Page 53 of At His Beck & Call

“Are you uncomfortable?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can think them through, and she pauses, standing in her underwear, glancing up at me with wide, worried eyes. I curse inwardly.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Lissa. But you don’t look as if you like this part.”

Her hands drop in front of her, looking down at her clothes almost longingly. She clears her throat.

“You don’t take your clothes off and…” she says in a small voice as my gut clenches. “I don’t mind, but I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

She shrugs. “I don’t like my body.”

For a long time, I can’t speak, astounded by her confession. That it should come from an escort is surprising enough, but from such a gloriously beautiful woman is mind-blowing.

“Why not?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“I… I just never have.” She bites her lip, scratching awkwardly at her arm. “Sorry. I suppose that’s not something you want to hear.”

“Lissa, I want to hear how you’re feeling, that’s why I asked. And I‘ve been around enough women to know that what I say won’t change your opinion of yourself, but you’re very, very beautiful. I hope one day you’ll see that.”

Those long lashes hover over her eyes, her fingers still scratching at her arm, and I have an idea. Walking to the drawer, I pull out the shirt she didn’t wear the day before and take it over to her. She frowns at it as I hold it out.

“Put this on, if you like. You can cover yourself up if you want.”

“N—no, that’s alright?—”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

After a little pause, she takes the shirt and pulls it over her shoulders. It looks like a bathrobe against her tiny body, but there’s something incredibly sexy about her standing there in my clothes.

“Sit on the chair,” I say, moving to the back of the room to grab the toy, then returning to place it on the desk beside me.

Lissa is sitting rigidly straight in the chair, tense and anxious.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, pulling out my phone and sending a calming playlist to the speaker at the edge of the room. I hardly ever play music while I’m working, but as the soft strains of a harp play, I can see Lissa begin to relax.

“You know,” I say conversationally without giving her a chance to answer. “We don’t have to do anything today if you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I want to,” she says quickly, and her cheeks flush. I nod, ridiculously pleased that she’s so eager.

“Alright, well, why don’t you tell me what you want to do?”

“Do you ever take your clothes off?” she asks. “I mean, for sex?” A flash of irritation whips through me, but the innocent curiosity in her eyes makes me pause.

“Not usually, no,” I reply flatly, waiting for her to ask me why, like they all do.

“That’s important, then. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with either.”

I stare at her. The weight of her words hangs between us as I process them. I’m so used to taking care of my partners, I’ve never had anyone say that to me. It loosens some tension I was carrying deep in my body.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “I appreciate that.”

I watch her silently for another minute, listening to the ticking clock on the wall, and then she stands up, removes the shirt, her bra and her panties, and sits back down in the chair stark naked, looking determined.

“I feel better now,” she says timidly.

“Good. If it helps, I adore your body. I’d love to have you naked in that chair all day just to look at you.”

Her cheeks are so pink, and I feel a little guilty for making her self-conscious, but it’s the truth.