My Gigolo (5 page)

“Yeah.”

“If I go too fast?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you don’t like—”

“Get to it, already.”

He grinned. “You’re the boss.”

His shirt joined hers on the floor. Her jeans, fully a size too large and hanging low on her hips even when buttoned and zipped, quickly topped the pile, followed by shoes and socks. She stood before him in plain white panties and a serviceable but not fancy white bra. She did have curves, he was pleased to note, but her tone was more athletic than sexy. She wasn’t tall enough to be a beanpole, but neither was she short enough to be a runt. She was…average, if a little small in the bust. Nothing he couldn’t work with, but nothing he would have noticed outside a call.

She reached to unbutton his fly, her fingers hesitant, and he obligingly tilted his hips forward to help, flexing his six-pack for effect. Her blush deepened, but she managed both the button and the zipper and his jeans fell away, pooling at his feet. He hadn’t thought to take off his boots when he’d bent to untie her shoes earlier, but he liked the thought of her kneeling down to do it herself. Even if she never so much as breathed on him from that vantage, the sight would do wonders for the arousal already stretching his boxer briefs.

He grinned when he realized she’d noticed said arousal. He chuckled, and she jerked her eyes up to his, blushing until he almost felt the heat from her cheeks.

“I know it’s not a g-string, but Mike did say to dress casual.”

“I don’t think you could fit that into a g-string.” Her voice sounded hoarse, but she tilted her head and looked back down with every evidence of nonchalance. “At least, not comfortably.”

He chuckled, resting his hands on her upper arms. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Now, if you’ll just help me with my boots…”

“Oh, sure.”

She knelt and fumbled with the laces, and instead of the rush of sexual awareness he expected as he watched, he felt something else. Something…different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, couldn’t pin it down. His arousal did indeed swell and twitch with it, but it wasn’t the pure sex he usually felt.

Thrown off his stride a bit, he lifted his feet out of his boots one at a time, kicked his jeans over to the growing pile of discarded clothes, then merely stared down at her as she stared up at him. He didn’t know what to expect from her, and the thought was disturbing. A good kind of disturbing, if there was such a thing.

“Should I…?”

He groaned as his erection pulsed with the open-ended invitation. He knew she didn’t mean what he wanted, that she just wanted to take off his underwear, but the possibility sent a throb through his whole body.

Not quite as hesitant this time, she reached up and ran her palm over the aching bulge distending his boxer briefs. He hissed in a gasp at the contact. He’d felt it a million times, but it never got old. A woman’s touch, the rush of blood and sensation, the knowledge of what was to come. That old, familiar feeling.

And then her lips replaced her hand, and his knees buckled, startling a grunt from him. Warm and moist even through the cotton of his drawers, those lips pressed against that hot, sensitive part of him, pressed again, then stroked up to his waistband, where her fingers joined them.

It was too much. He reached down and grasped her wrists, pulling her hands away. She looked up at him, confused and a little wary, her lips safely away from him.

Forcing a half-grin, he tried to remember how to breathe. “If you do that, you won’t get hard and fast.” He tried the smile again, and it felt more real when she quirked her crooked grin up at him. “Well, you’ll get
fast
, but—”

“Say no more.”

Still gripping her wrists, he tugged her to her feet and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing her up against him. He’d felt silkier skin, but not by much, and he liked her muscle tone—not bulging or unfeminine, by any stretch, but tougher and leaner than any of his current clients.

He unhooked her bra, spilling her small breasts against his chest, and was pleased to find that she had more than he’d given her credit for. She wasn’t busty, but her firm, high breasts fit nicely in his hands. Apparently, she liked the fit, too.

Her head dropped back, her lips parting on a sigh. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, and she trembled against him, her hands spreading wide over his lower back and pulling his hips tight against hers.

“Hard and fast, remember?” Her voice was breathy and a bit higher in register.

He leaned down to brush his lips over the little hollow between her collarbones. “Hard and fast doesn’t preempt a little preparation.”

