Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"Do you like to play music?" she asks.
"Not this time."
So maybe next time. I'm not sure why I like the sound of it. Because she sees through me maybe. Because that never happens.
"I can lead." I try to find just the right mix of softness and hardness. To show I want her, badly, but I'm willing to wait until she's ready. "But I'd rather you show me how you like to be touched. To be teased."
"Do you kiss?" she asks.
It's a stereotype that escorts don't kiss on the mouth. Some don't. I do. "I love to kiss."
She takes a half step towards me. She stands a little straighter, so we're eye in eye. She's a tall woman, and she's wearing wedges. There is something sexy about her stature, her confidence.
Her.
Her green eyes meet mine. Her hand goes to my chest. First, her palm, flat against my suit jacket. Then her fingers roll over the wool.
Her eyelids flutter together.
Her lips meet mine.
A soft hint of a kiss. The taste of juniper and lime on her lips. Gin. It's never been my drink, but at the moment, I see the appeal.
She pulls back with a soft sigh, then she goes back in. Another brush of her lips. A little firmer. A little longer.
This time, her lips curl around my top lip. She sucks softly. Then it's a soft scrape of her tongue.
When she pulls back, she looks up at me, to see where I am. If I'm falling under her spell.
Usually, this is where I play up my interest. With her, I'm not sure how to act.
She doesn't want bullshit. So there's no need to fake it.
It's not as if I'm struggling to enjoy myself. I can show her I want her the, well, normal amount.
Well—
Maybe a little more.
The average red-blooded man isn't fucking for pay as many times a week as I am.
I copy her gesture. I place my hand on her shoulder, running my thumb over her collarbone as I bring my lips to hers.
A soft kiss to start. Then a little harder. My lips around hers.
She groans as I scrape my teeth against her bottom lip. She melts into the kiss for one sweet moment, then she pulls back and looks up at me again.
A little less nervous.
A little more entranced.
She repeats the exercise again. The same firm, demanding kiss, only this time, her lips part. Her tongue slips into my mouth. She explores gently.
I don't wait for her to finish to match her gesture. I kiss her back, my tongue swirling around hers, my thumb tracing her collarbone.
This time, she doesn't pull back.
She melts into the kiss.
I take my time touching her. A soft brush of my fingers against her neck. My palm against her waist. Low back. Hip.
Ass.
She groans as I cup her flesh with my palm. Over her dress at first.
Then under it.
Only a thin layer of cotton between my skin and hers.
She shifts us to the bed, pushing me into a seated position and climbing on top of me. "Not yet." She takes my hand and brings it to her chest. "This first."
"Show me."
She nods as she reaches behind her back, undoing the zipper of her dress. She pushes one strap off her shoulder. Then the other.
Ivy looks me in the eyes as she peels her fabric down her chest. She does it slowly, like she's unwrapping a gift.
This is why women hire me.
Because most men would grab at her tits right away. Or take off their pants. Move straight to fucking.
It's not out of malice. They're eager. Maybe nervous about their own stamina.
But it means those women don't get what they want. They're always rushed. They're always on someone else's terms.
I was one of those men, when I was younger. Before I learned how to enjoy the anticipation.
It's like watching a mystery.
Yes, I want to find out who did it. But that feeling of wanting it—
Needing to know—
Craving that information—
That's the best part.
You don't read a book and skip to the end. You enjoy every fucking page.
I look up at Ivy, take in the sight of this beautiful, successful woman staring at me like I'm the only thing she needs.
Desire spreads over her expression as she wraps her fingers around my wrist and brings my hand to her chest.
This is the best part of my job. I don't stop and enjoy it often enough.
It's like anything. I get caught up in the grind. Stop remembering how good it feels to make someone come.
But it feels fucking good. Sometimes, at least.
I cup her breast and run my thumb over her nipple. "Softer or harder?" It's always better to offer a choice between too options than say how is that. Then, people are invited to ask for more or less.
"Harder," she groans.
I make my touch a little harder. "Harder?"