by L. L. Ash
One would think he was a young, successful entrepreneur, not a prostitute.
Oh God… I’m on a date with a friggin’ prostitute.
Was I truly so desperate for company?
“Rachel didn’t mention how young you are,” I blurted suddenly, shattering the ice, but not in a good way.
One side of his lips turned up as he met my eyes with a piercing gaze.
“Don’t insult me. I stopped being young a long, long time ago.” he answered me with a deep voice, his words sounded annoyed but his tone spoke of amusement.
“I don’t mean to insult you,” I stammer. “You’re just a lot younger than I thought you'd be, considering your reputation.”
“Are you disappointed?” his eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Wow, I was just doing a splendid job of ruining the night already.
“Oh, no, I’m not disappointed...I just… I’m not sure a young man would be interested in a woman like...”
He held out a hand to stop my blabbermouth, leaning over the table toward me.
“You honestly think I wouldn’t be interested in a successful, beautiful woman? Even if that woman talks a little too much?”
A grin spread across his face as he sat back.
“I don't mind the talking though. It’s fun listening to you stammer.”
My eyes widen in shock.
Did he just insult me?
“Wow, so I guess charming isn’t one of your talents,” I mumbled at him and his grin widened until a broad strip of pearly white teeth appeared.
Suddenly I’m enthralled again.
His smile… It was beautiful.
“What the hell is charm, anyway?” he asked back, chuckling. “I’d rather be interesting than charming.”
Well, when he put it like that...
“Then I guess you’re succeeding. You’d be the first person in your...occupation...that I’ve ever met. And that’s pretty interesting.”
“Good,” he simply nods, his expression going neutral again.
His smiles were quick to disappear, but they didn’t seem hesitant. Maybe he just tried not to smile?
“And I’m not stammering,” I folded my hands in my lap, suddenly feeling a little like I was talking to a kid.
“Ok,” he agreed with a dip of his head. “But just so you know, I like a woman who can get nervous without getting embarrassed. It’s incredibly sexy.”
And there was that look again, all smokey and mysterious, like he was hiding something fantastic that he wanted to show me.
“So you’re a sadist?” I smiled, not sure how he was going to take that.
He just smiled again, a small smile that told me everything...and nothing.
Helpful, right?
“I’ve seen just about everything in my line of work, Ms. Wilder,” he says eventually, carefully.
There was a pause where he looked up at me, meeting my eyes with an intense look that seemed to cut straight through me.
He was reading me.
“The only thing that really does anything for me these days is honesty,” he said with a small shrug. “But I get the sense that you’re the same way.”
I was. Absolutely I was.
Was this guy playing me? Telling me what I wanted to know instead of what I need to know?
“And I believe my assumption is correct, that this meeting was more of an interview than an actual date,” he sighs, sitting back.
“Yes, you are correct,” I nodded, grateful when our waiter interrupted us then, asking us about wine and appetizers.
With a bottle of dry red on the table, we stared at each other all over again.
“I don’t know, I feel like you’re fucking with me,” I say honestly.
He grinned, a full, broad-mouthed smile at that.
“There’s that honesty I love,” he tells me before his smile disappeared again. “And that’s part of what this interview is about. Do you want to be fucked with, Ms. Wilder?”
“Adele, please. I feel old enough as it is sitting across from you. Calling me Ms. is making it worse.”
“Do you like wine, Adele?” he asked instead of responding to my comment.
“Of course I do,” I nodded, wondering where he’s going with the subject change.
“And how do you feel about grape juice?” he lifted a brow.
“It’s a child’s drink,”
“And am I a child?”
“God, I hope not.”
He clucked at that.
“So why is it you assume a man like me would prefer the young, overly sweet, childish fruit instead of a full bodied, floral, and slightly dry version that’s aged a little?”
The way he stared into my eyes, his almost whispered words sounding like sex as they slipped past his lips… It sent shivers through my entire body.
“Because you’re unspoiled,” was what popped out of my mouth.
He looked at me with a straight face for a full five seconds before he burst into a quiet laugh.
“How about we leave words like unspoiled, innocent, and the like out of our conversations, huh? I promise you, they don’t apply.”
“I meant by the world,” I added quickly, but he continued to shake his head.
“I haven’t been innocent in a long time, Adele. Now, enough about me. I want to know why you called me.”
I gulped.
His gaze is still piercing, like he could see my mind and knew my answers before I even spoke them.
It was a little disconcerting.
Sure, it was probably part of his job, knowing what a woman wanted, but it seriously didn’t seem like he was trying to impress me. Maybe this was just a courtesy meeting but he wasn't taking on new clients.
“Are you just humoring me, then?”
“Humoring you? I asked you a simple question.”
“I don’t know, I thought you’d be more… pleasant.”
“Pleasant? Is that what you want?”
“What, I get to pick my own hooker?”
I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.
