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“Well, thank you,” she cooed, that Georgia sweetness dripping from her tongue.
“What do you enjoy doing when you're not working here?”
“I like taking baths.”
“Baths?” Great writing, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.
“Yes, if I ever have enough money to go on a nice vacation, I’d want to stay in one of those fancy hotels with a big bathtub, the old-fashioned kind. I’d undress slowly in front of one of those ornate gold mirrors, watching the clothes fall from my body and drop onto the floor while the bath is running, then slip into it, putting my feet up to the running water as lavender bath salts melted, infusing the lush fragrance into my pores. I’d breathe in the smell, maybe sip some Champagne. Then I suppose I’d read a book, something deliciously torrid.”
Clearing his throat, he says… I cleared my throat. Damn that accent! “Would you be alone in this endeavor, or do you see a man with you?” he asked casually, his eyes peering over the coffee cup. “Wait,” I blurted out, grabbing my mug from the small table. Scooting back on the bed, I said, “Okay, going to do that line again.” I repeated it, “Would you be alone in this endeavor, or do you see a man with you?” I mimicked the directions, peering lasciviously (a fancy way of saying look at her like you want to fuck her, pretty easy) over my cup. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. Damn if that didn’t make me swell a little inside.
She giggles, her hand to her mouth, eyes moving around the café. “Yes, I would so love a man to bring me a glass of bubbly after I enjoy myself and my book.”
He makes a low sound in his throat, his tone darkening. “Anyone in particular?” He sets the coffee cup down on the table, rests his hand near it, and looks into her face.
“Well yes, someone I have met a few times, exchanged a few pleasantries with, but do not know.”
“Would you like to get to know him in a fancy hotel room, drinking expensive Champagne?”
“That seems like the perfect place to get to know someone I’ve been thinking about.” A voice calls for her across the café. “Oh, excuse me, here’s your check,” she says.
The man reaches for it, purposely overreaching so that their fingers touch, lingering for a second. The camera pans to their hands…From off camera, he says, “I’ll be sure and take care of it.” He rubs his fingers over hers.
She gasps, smiles coyly, and says, “I need to get to the other tables.”
“Well, that’s the opening scene…very PG…” Rakell emphasized that point. Her sugary accent evaporated. “What do you think?” she asked excitedly, wiggling her legs on the bed.
Holy fuck, what did I think? That was the opening scene? More importantly, that was the PG scene? I fucking wanted to read the script. That scene—how she delivered her lines would make me run to the nearest theater—if it weren’t the woman I love. Any other woman…delivering those lines, those illicit tits daring the onlooker, working with those sultry moss green eyes, almost cat-like, and that thing she did with her tongue, subtly darting it out of her mouth, wetting her lower lip. She only did it twice. Still, I know what everyone in the audience would imagine. Combine all those sexy non-verbals with that accent, sugary with a spicy hidden layer. Hell, I’d run away with that waitress. I coughed before making a low, gruff sound in my throat. “So, that’s the PG scene? I want more…” I grabbed her wrists with both hands, “Give me more, darlin’.”
“Noooo!” She squealed, shaking her head, trying to break free from my cuff-like hold on her hands, but the more she twisted, the firmer I squeezed. She shifted her body and leaned toward me, her eyes dropping to my fingers wrapped around her wrists. “Is that what you’re into?” she hushed, eyes sifting over my face as if searching for an answer, but I couldn’t read her expression.
If I told the truth right now, if I said, Hell yeah, but only if the girl likes it, would that lead to more questions about my past interludes? Would I have to reveal how I’d been with a few women who’d requested they be tied up? Had I thought about getting fucking kinky with this girl, pretty much every night alone, as I fisted my cock and pictured cuffing her to my bed in Sacramento? My bed had been custom designed with black wrought iron branches leading to a canopy that expanded into smaller branches with leaves overhead. I’d imagined her cuffed to one of the tall bed posts, completely naked except for black high heels, legs spread as I toyed with her body, spanking her fleshy ass just to watch the cheeks pink up before pulling them apart, tickling that rosebud, relishing in the sight of her hips arching up while skimming my knuckles over her sex and up her abdomen, leaving a trail of her juices before pinching those fucking gorgeous nips, listening to her squeal, not relenting until she begged to be fucked any way I wanted.
“Mmmm…” I stalled, loosening my grip, freeing her, twisting some version of the truth tainted with a slight lie in my head, calculating how to say what I’d been thinking, knowing she had an uncanny ability to see beyond my words. “Truthfully,” I started, opening my fingers, rubbing her wrists, “I may have thought about doing that sort of stuff with you, but it’s not something I would say I was into.” An imagined version of her escort life moved into my frontal lobe like an X-rated movie on repeat, something akin to 9 1/2 Weeks. She’d probably been tied up. Most likely, men had paid to live out their sordid fantasies on that sexy as fuck body, spanked her, kneaded her flesh, sprayed cum all over her face, chest, ass... Still, the night they’d celebrated his Super Bowl win at her apartment, she said that she’d never done anal…isn’t that what she’d indicated? Was she telling the truth? No client ever pushed for that? She’d shared crumbs about life as an escort, but just like the scene we’d rehearsed, I knew there must be salacious stuff lurking behind those tidbits. I had to be different, to be the guy who cared more about her person than her body. Fuck, this was rough.
She ran the nail of her pointer finger along her lower lip. Her eyes skittered around the room. “I’m guessing you're not into kinky stuff…toys, and…” Her voice dropped off, her expression offering nothing.
Does she like it, is she pissed? Measuring my explanation, I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m trying to be honest here. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be open to that with you, but only with you,” I added emphatically.
Her eyes pierced mine as if scouring my brain. A knowing glint lit up her pupils. “Well, okay, mate.” She twisted a lock of her messy hair between her fingers. “I suppose for me it was simpler then because I knew the profile of the men ahead of time, so I could match their preferences, no hidden expectations…like in real life.” She quietly chuckled to herself, her eyes dropping to the bed. “It’s easier when they fill out a likes and dislikes questionnaire, to which an escort can agree or decline.”
My heart thudded against my chest, my pulse quickening. Maybe I did not want to know more about her life before me. I forced a neutral expression, tilting my head and relaxing my jaw. I pictured the questionnaire in my head…and how I would answer that.
Still twisting her hair, she added, “I should compile a questionnaire for you, Mr. Skyler, so I don’t have to guess.”
“Really, you think I’d fill out some bullshit form to be with you?” I scoffed, picturing how my profile would read.
Watching porn: with you…check
Tying you up: so, I have complete control…definitely into that
Spreader bar: so I can have full access…check
A cadre of toys: titty clamps, butt plugs, vibrators…the more the merrier
Dominating you: I’d been trained by some pretty amazing women: I'm pretty sure I could have you begging
Anal: Yes please, think about it all the time
