I smile, wanting to pat my shoulder. I'm pretty proud of myself for that one.
Philips cheeks burn with anger, and I feel satisfied that he looks like he’s about to explode. He's a fucking prick, the kind I have no patience for. Straightening his back, he turns and stalks off with the stick still in his ass.
James doesn't say anything, and I'm almost afraid to look at him. I'm certain he's going to report my behavior to Christine. It's going to suck getting fired from escorting for running my mouth.
"Finish your drink. Let's go," he says low and near my ear, and my heart plummets. I was actually having a good time until that fuckwad came over. I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, upset I let that asshole get the best of me.
Buttoning the middle of his suit coat with one hand, his gold watch flashes in the corner of my eye. I look over, and catch a view of a tattoo on his wrist where his cufflinks are. I’m surprised that a man as polished as he is has a tattoo, but as I move to get a closer look, he drops his hand.
James finishes his drink in three large gulps, and I do the same. Taking my fingers between his, he walks us out of Bryant Park, and I'm thankful for my long legs that let me keep up with him. His gait is wide with determination and purpose. Probably trying to dump me as soon as possible.
My stomach is twisted with anxiety as I look ahead and see a tinted gray Rolls Royce at the curb. Now I wish I had kept my big mouth shut. As we reach the car, I open my mouth to apologize, but he spins me toward him and grabs both my cheeks, then smashes his mouth to mine in a bruising, fierce kiss. He doesn't ask. He just thrusts his tongue between my lips and kisses me hard.
I'm momentarily stunned. This is the last thing I would have expected, but I quickly react and kiss him back with the same intensity. The fine hair of his beard tickles my lips, igniting a fire and sending a heat straight to my core that I wasn't expecting. His tongue caresses mine with dominating strokes, causing my heart to race in response. I reach for him, gripping the lapels of his suit.
"I've never had a woman talk about me like that," he says, breaking the kiss. "Not in public, at least."
Here it comes. My heart is pounding in fear and I know I'm going to get the boot.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it was out of line—"
"Don't apologize. I like seeing a woman able to hold her own. The shy and mild don't do it for me."
I look back and forth between his eyes and notice they’ve darkened to sapphires.
"You're not embarrassed? Mad? Reporting me to Christine?"
A look of confusion crosses his face and he pulls back. "Why would I be embarrassed?" Taking my hand, he brazenly places it on his rock-hard cock. "Does this feel like I’m mad, Valentina?"
My cheeks heat at his boldness, but I love it.
I purposely run my fingers down his length and his eyes flicker with lust. At least I hadn’t lied back there. He is hung. Jesus.
I pull away. "I spoke up when I shouldn't have. I talked about the size of your dick in a public setting at a work-related event." My body starts to shake thinking about all of the money I’m about to lose. Christine made it clear she doesn't do refunds.
The corners of James's lips twist into a hot smirk. "See? This is why I'm keeping you. I can already tell you have no issue speaking up or saying what's on your mind. Let me tell you something, Valentina. Confidence and having a brain is a fucking turn on. And as you can tell, I am hung like a fucking animal. Philip is a bastard and needed to be put in his place."
James places his hand at the small of my back and ushers me into the backseat. He follows and sits next to me, then shuts the door.
"I'm so confused right now. I thought you couldn’t leave."
"Aureole, please," he says to the driver, then he looks at me like he's keeping a juicy secret to himself.
I want to ask him more, push to know why he isn't getting rid of me, but I don't. My gaze drops to his mouth. There's red lipstick on his lips—my lipstick—a stark contrast against his beard. I reach over and wipe it with my thumb, then rub my fingers together to smear it away. His lips are full and plump, which I didn't realize at first. It makes me want to kiss him again. I look up and find his eyes fixated intensely on me. Blinking, I give him a timid smile.
"You looked like you were wearing lipstick. It was on your beard too, but I got it off."
