a blind date our friends set up, well-meaning friends or relatives who threw us together because they decided we’re ‘perfect for each other.’ Ever been on one of those dates?”
“Oh yeah.” Monica smiled, remembering some real winners. “I don’t leave the house much these days but back in the day I had my share of set-ups. Usually not a fun evening.”
Ryan grinned and her heart flipped. “But tonight when you and I saw each other we knew right away our friends were right for once. This date was going to be okay. Let’s talk about stuff, get to know each other and who knows where the night will lead.” His smile disappeared and he appeared suddenly less confident and a good deal younger. “Unless you want to, you know, just get to it.”
“No! I mean, no. Not at all. Plan A is good. Sit down and I’ll get us something to drink. Dinner should be along in about,” she glanced at her watch, “twenty minutes. You’d think being in my house all the time I’d have developed amazing culinary skills, but I’m actually a pretty bad cook so I ordered our meal from a catering service. Have you heard of The Ample Pantry?”
“No, but anything sounds good right now. I missed lunch. I’ve had some car trouble and had to camp out at the mechanic’s for a good portion of the afternoon.”
He sat down on the couch with casual ease of a good friend dropping over. That calmed her nerves, but only a little. She went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. She drank about half of hers in a quick gulp and replenished it before returning to the living room where she offered Ryan his glass.
He took a sip of the Chardonnay while Monica sat on the other end of the couch putting a whole cushion and Amber between them. “Sorry to hear about your vehicle. What was wrong?”
“Timing belt and some other stuff. The Jeep’s old but it’s been holding together until recently.”
She nodded, understanding that this was probably one of the reasons he’d taken the escort job. Another stab of guilt flashed through her. He seemed like such a straight-up, open and honest kind of guy just trying to keep his head above water financially. She couldn’t dispel the idea that she was taking advantage of Ryan.
“I understand you’re a freelance writer. What kind of writing do you do?” he asked.
“Articles for magazines and journals and online content. It’s easier to be home bound these days with the internet at your fingertips. My freelance work is pretty lucrative but sporadic and of course there’s no pension plan or paid sick days.”
“Same here.” He said it as a joke, but only succeeding in reminding her he was a paid companion. More guilt. Well then, she’d give him a good meal and send him on his way. No sex. So she could stop feeling awful.
There was a beat or two of silence. Monica took a long sip of her wine wondering if the evening was ever going to get less strained. She’d actually considered pretending to not be home when Ryan rang the doorbell. As her breathing grew shallow and her anxiety threatened to slip its tether, she’d practiced Dr. Brewer’s deep breathing techniques and mentally withdrew to her safe place. How had she ever thought such a stressful situation wouldn’t have ramifications? Considering she couldn’t even venture into the outside world, how had she imagined she could bring a stranger into hers?
But she had answered the door and now Ryan was here and she must deal with him like a grown up. Make conversation and relax. Monica cleared her throat. “I saw in your bio that you’re into woodworking.”
“Yeah, I had an uncle who taught me everything from building birdhouses to making repairs around the house. That’s what I was doing before, but construction is soft right now and I was having trouble finding work.”
It seemed all topics led back to the fact that he was working for her tonight. And even as it bothered her, Monica also felt a deep-seated tingle at the possibilities inherent in the evening. Those blunt fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass could be touching her later. His muscular arms could lift and carry her. That mouth might press against hers, soft lips molded to her own, tongue pressing inside to caress her tongue. Her imagining left her breathless. No. It was wrong. She shouldn’t think…
As if sensing her discomfort, Ryan set his glass on the end table, scooted Amber off the couch and slid over beside Monica. He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “Look, I can tell you’re freaked by the circumstances, but I want you to know I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t my choice. Just so you can relax, let’s get the whole first kiss thing out of the way right now.”
Monica opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say a word his lips covered hers. A shimmer of excitement swept through her as he plucked at her mouth so softly. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation of tender, moist kisses nibbling away at her resistance. The tension she’d been living with for the past couple of days faded to the far reaches of her consciousness, and her focus became that point of contact.
Ryan cradled her face in his hands and danced the tip of his tongue across her lips until they opened and let him inside. He curled his warm tongue around hers and electricity rocketed straight down to between her legs.
Monica’s breath caught in her throat and she slid her hands around his back, clutching the folds of his shirt.
Ryan tickled the inside of her upper lip with his tongue. She jerked and pulled away, laughing. He smiled and drew her back to him. This time there was no teasing or tickling as he kissed her deeply and held her tight.
Her breasts flattened against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding. But maybe it was hers. Her senses were whirling, tangled and twisted. She hadn’t felt anything like this in so long. She’d forgotten the pure, simple yet intense pleasure of kissing.
He kissed her so deeply she was gasping for air by the time he released her. She sat with her eyes still closed trying to decide if she was dizzy from lack of oxygen, wine or the intensity of his kiss. If a little making out was putting her into this much of a tizzy, she’d completely lose her mind if they had sex.
