by L. L. Ash
Maybe it had gotten a little out of control, this loneliness thing.
Sure, my house was cold and lifeless with my mother gone. Sure those were some of my happiest years having her live with me through what little time she had left...
But now it felt cold and empty, and I don’t want to go home to loneliness anymore.
After talking to Rachel about Serge, she had suggested I used him as a pay by-the-hour boyfriend that I could use as I wanted and dump when I was over him. After signing an NDA, he couldn’t leak anything to the press and he’d be under my control, because he was under my checkbook. Evidently it was what a lot of ladies with deep pocketbooks were doing these days.
My phone lit up with a text, then another, and I fumbled picking it from the desk before getting the texts open.
Serge: $2500. I prefer those little yellow envelopes.
Serge: And that’s my rate by the hour.
Those two texts had me shaking all over again.
Oh my God… Was I really going to do it? Was I really going to pay some man to have dinner with me?
I took in a deep breath and closed my phone, turning my attention to the soundless monitor hooked up to my laptop.
Each little rectangle showed a view of the stage from each camera angle. The studio was in full swing, trying to sell things from Christmas presents and electronics to food items and home goods, especially with Thanksgiving and Christmas approaching fast.
I tried to focus, but right now all I could think about was that voice. It was deep, husky. Softly accented and full of sex and sultry promises.
No wonder Rachel loved the guy so much.
God forbid… I didn't want to think about the things my friend liked about the man I was about to go out with… Yuck!
Rachel was in a similar boat as me, and that’s why she’d called him. Too rich and busy to really date or find love, but still lonely as she lay in bed with all her gold.
That was my problem, and I hoped that maybe he could be the distraction I needed.
Telling my assistant, Darron, to schedule a seven o’clock dinner with a producer instead of leaving the time block open as I’d previously requested, I sat back in my seat and took a few calming breaths before standing up to head over to the studio.
My real office in the prestigious high rise was nice, but I liked being in the action of lights and cameras. It was my passion, after all.
Having started my company from the ground up, it was my baby. I might not have had the chance to have my own children, though I did recently go through the effort of freezing my eggs on the off chance that maybe I would one day meet the guy of my dreams and we’d want to have babies together. My chances of getting pregnant were lowering each year, and I still held out hope. But going out with an escort seemed to dash those hopes pretty well.
If I was so desperate for companionship that I had to pay for it, which I refused to even do with a therapist, then I must be in a worse place than I realized.
Shoving out the ever-present thoughts of infertility and babies and loneliness, I grabbed my leather bag and headed past my assistant.
“Your dinner is scheduled and I put in the reservation for you, Ms. Wilder.”
“Great, Darron. Go ahead and get those replies to the suppliers out for me, then go on home. I’m heading to the studio for the evening. I’ll call if I need something.”
Darron, my sweet, dark haired assistant grinned.
“Always back to the studio, huh?”
Grinning back, I nodded, winking, then made my way through our main office maze to the elevator.
Serge
Maggie was the only one of my clients that asked me to smoke. And I gladly did.
She said it reminded her of her husband who’d previously passed. Not of lung cancer, but heart failure, of all things.
Maggie was a cutie at seventy-five, and she was one of my easiest clients. I know exactly what she wanted, and what she wanted never changed.
Simple missionary, passionate and raw as I murmured her name and she called me Gregory, her dead husband’s name.
I escorted her into my apartment and smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Care to join me?” I asked her, getting out my cancer-sticks.
“Just one,” she nodded and took one of the cigarettes I had in my hand.
We moved to the balcony and lit up together, doing a little cheers which was absurd with cigarettes, but Maggie loved it, so I did it.
“How was your day, honey?” she asked me, taking a puff before a long, slow exhale.
Drawing bitter smoke into my mouth, I fought a cough at the first tickle.
“Fine, baby,” I told her. “But I missed you.”
This is how it always started. It was one of her fondest memories with her husband, a night they spent together after he got home from whatever it was he did as a job.
She turned to me and smiled.
I reminded her of him, evidently. At least that’s what she said. Same overall Russian-ness and intensity that her husband had, though I’d never seen a picture of him so I don’t know if I looked like him physically. I was pretty classic Eurasian with blond hair and blue eyes, though I worked the harsh Russian facial features like a boss. Most women would consider me better than handsome, and I wholeheartedly agreed.
“When do you have to go back to work?”
“Later,” I sighed. “But I’m all yours for now.”
Sometimes it was sad to me, playing the same scene over and over with her as if her husband was simply at work. But I supposed it made it less painful for her, and hey, even women over seventy had needs. And with my passionate Maggie? I didn’t see her slowing down anytime soon.
“Come here, baby,” I order and she looked up, smiling before she stood to obey.
“Missed me that much?” Maggie asked back, perched gently on the thigh I patted.
“I missed you more than you know, baby. I missed your skin and the taste of your lips...”
Her eyes immediately turn smokey.