“You already did,” he said in a firm voice, the humor gone. “And you picked the best. All I want to know is if you want a quick, dirty fuck or are you looking for the boyfriend experience?”
Ok, so all the façade was gone now, and this was the businessman come out to play.
Good. I knew how to handle businessmen.
“That’s a very good question,” I agreed. “Now, why don’t you tell me what each of those things entail?”
He sighed and sat back, taking up his glass of wine and sipped.
“It’s what I’ve been trying to ask you, Adele, but you don’t seem to want to answer. Or maybe you don’t quite know yourself why you called. So I’ll tell you this. Women call me for one of two reasons. The first, and more usual, is they’re dissatisfied with their life. They want to have hot, sweaty sex with a younger man who knows how to please them. Then there’s the other type who likes the sex, but it’s more about loneliness, companionship, and the company they can guarantee with me. I know how to have fun, and I know when to shut the fuck up. I’m a good listener, whether that sounds cheesy or not, and I can make a woman feel good in many, many different ways. So the question I ask, I’ll ask again. Which are you?”
His rugged face was intent now, no anger there, or annoyance. He seemed like he was laying it all on the table for me with pure honesty.
“My mother died,” I told him, feeling my throat choke up. “She was everything to me, besides my business.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says in a low voice, pure sympathy radiating through his words.
“It’s been four months and I...I can’t stand the quiet anymore. I guess Rachel, she just thought that I could use a good lay and things would go back to normal, but that’s not what I want. I want someone who I can trust, who will be with me whether I’m old or rich or poor... ”
Raising an eyebrow he said, “You do realize you’d be paying
me, right?”
“Right. But at least I know what I’m getting. I won’t make the mistake of falling in love with someone only interested in what I have, not who I am.”
He nodded.
“So you’re looking for the boyfriend experience.”
“I...sure. I guess so. I’ll defer to you on that, I suppose.”
“Good. You’ll need to defer a lot if we’re going to be seeing each other more.”
The wicked gleam in his eyes made me go red.
“I like that too, by the way,” he gave me that small smile.
Smirk, really.
“Nervousness is almost as good as that sweet little blush you have going on.”
And of course, my cheeks went redder and his smirk grew a little, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Are you ever not an asshole?” I ask him with my own smirk, feeling the warmth of my blush seep onto my neck and chest.
“Occasionally. But I wouldn’t count on seeing it if I were you.”
Just like that he flicked his hand up and our waiter moved over like he’s drawn to the magnetic being that was Serge...whatever his last name was.
“Filet, and Adele will have the same.”
The waiter nodded and left as Serge turned back to me.
“I don’t even get to order my own food?” I asked in disbelief.
“Is that a deal breaker?” he teased. “Because you’d better get used to that, too.”
Chills rolled through me at the promise in that one statement. Dirty, secret promises meant only for me.
We enjoyed a nice steak dinner, though it was kind of a waste of Mon Chou to have steak instead of chicken or fish, but it was delicious and red meat was a pleasure I only enjoyed occasionally.
“The check, please,” Serge asked the waiter who brought out the little black book.
I reached for it, but he quirked his brow like he was curious what the hell I was doing.
“I thought since it was a...” I started, but he abruptly cut me off.
“The man pays for the date, Adele. Get used to that, too.”
He shifted in his seat, pulling out his wallet and slipping a black card into the book. The waiter took it quickly and discreetly while we stared at each other again.
“I get the feeling that you’re afraid of me,” he said finally.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said quickly, “I-I just don’t know what to make of you. Or any of this.”
He leaned forward a bit, his eyes dipping just a moment to my lips as he drew his tongue across his own.
“I’ve done this plenty. Just let me lead, alright? Can you trust me enough to let me lead?”
“I don’t even know you, Serge,” I commented eventually.
“And what would you like to know? What would make you feel safer?”
“Well, your last name, for starters,” I told him.
He hummed.
After the waiter came back with the little black book, Serge took it from him and opened it, taking the card out.
He looked at it for a second, then flung it across the table toward me. It landed just in front of me, black and metallic looking with the words Sergei Volkov written on the bottom of the card.
“Russian?” I asked him and he nodded.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I picked up the card and handed it back to him.
“Well, nice to meet you officially, Mr. Volkov.”
“It’s Volkov,” he corrects with a perfect accent, making it sound like Vool-kov.
“My apologies. Mr. Voolkov,” I tried his name again and it sounded like I had a baseball in my mouth that I was trying to speak around.
He smiled at that and put the card back into his black leather wallet, retrieving some cash and tossing it onto the table as a tip.
“Let’s get going,” he said with a low voice before standing and putting his hand out for me.
I took it and followed him out.
So far, this did not turn out at all like how I imagined it would. I guess I’d imagined him to be somewhat James Bond-like. Smooth, experienced, confident and seductive.
Not only was Serge incredibly young, but he had a bite I didn’t anticipate. He was impulsive, but suave and observant as I would expect a man in his...occupation, would be.