Three hours later and half a bottle of cognac gone, I'm way more than tipsy. Though it’s a smooth, refined kind of tipsy that gets the heat flowing through my veins. I like it. I’m relaxed, sated, and I don't have the urge to get my eagle on.
I guess this is the kind of boozing that wealth buys, not vodka by P. Diddy that makes me want to dance naked.
We're sitting next to each other in this underground, private room at an upscale restaurant I've never heard of. Our arms are touching and I'm leaning into him, more comfortable in the moment than I ever imagined I would be with a client. We talk about the firm where he works and the type of law he practices, our favorite foods, and what we read. He reads boring books about stock trading and loves Italian food. I tell him about my love for smutty romance novels and any food that isn't ramen. He doesn't care for the law he practices but it makes him good money, so he stays. I obviously feel the same way about escorting, and despite the warning attitude from Christine, I tell him that, which doesn't seem to bother him one bit. It's easy, almost too easy for us.
I throw my legs over his muscled thigh so my high-heeled feet dangle between his. James hasn't taken his hands off me since we got here, and there's an air about him that fascinates me. I like being next to him. I like the sexuality his body oozes, the way he looks at me with hunger when I lean forward and the material of my dress shifts, letting him see more of my breasts. He makes me feel wanted, not like I'm a doll to be played with. I study him. There seems to be nothing I can find wrong. I'm curious to learn more about who he is.
As he leans over to pour another glass of cognac, I stop him. I'm not supposed to get drunk, and since I'm not used to this warm, relaxed, alcohol-induced body high, I feel like I should slow down.
"No, no more for me. Thank you, though."
He grabs the bottle by the neck and says, "We're not done yet. We still have half a bottle left."
My eyes widen in shock. "You want to finish the bottle off?"
He looks at me like I’d just asked an obvious question. When he responds, he makes it more of a statement.
"Yes, we are."
My stomach is a cluster of knots. "James, I can't get drunk."
"You're not going to. I'm going to feed you, and then we're going to drink slowly and talk. I like talking to you, Valentina. I'm not ready for our time to be over."
I smile softly, and his gaze falls to my lips. He's laid back, much to my surprise for a New York City lawyer. If only all my jobs were like this. Then maybe there wouldn't be the constant battle between morality and survival raging inside of me, and it'd be more like two old friends hanging out.
James says he likes a girl who speaks her mind, so I decide to test it out by asking him something that's been weighing on my mind since earlier.
"Why are you sitting here wasting five hundred dollars drinking with me, a nobody? I'm just another girl trying to get by with selling her body to the highest bidder. Philip is right. I am a whore—"
His eyes darken. "Don't call yourself that."
"You'll probably never see me again after this, so why indulge in a rare bottle with someone like me? Why did you bring me here instead of to a hotel?"
He studies me. "Would you rather go to a hotel?"
No.
"I want to do whatever you want. I guess I'm just confused. Most men in this situation don't just want to talk. They want their dicks sucked."
Twenty-Three
The lines around his eyes deepen as he observes me. James isn't outwardly bothered by my honesty—he doesn’t even flinch—and I feel myself leaning into him more which confuses me. Small talk drives me crazy, b
ut then again our small talk doesn't feel like small talk.
My gaze takes in his wide chest, his suit jacket long forgotten, and I wonder what he looks like under the crisp, white fabric. I love a man in a white dress shirt, and James looks downright edible in his. My tongue runs over my bottom lip. I'm usually a pretty touchy-feely drunk girl, but this is different. The craving is simmering just below boiling point, and while I want to run my hands all over the hard planes of his chest while I’m waiting for a response, I don't.
I blink a few times, confused by my thoughts. Swallowing, I sit up a little straighter, reminding myself that this is nothing more than a job. I'm paid to give an illusion, and that's what I need to remember. Tomorrow I'll wake up Aubrey Abrams and I'll be taking a college exam and the spell with James will be broken when I get a text message from Madam Christine for my next job.
"Life is too short, Valentina."