She made some soft sound in her throat and lifted her hands to his shoulder blades, digging in a bit with her fingertips. Her hips swiveled until they cradled his own more comfortably, pressing just so against her. He groaned, reluctantly giving up on teasing her. Her panties disappeared in a wisp of cool air, and he ground his aching, still-clothed erection against her bare sex.

“Condom?”

“In my jeans.”

“Better get it.”

Sighing against her throat, he grudgingly admitted that she was right. If she let him, he’d forget all about protection for the first time in his career. She wanted hard and fast, and all of his attempts to go slowly hadn’t kept her from hurrying him along enough to get to third base without a thought for the pack of condoms in his back pocket.

He pulled away and groped for his jeans, reluctant to let her out of his sight. He doubted she’d bolt if he took his eyes off of her, but she was unpredictable. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what a woman in his care would do.

The box didn’t seem to want to come out of his jeans pocket, though, so he finally looked down and freed the stubborn corner. He stood and fished out one of the little packets with amused frustration. While he didn’t doubt the necessity for protection on both sides of the sexual fence, he had never liked condoms—though he was proud that he had to buy the extra large ones.

The bed rustled, and he jerked his gaze over at her to make sure she hadn’t changed her mind. But she’d only sat on the edge, pulling one foot up and wrapping her arms around her shin. The pose, innocent despite her nudity, again caused that rush of unnamed, non-sexual feeling. She just looked…precious. Not vulnerable, but adorable.

“A whole box, huh?”

He smiled, the expression softer than it should be, what with a naked and willing woman waiting for him on a bed.

“Two hours is a long time.”

She glanced at the clock, then dropped her foot to the floor and leaned back on her palms. “Looks like you’re down to twenty minutes, pal.”

Dropping the box onto the clothes pile, he shook his head. “Damn cookies.”

She grinned, then caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked him over from toes to bedhead. He hoped she never found out how hard it was to coax his stupid waves into a stylish yet touchable tousle. An odd thought, that.

“You have excellent proportion going…um…what was your name again?”

He flexed, strangely pleased with the compliment. “Blade. And thanks.”

She snorted. “I am so not screaming
oh, Blade!
when I come. I guess I’ll just have to yell for the generic gigolo.”

That startled another laugh out of him. “I prefer the term ‘escort’.” He eased his boxer briefs down over his hips and dropped them to the floor.

“My bad.”

The words were light enough, but her voice was again slightly breathless. He looked up to savor her admiration. For some reason, it seemed hard-won.

“I guess
oh, escort!
will have to do.”

An impulse struck him and he went with it, trusting his instincts when all rational sense told him to just keep his mouth shut.

“My name’s Jack.”

She blinked slowly, then stood and stepped close. He stared down at her, his face carefully expressionless. After a long moment of charged silence, she abruptly smiled and put out her hand. Bemused and a little wary, he took it in his own. She pumped it twice, very businesslike.

“Pleased to meet you, Jack. Can I help you on with that condom, already?”

She didn’t quite ache with need, but all the dilly-dallying made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to make love; she wanted to have sex. She didn’t want kisses on the back of her neck or a lot of intimate touching and stroking and petting.

When he finally lay over her, blanketing her with muscled, masculine heat, she opened to him eagerly, wanting him inside her so bad she couldn’t stand it. And still he tarried, reaching between them to stroke her first. She understood the gesture, logically knew she’d need a little preparation for someone so large, but still she chafed.

It all felt so personal. He was supposed to be impersonal.

Finally, he moved to get down to business, and she arched up to meet him. His girth stretched her almost too much, but she didn’t care. Moaning, she wrapped her legs around his waist when it seemed he would pull back before seating himself fully. She didn’t want careful or considerate. She wanted all of him.

He rumbled deep in his chest and pressed farther in. “Gabe—”

“Don’t stop. Please.”

And still he pushed in, filling her until she couldn’t take any more, then filling her more anyway. She gasped as he finally lay fully against her, wrapping his arms around her and shuddering. She held him close and reveled in the flex and pull of muscle against her. It had been too long.