Our conversation was the only part that changed each time I saw her. I had to improvise, but generally I understood how things were between them after talking with her in the beginning. And I called her ‘baby’, which was a must for Maggie.
My cigarette still smoldering between my fingers, I took her face in my hand, wrapping the other around her hip.
“You know I wish I was with you more, baby. You’re my everything.”
Tears formed in her eyes at my words, and for a second, I wonder if maybe I went too far; got too real with my acting.
“I know, Gregory… I know you can’t be with me much. But I’m doing ok on my own.”
“Because you’re my strong Maggie,” I smile and brush my fingers through her silver hair.
A moment passed as I stared into her eyes and she stared back, that little dial of intimacy cranking up while the moment clicked into place like a puzzle piece.
Next thing I know, I was leaning forward and kissing her, our cigarettes burning into smoke as I devoured her, still sitting on my thigh.
“Will you let me make love to you, my darling?” I asked her, keeping to my role.
Her eyes were closed to me, but she nodded emphatically at my question.
I stamped out my cigarette in the ashtray sitting atop the wrought iron table we were lounged at before taking hers and doing the same.
“Get on the bed, baby, and take off your clothes. I want to see you before I take you.”
She moved, getting gently off my lap and moving into the room.
I watched her go, her hand snaking up her back to undo the zipper of her expensive dress.
“I might need some help,” she said over her shoulder with a smile.
“My pleasure,” I chuckled, getting closer to her as I shut the door to the balcony behind us.
Moving up behind her, I took the little zipper in my fingers and dragged it down her back.
She shrugged the dress off her
shoulders, letting the conservative thing fall off before turning to me, as if for approval.
“Mmm, beautiful,” I whispered to her, taking her cheek in my hand before leaning down and pressing my mouth to hers again.
Some women liked it cold and hard and sexy, and some women, like Maggie, prefered to have a gentle, passionate lover.
So I didn’t hike her up into my arms, or toss her onto the bed like I might have a younger woman. Instead, I took long moments to send gentle touches through her, undoing the back of her bra and slipping her panties down before moving her backwards until the backs of her legs hit the mattress.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” I breathed against her mouth, kneading a breast before moving down to take it between my lips.
She moaned and pressed her chest further into my mouth as I made my way down her body.
Three children and decades of good life had left her soft, and it was an interesting contrast to my norm. She was matriarchal, experienced, and she knew exactly what she wanted. Something most women, even in their forties, didn’t know.
“Right there, Gregory,” she moaned and wriggled beneath my mouth as I move my head between her thighs. “Oh Gregory...”
At first it used to hurt my pride that she wanted to call his name instead of mine, but after a while, I realized that this had absolutely nothing to do with me.
Maggie didn’t call me for sex. Maggie called me because she was lonely and missed her husband. And me? Well, I could give him back to her, just for a little while. And isn’t that the best kind of service a person can do for another? Give them back their love, even if it’s just for minutes or hours?
I undressed quickly out of my suit before reaching into my bedside drawer for a condom. Rolling it on, I pressed my face into her neck and breathed in her scent of Chanel No. 5.
“I need you now, baby. Are you ready for me?”
“Oh yes. Yes, Gregory. I need you, too.”
And like that, I pressed into her, firmly but smoothly, making sure as not to hurt her while still hovering, acting like the ‘crazed lover’.
It didn’t take long before she orgasmed around me, the little tricks I’d already performed with my mouth having gotten her ninety percent of the way there already. But as she came, I grunted and groaned, pretending like I was coming with her.
She liked that.
Well, not the pretending part, but she didn’t actually know about that.
I made my dick twitch inside her, giving the illusion of a climax before dropping down like I was done in, satisfied because of her, her body, and our love.
Maggie ate it all up, as usual.
And as was typical for us, we spent the rest of the time cuddling, her face in my chest after I discreetly remove the empty condom and pull her tightly against me, just holding her. Sometimes she’d cry and I would just be there, taking her tears, and sometimes she would fall asleep, like today.
I pressed kisses onto her face until she woke, looking at me with sleep-glossed eyes.
“I’m sorry baby, but I have to go back to work now.”
It’s the signal for the end of our session.
“Right, I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
“I love it when you sleep on me,” I grinned at her and kissed her lips, one last time until our next session.
She smiled back at me as she got up, rooting around for her clothes.
I helped her dress, and in turn she reached into her bag and pulled out the yellow envelope.
Setting it down on the table beside the door, she looked back and said, “I’ll see you after work, honey.”
Just like that, she was gone and I was left in the eerie silence.
I went back out to the balcony, leaving the money on the table untouched.
Something about Maggie always left me unsettled after our encounters. I wasn’t sure if it was because I pretended to be a different person with her, or if maybe the intensity of the love she had for her husband had left her so broken after he passed. But it always made my heart hurt for a short time after she left.
I pulled out another cigarette and lit it, taking a few minutes to decompress.