“Better?” Ryan asked, brushing his thumb over her lips then tucking her hair behind her ear.
Monica opened her eyes and nodded mutely. Her lips felt bee-stung. She resisted the urge to touch her mouth.
“Good, because your doorbell just rang. I think the food’s here.”
She blinked away her fuzziness and rose to answer the door.
Ryan helped her unpack the serving dishes and arrange them on the table she’d set for two. Monica lit the candle and they sat to eat the swordfish steaks, rice and vegetables.
“I hope you like fish. This restaurant has the best Parmesan chicken but I thought something without garlic might be better for tonight.”
“It’s great. I haven’t had a meal like this in—ever. I usually get Chinese takeout or make frozen pizza, and Gram never moved beyond stew or goulash in the cookbook.”
“Your grandmother?”
“She pretty much raised me. My mom wasn’t really in the picture.”
“Oh.” Monica thought of her own mom who would never get out of the picture and was suddenly glad she had Julia Brennerman for a mother.
“So besides writing and not cooking, what else do you do?” Ryan asked. “Do you like sports, movies, reality shows?”
“All of the above.” She lowered her voice in mock confident
iality. “I hate to admit it, but I’m a TV junky.”
“Oh really.” Ryan propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands. “Classic shows, too?”
“Of course.”
“Munsters or Addams Family?”
“Addams Family,” Monica answered promptly. “Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie?”
Ryan made a scoffing noise, “Jeannie of course.”
She shook her head. “Men always go for a sexy costume.”
“Beverly Hillbillies or Gilligan’s Island?” He raised an eyebrow.
She hesitated. “Beverly Hillbillies with exception for certain Gilligan episodes.”
“Oh, come on! You choose hillbillies over castaways? No way.”
Monica struggled to think of another pair. “Dallas or Dynasty?”
“Neither,” he said flatly. “Saved by the Bell or Full House?”
“Definitely neither. Okay, last pair. The Love Boat or Fantasy Island?” She noted his grimace of distaste. “You have to pick one.”
“If I have to, Fantasy Island I suppose.”
She nodded in agreement. “More scope for imagination. If we’re going in the direction of paranormal, there are plenty of newer shows to compare. Buffy versus the Vampire Diaries or Tru Blood.”
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t know a thing about any of ‘em. Sorry. I don’t watch much TV anymore. Too busy and I only get a couple of channels cause I don’t have cable. I catch an occasional baseball game and that’s about it.”
Monica thought about her own quiet, non-busy life. She had way too much time to get wrapped up in television programs. That was pretty sad for someone as young as she was. “Who do you root for?” she asked and listened as Ryan enthused about baseball for a while.
They chatted their way through the rest of the meal, cleared the table and poured more wine before returning to the living room. Monica felt as comfortable as if she’d known Ryan for years. She almost forgot what the point of the evening was.
Almost.
Silence fell between them as they sat sipping the wine and listening to the quiet music of a station that played mostly ballads. Sarah McLachlan’s plaintive voice crooned about the arms of the angels.
“You like this song?” Ryan asked.
She nodded. “It’s beautiful. You don’t?”
“Too sad. Life’s depressing enough without whining about dying in a hotel room or whatever.”
“I think it’s meant to be comforting not depressing.”
“I have a better idea. We should dance.” Ryan took the remote and changed to a 50’s and 60’s station. He stood, pulled Monica to her feet and twirled her around to the cheerful be-bop music. He passed her under his arm, threw her out and pulled her back into his arms then danced her in a circle.
Monica had never danced much before but it was easy to follow his confident lead. She was breathless and laughing as they jitterbugged through the rest of the song.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” she panted, brushing strands of hair from her sweaty forehead.
“Gram actually won prizes for ballroom dancing back in the day.” His pressed his hand against Monica’s lower back, guiding her into a dip before righting her. He held her close as he added, “She was a real character. When I was a kid and I’d get in a bad mood and sulk or mouth off, she’d look at me like and say, ‘You need to dance.’ Then she’d make me dance with her.”
“Dancing as punishment.” Monica laughed. “That’s unique discipline. My mom made me and my sister sit on the couch until we could ‘act civilized,’ but all we ended up doing was poking or slapping at each other until we got the giggles.” She paused, her hand smoothing the material of his shirt against his chest. “You said ‘was.’Has your grandmother passed on?”
“No. Alzheimer’s. She’s still here but not, you know?” A slow song began and he placed a hand on her waist and swept her into a foxtrot. “But we’re not here to talk about my Gram.” He guided her in a circle around the tiny living room, their steps growing smaller until they were simply swaying.
It felt so good to be wrapped in a man’s embrace, to feel his solid body pressed against the length of her front and his warm hand pressed against her back. He slid his hand up to rub the muscles of her neck and she relaxed even further, letting her head rest against his chest.