He hands me a fresh glass and pours one for himself. I can smell the lilac and breathe it in. It's oddly peaceful.
"There's no price tag we can put on a moment that makes us feel good. You've made me feel alive today. I'm not stressing about work, what emails I need to respond to when tonight is over…what I'll go home to. There's no pressure on my chest like I'm fucking suffocating in this rat race city." He shakes his head and takes a sip. "Memories are priceless to me. Maybe years from now you'll come back here, and it'll spark a reminder of our time together. You may not remember everything that happened this day, but you'll feel it in your heart. Maybe one day, someone will wipe the lipstick from my lips and I'll remember how I had an entire bottle of cognac one Saturday afternoon with a gorgeous woman who mouthed off to a rival partner from a very large law firm. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can't buy moments, and those are priceless. Spending five hundred dollars on a bottle of liquor gave me an unexpected day that I'm probably going to remember for the rest of my life. I say it was worth it."
I blink, deeply moved by his words. It was the last thing I expected him to say and the tighten reaction in my chest catches me off guard.
James sets down his glass, then removes a cufflink. I watch as he rolls up his white sleeve, revealing a jungle of intricate, colorful tattoos that I marvel over. This wasn't done by any corner shop, but by a true artist who charged a shitload of money.
"This is why I’ve never gotten any tattoos," I find myself saying. "Well, one of the reasons. I don’t want one if it can't look this exquisite."
James turns his arm over and I see a quote amid the designs, tucked away so that only the people he chooses to show can see it.
"Life is a collection of moments," he reads. His voice washes over me and I lean in. "When I'm six feet under, my story will still be here because memories don't die. They'll live on."
I have an overwhelming urge to kiss him in this moment. I know I can't just do that, though, not unless he asks for it. Instead, I place my glass on the table next to his, then roll up his sleeve as far as his thick forearm allows, and take in his art.
"Are these all moments?" I ask, my fingers tracing over the lines. I'm in awe. I want to study his ink and unravel who this man is.
He widens his thighs, the material tightening around his legs. "Yes. Everything on my body has meaning."
Our eyes meet and I start breathing a little heavier. "You have more? Can I see?" My eyes drop to his chest and I wonder what he has hidden under that sexy shirt. "I want to know about all of your moments."
I wait, but he doesn't move. Glancing up, he tilts his head to the side, his experienced eyes focusing on my mouth. He blinks like he's deep in thought. With his other hand, he places his knuckles under my jaw and lifts my mouth to his ever so seductively slow that it takes my breath away.
James is a taker, and he slips his tongue between my lips without waiting for approval. I kiss him a little differently, not so detached in the way I am with the other clients or one-night stands, and stroke him with passion, pushing myself into him, letting myself revel in the moment. My hand on his ink moves, my nails delicately dancing over his skin. He cups my arm, the warmth of his touch surging into me. His kiss is potent, igniting a flurry of hunger in me. I rise up, and he's already moving his hands to my waist to lift me to straddle his hips.
I devour him with the same intensity he does me, which only backfires, making me weak for his skilled kisses. My fingers thread through his hair and his hands skim up my backside to cup my neck. He applies pressure and my body becomes pliant. I love a man with strength, and the way he's gripping my waist and neck makes me melt inside.
My backless dress is daring, and his fingers don't ignore an inch of it. I roll my hips into his, purring when I feel his erection straining against his zipper. He groans and I feel it vibrate in his chest. This connection between us isn't like my other jobs or quickies with randos. It's different, and I feel myself connecting more with him than any of the others.
Breaking the kiss, I'm breathing a little heavier than usual. "I want to see more of your moments. Show them to me. Please."
I'm too turned on by him and my head is too hazy to tell if I'm doing what I'm supposed to for him, rather than myself.
"I had other plans for you today, you know," he says, his voice hoarse and low, and God, I fucking love it so much. I love the way he's looking at my mouth as he talks to me. "I’d planned to just fuck you until you couldn't walk and then send you on home, but something tells me you're the kind of woman I'll need to spend hours upon hours pleasing."