I was supposed to be paying him, but he was the one who paid for dinner.
We got onto the sidewalk, busy and cold with fall really settling in, but he didn't let go of my hand.
“I have an apartment not too far from here,” he told me a minute later, hand up to grab a taxi.
“I have a driver. And I don’t want to go home with you.”
He dropped his hand and looked at me in shock.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, I only wanted to get to know you first. See if we’re compatible.”
He dipped his chin and sighed.
“So you’re going to make me wait for it, then?” he smirked.
“I might make you wait forever,” I tell him as I got out my phone to call my driver.
My car pulled up a few minutes later and we got in.
“So how much do I owe you for tonight?” I ask him, getting out the yellow envelope he told me to bring.
“For tonight?” he asked, sounding taken back. “Nothing. So long as you’ll promise me that I’ll see you again.”
“Nothing?” I paused amidst yanking the envelope out of my purse.
He took the envelope from my hands gently, opened the flap and looked inside, doing a cursory glance at the cash inside.
“Save this for next time,” he told me, looking me in the eye as he pushed the envelope back into my hands.
“What kind of escort are you?” I asked with a laugh. “Refusing to get paid? I mean, you even bought me dinner. Let me at least pay you back for that.”
“Consider it an investment in our future,” he winked at me before tapping on the window between us and the driver.
We pulled over and Serge stepped out of the car.
“My fee is five thousand for the boyfriend experience. You get me all evening, night, and through breakfast. We can do whatever you want, and I won’t pressure you for anything you don’t. You understand?”
I just nodded silently.
“You’ve got my number. Use it,” is all he said before winking again and closing the door.
I watched him flip his collar up as he walked away, those charcoal grey pants clinging to a fine butt and giving me a peek of the magnificent form of beauty underneath that soft wool.
I think maybe I’m an idiot...to say no when he invited me back to his apartment. But all I could think of were other girls going there and doing explicit things to him and his sheets.
The thought was like shooting ice through my veins, drying up the waterfall that was starting to accumulate between my legs.
I would have to take time time and consider it. Maybe he’d be a good thing to ground me again, or maybe he would be the worst thing ever and I’d find myself in trouble somehow.
Just by paying him for services, I was committing a federal crime. Seriously. Why anybody should be told how they can use their body is beyond me, but a law is a law.
As it was, he saved me from having that stain tonight, not accepting payment for his time, and making what we did a sort of date instead. But was I prepared to do that?
The memory of his hands as he ordered for us or waved down the taxi… they looked so capable and strong. His icy blue eyes could see through me, and nobody had ever been able to do that but my mom.
He drew me in, my curiosity and my body, both intent on unwrapping the enigma that was Sergei Volkov.
But I needed to think about it. A lot. I couldn’t decide on something so big in so short a time. And maybe I should have a little talk with Rachel about the guy.
Chapter Four
Serge
Getting home from my sort of but not really, date that ended kind of disastrously, I dragged m
y coat off and dropped it on the floor.
Shit, I couldn’t believe how the night had turned out. I hadn’t ended a date like that, going to bed alone, in...years. Was I losing my edge? Or maybe she just wasn’t all in. Maybe it was a fantasy for her and she just lost her nerve.
Either way, I had a raging hard-on that wasn’t going away. So I took matters into my own hands, something I did rarely because, why would I? I got into the shower and fisted myself, jerking off until I was finally comfortable again. Maybe it was a mix of the beautiful woman I was out with, and the blue balls I had to deal with after Maggie had left the night before.
Not that it mattered.
My job was to make them feel good, not the other way around. But that’s why I was the head whore in New York. My ladies left fulfilled but also wanting more, and I was willing to give it to them at almost any cost, but at a top-notch price.
Relieved after my shower, if not still unsatisfied, I crawled naked into my bed and considered what I’d done wrong during our...meeting. Adele was right. I acted a bit like an asshole the whole time, and that wasn’t me. Or rather, it was me, but I didn’t give my clients the real me.
But somehow I just knew that Adele was a no-nonsense woman and if I did my whole James Bond shtick on her, she’d have run for the hills. She wanted real, and she was looking in the absolute wrong place for it. So I gave her real and I likely wouldn’t see her again because of it.
I paid for her dinner, which I did every time I went out as part of the ‘experience’, but I didn’t ask for payment. Last thing I needed was a liability out there, especially since she hadn’t signed the NDA yet. A stack of them were stapled and ready for new clients in a drawer in my entertaining suite, but she didn’t want to go home with me.
Why? I’d yet to figure that out. She'd looked at me like a starving kitten all night, eyes wide and intrigued and fucking turned on, but when it came down to it, she turned me down.
To say it stung would not be an exaggeration.
Adele had classic beauty, natural and not from a tube or a needle.
Think Sandra Bullock in her early forties.
Yeah, tell me about it. Sexy as fuck, but she didn’t want my dick tonight so, well, I just had to deal with that.