Monica held onto Ryan as tightly as he was holding her and wished this was for real, that instead of a paid companion he was a guy who was here because he wanted to be with her.
When the song ended, he stepped back and looked down into her face. Monica stared back, feeling suddenly shy, even a little frightened. She could call it off. Thank him for the lovely evening and send him away with her gratitude, but she knew she wasn’t going to.
She knew how this evening was going to end up.
Ryan’s eyes were gentle, his mouth smiling and her fears disappeared as he leaned down to kiss her. She yearned toward the insistent pressure of his mouth, opening to him as naturally as if they’d been together for years rather than just one evening.
His tongue explored her mouth while he stroked the side of her face. His other hand at the small of her back dropped lower to knead the swell of her bottom. She was pressed so tight against him she could feel his erection nudging her belly. Her crotch tightened at the sensation.
Ryan abandoned her mouth to kiss her jaw and neck, sucking at the tender skin over her pulse point. She moaned and dropped her head back, offering more of her throat to his kisses.
He moved lower, pressing kisses across her chest. Her nipples tightened in anticipation of his mouth sucking them, but her blouse impeded his progress. Ryan unbuttoned it then continued exploring the swells of her breasts with his nuzzling mouth. When his lips wrapped around one nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra, Monica jumped as if she’d been shocked by a jolt of electricity.
Ryan looked up at her, eyebrow raised.
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just ... been a while.”
He turned his attention back to sucking her nipple, hard strong tugs that sent trails of fire through her. Ryan pulled away, stripped her blouse off and reached behind her to unfasten her bra. The ease with which he accomplished it made her extremely aware he was proficient at stripping off women’s clothes.
He sat back to gaze at her breasts and Monica reached to cover them. She camouflaged her embarrassment with a self-deprecating laugh. “My mother always said I’d fill out but as you can see...”
Ryan removed her hands from her breasts and replaced them with his own, weighing each small globe before thumbing her raspberry nipples. “They feel just fine to me. Perfect in fact.” He leaned down and sucked one breast while toying with the other. Suddenly they felt perfect.
He drew her nipple out with the suction of his mouth and a tug of his teeth, extending it then letting go. The drawing and releasing sent Monica’s nerve endings jangling straight down to her pussy, telling it to wake up and get ready for action.
Ryan switched his attention to her other breast and Monica gazed at the unbelievable sight of a stranger sucking on her tit. She didn’t really know him at all. How could they be engaged in such an intimate act? But even as she thought it, her fingers itched to touch his hair and learn if it was as soft as it looked. She removed her hand from his back to stroke his hair then plunge her fingers into it. Wrapping her hand around his head, she drew him even closer to her breast. Her eyes closed and she moaned at the sensations filling her.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to lie naked with him to have his body press her down, slide over hers, enter her…
Ryan pulled away and straightened. Monica blinked and focused her lust-glazed eyes on him.
“Shall we go to your bedroom now?” he asked.
She hesitated only a second before nodding. No use pretending she wanted to stop. “That way.”
Before she could lead him down the hall, Ryan swooped her up off her feet. She sli
d her arm around him, clutching his shoulder and he carried her to her room—just like in her fantasies.
The aroma of vanilla and flowers permeated the room from candles she’d lit earlier. Not too sweet but just a hint of sweetness in the air.
Ryan laid her on the bed and began to take off his clothes. Monica swallowed, frozen, riveted, as he stripped off his T-shirt. His chest and shoulders were solid, muscular. She could picture him with a hammer in his hand, muscular arm flexing. His stomach was flat and a tawny trail of hair led from his navel down to the top of his jeans. She stared at the button on his fly then glanced up. He was watching her with a smile.
“You want to examine the merchandise?” He unfastened the button and slowly pulled down the zipper beneath.
Monica felt light-headed, dreamy. This could not be happening—a handsome stranger, the man of her dreams, stripping naked at the foot of her bed. But then she’d paid for the fantasy, hadn’t she? So why was she so stunned that it was coming true?
“More?” he teased.
She nodded. This was real and therefore both more intensely erotic than her daydreams and more alarming. But Ryan seemed relaxed and at ease which kept her anxiety from developing into a full-blown panic attack.
He paused and gave her a reassuring smile. “There’s no hurry. We could make out some more. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. This is your date.”
The thought of stopping now was impossible. Her resolve firmed as her libido flared. “No. I don’t want to stop. More. Please.”
He slid his jeans and underwear over his hipbones, revealing a light brown thatch of hair. Then his cock burst free from the waistband of his underwear, thrusting proudly from his body. Monica though of a figurehead on the prow of a ship and suppressed the giddy urge to giggle.
“What?”
“I’m just overwhelmed and maybe a little tipsy from the wine.”
He finished stripping, shoes, socks, jeans all the way off and then he straightened—a naked, live man standing in her bedroom. Without clothes. Naked. In her bedroom. She didn’t know if she could contain her insane desire to laugh.