"I think you drank too much," I giggle. "Why would you want to spend hours pleasing me? It’s my job to please you."
James looks at me, his hips still purposely moving into mine, teasing my already wet pussy. It's a slow, decadent roll and I give it back just as good as I’m getting. His eyes are heavy, and his hand on my lower back guides me into him as if we're fucking. I place a hand on his chest in an attempt to stop the climax that's building inside me and catch sight of another tattoo. My fingers move the collar of his shirt to get a better view and see that he has quite a few tattoos there. They all have meaning to him, he’d said, and I'm curious to know more.
"Because your pleasure is what turns me on. I can't fuck someone who doesn't feel as good as I do and get off on it. I need to feel you come on my cock. I need to see how you look, the expression on your face when I'm fucking you so hard that you beg me to stop. I want your back to arch so my dick goes deeper and I can feel your cum soaking my cock. I need to feel your pussy contracting as I come inside you. I can make you feel things you've never felt before, Valentina, but only if you let me. If you don't feel what I do when I’m fucking you, then there's no point." He pauses, and I'm fucking breathless.
No man has ever spoken to me like that—with heat that only an experienced man has ever felt—and I suddenly wonder why I've never been with someone older.
"I want you to feel as good as I do when we fuck, and trust me, we will fuck, Valentina. I'll never just expect you to satisfy me without making your time with me just as memorable. I want you to take as much as I give. I want to make you feel all those things, and in time, I think I can." His eyes shift back and forth between mine. "I don't know what it is about you, but I want the moment."
Leaning in, I kiss him harder than I’d ever planned to kiss a client, tugging on his bottom lip with my teeth. His words. Fucking hell, I like the way he talks to me. James has made it clear that he’s a take charge kind of guy, wanting to give and receive in the same fashion, and I respect that. I think about how he captures life in moments, and I realize that's something I want to start doing. I have the opportunity now with this job. Maybe I can even make moments with Grammy too.
I also want to give him a moment he'll never forget, so I deliberately kiss him like I'm a woman making intense love to his mouth and not just some cheap whore riding his cock. Kissing him deep and provocatively slow, I show him I'm as good as he thinks, and maybe even a little better.
Reaching between us, I run my fingers ove
r his bulge. His legs widen even farther in his seat and the material of his pants pull tight so I can get a good feel of his length. He's angled back but his body is wide and strong. I roll my hips into him like I'm giving a lap dance and kiss him deeper still.
James grabs my wrists and places them behind my back, securing them tightly. My eyes roll shut and I whimper at the feeling of being restrained by such a strong man. He threads his fingers through the my hair with his free hand and gives it a good tug, breaking our kiss. I arch my back and push my breasts forward. He doesn’t hold back as he bites one of my pointed nipples through the fabric of my dress.
My thighs clench and I let out a soft moan. James releases my nipple and licks a wet trail up the column of my neck, his teeth nipping my flesh along the way. His fingers loosen their hold in my hair and he guides me up to meet his gaze. Our eyes lock and something flashes in his, almost like awareness, but I'm not sure. Exhaling through parted lips, we breathe into each other. I'm turned on, wanting to come just like this.
"That look right there is what's got my dick hard. Your body responding to my touch. You feel good and I feel good, sweetheart. It's that simple," he says, his voice raw and hot.
I love the way he talks. He's so New York and has that natural swagger to him, even when he's simply speaking.
I have to get my bearings together and get his focus off me. It's too much and I don't know where to go from here. I wish there was a handbook for times like this. Then again, how often is someone in my line of work actually attracted to their client?
"James, let me make you feel good," I say, a little breathless. "I bet I can make you feel better than anyone else ever has."
I tug on my wrists, but he holds them tighter. A shiver rolls through me. Under normal circumstances I'd be filled with panic, but for some reason, I'm not afraid of James.
Hush, Hush Page 14