“I can see why a guy wouldn’t want to go hard and fast on you. You’re too tight for it.”

She shivered as his warm, moist breath tickled her neck. “Not really. You’re just bigger than I’m used to.”

She felt his smile, heard it in his voice. “More flattery? Doesn’t seem like your style.”

A chuckle escaped her, though it was hard to breathe with him hard and heavy and waiting inside her. “Anything to get you to move.”

“No patience.”

“I left patience in the kitchen. Get to it, Jack.”

He pulled almost all the way out, bracing his arms to stare down at her. “Hard and fast?”

She nodded. He complied.

The thrust nearly brought a cry from her throat, but she choked it back, afraid he’d think it hurt. It didn’t hurt. It felt wonderful.

Felt pretty damn good the second time, too.

Her legs tightened as each thrust burned up her spine, wringing moans from her throat. At the nadir of every pass, he gave a little twist of his hips that ground him inside her and touched something she’d never felt before. She didn’t know—and didn’t really care—if it was his size or his expertise, but she felt orgasm creep nearer with each slap of his body against hers.

Too soon. It was too soon. If she came now…

But she couldn’t stop it or the cry it caused as her body locked up, her fingertips digging into the flexing muscle of his butt. He gave a hoarse shout, his head flinging back as his thrusts sped up. His hips bucked against hers, out of rhythm until the crest of climax passed and she loosened around him. It built again almost instantly, though, the pressure coiling inside her with every impossible thrust.

“Jack, I can’t…
Jack
!”

“Gabe—”

He kissed her hard, his full lips pressing hers back against her teeth until she opened to him. His tongue stroked hers, his soft grunts of exertion thrumming in her throat until they felt like her own. Maybe they were. His hand crept between them, his thumb stroking over the most sensitive part of her, and she came again, howling into his mouth with the force of it.

His back bowed as she clenched down on him, and she flung her head back into the pillow, her sweaty hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead. Too much. Far too much.

“God, Gabe, I can’t stop it…”

Growling deep in his chest, he shifted until he sat back on his heels, wrapped both arms around her lower back, and pulled her up off the bed and into his lap. He thrust like he was trying to come out the other side, and she came apart, tears squeezing out between her clenched eyelids.

Incapable of speech, she cried out inarticulately, bent backwards almost double, her hands scrabbling for the pillow, for the headboard, for anything to grab onto as his orgasm flung her over some unknowable edge and into the dark.

And then he lay over her, his bulk anchoring her back where she belonged. He whispered her name and swiped with gentle, trembling fingers at the hair stuck to her face. She wanted to say something, to thank him for the incredible experience, but she didn’t seem to have any words at her disposal. Nothing sounded right in her head. What was she supposed to say after something like that?

Afraid to blurt something stupid, she kept her mouth shut and wrapped her arms around him, luxuriating in the barely-remembered feel of a heavy body in and around her. She had missed it, she realized. Not just the sex, but the lying around, the relaxing, the sweat and heat and press of a man in her bed.

Was this what Mike had wanted for her?

She lay still, staring up at the ceiling with a lopsided grin on her lips, and ran her hand through his hair for a quiet eternity until he stirred, pulling back just enough to smile nervously down at her. She frowned, wondering why he should be nervous
now
, of all times.

“Gabe?” Even his voice sounded nervous, a complete one-eighty from his earlier cocky good cheer. “Um…this may be kind of a weird question, but…can I stay?”

She blinked. Stay?

He shifted, shivering as he moved inside her and she tightened involuntarily. Oh, that felt nice.

“Can I stay here? Just…tonight, you know? So I don’t have to drive back?”

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Back to the pidgin. Could she possibly be hearing him right?

“You want to spend the night?”

He nodded, though his eyes searched her face warily. “Yeah.”

“Is that extra?”

But she regretted the question before she even finished asking it. It seemed rude, somehow. He didn’t look offended, but how could she really tell? She didn’t know him, didn’t have any way of knowing what went on behind those pretty green eyes.