After gaining my composure back and pushing out the incredibly intimate moments I'd shared with Maggie, I stamped out my cigarette and went back in to retrieve my phone from the table where Maggie had left my cash. Sending Natalia a text, I let her know that I was finished for the night and to clean up before my next appointment.
Which just happened to be with Ms. Wilder.
Since the woman had an assistant, she had to be successful. I thought about looking her up to see exactly who I’d be dealing with, but as always, I decided to keep the surprise. I wanted to be as genuine for her as I know she would be for me.
The slight fear in her voice, the voice of an obviously powerful woman, was like a shot of cocaine straight to my system. I knew how to bring even the wealthiest heiress, CEO, or politician to her knees. Well, usually I was more likely on my knees, but I owned them with every flick of my tongue or movement of my talented fingers.
And they thought sex drove men.
I slipped into a pair of sweats and headed out the door, grabbing my yellow envelope before leaving the lingering scent of sex and tobacco behind.
Going up the elevator one flight, I headed straight into my other apartment. The apartment that hadn’t seen the likes of female flesh since I moved in. Besides Natalia, anyway.
I went to the bathroom and stripped off my pants before getting under the grand waterfall stream of hot water above me.
Heaven. That was what it felt like.
After getting out of the shower, I meandered toward my bedroom and collapse into the bed. It had the lingering scent of cigarettes, but no stale, sex smell was anywhere to be found.
I breathed in and out slowly, then cuddled down into the blankets and closed my eyes.
Chapter Three
Adele
I had absolutely no idea what I should wear.
Should I dress like this was a date? Or did I dress like I was trying to get laid?
I might have started my own television station after college with not a dollar to my name, but somehow, this was even scarier than my first meeting with investors.
After about twenty minutes of staring into my massive closet, I ended up picking a figure-hugging little black dress.
With nude heels and the right accessories, I felt stunning. Even an escort would have to notice how nice I looked.
Although he probably had sexy woman in his bed every day, and likely a lot younger than me.
With a sigh, I headed to the door where my driver was waiting.
As I get into the back of my town car, I realized, oh, how far the mighty had fallen.
I used to have men at my fingertips. And then thirty-five happened. Not only was I starting to show my years, but a few years after that, my mother became ill and I blocked out all other relationships. I’d bought a house in lower Manhattan for Mom. She lived with me and I devoted every moment of time I had that wasn’t being spent at the studio or in my office, to making sure she was happy and comfortable.
But she’d been gone for four months now, and the silence has gotten to me deep in my soul. My heart was lonely, and I could really just use a little intimacy.
Even if I had to pay someone to get it.
Rachel said that this Serge guy is a good listener, among other things, so I was counting on that. We’d see at dinner if we got along, and maybe I’d see him again, get the full experience, even.
As for our first meeting, I just intended on getting to know him.
My driver pulled up to Mon Chou, my favorite little French restaurant in the city.
I was almost ten minutes early, hoping to get to my table first so that when he arrived, he’d be escorted to me. But after arriving, I saw a tall, handsome, blond man at the front counter, chatting with the hostess.
Rachel warned me that he was stupid handsome, with dirty blond hair and pie
rcing blue eyes.
Her words not mine.
But even the warning didn’t stop my breath from heaving out of my lungs the moment my eyes rested on him.
No wonder he was such a well paid escort. If his other skills were even half as good as his physical perfection, he would be well worth the money.
“Ms. Wilder,” the hostess greeted in a high pitched, nervous chirp. “Your date has already arrived.”
Magnificent ice blue eyes met mine and a small, sexy smile broke out across his face.
Oh dear God… I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle this...man.
“You’re early,” he tells me, moving in for a...hug?
His hand slipped around to the small of my back as he whispered into my ear, little bristly five o’clock shadow scraping against my cheek, “Hello, Ms. Wilder.”
As he moved away, he met my eyes again through dark lashes with this...brutally lustful look, before taking my hand in his and turning back toward the hostess. The hostess who obviously knew me by name by that point, because I ate there so often. And usually alone.
“Our table, please,” he told her in this smokey voice. Not quite the same hoarse whisper from a moment ago, but still bursting with dark, dirty promises.
She hopped-to and lead us brusquely through the small restaurant until she stopped abruptly next to the table for two I’d reserved the day before.
“Y-your waiter will be with you very soon,” she tells us before practically running away in excited nervousness, craning her neck to watch Serge as she went.
He didn’t even notice her though. He was completely intent on me as he pulled out one of the chairs and waited behind it for me to sit.
I did and he gently, oh so gently, scooched it in a couple inches, rather than shoving it in until it hit the back of my knees like most guys did, then he moved around the table and sat back in his chair, looking comfortable with a complete stranger.
We stared at each other for a minute, me probably looking like a frightened kitten while he sat there, looking so cool and handsome in his perfectly fitted charcoal suit. He looked like he had the body of a god under the expensive fabric.
