Warren The Escort

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-940518-80-0
Verlag: Skye Warren
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 350 Seiten

'The Escort is stunningly sexy and staggeringly heartfelt-gorgeously written and saturated with pure, unadulterated desire. Five Mon Dieu stars!' - Sierra Simone, USA Today bestselling author

A male escort. His virgin client. What happens when one night isn't enough?

I'm an escort, which means this date is nothing more than a mutually enjoyable transaction. There shouldn't be any surprises, not for one as jaded as me, but when I walk into the penthouse suite of L'Etoile, everything changes.

1) For one thing, Bea is heartstoppingly gorgeous. Pale green eyes and endless freckles. Curves I want to spend all night exploring, as if her body was made for me.

2) Her innocence makes me want to use my entire inventory of bedroom tricks on her and then invent a few more.

3) Except that... she's a virgin.

I can initiate her into the world of desire without letting her get attached, can't I? A few hours of tutoring, and at the end of the night a small fortune will be deposited into my bank account.

But once I realize one night with her won't be enough, I'm the one who's screwed.

'THE ESCORT is perfection only Skye Warren can deliver--a poetically erotic tale of exquisitely damaged characters, devastating secrets, revenge and redemption.' - Samanthe Beck, USA Today bestselling author

'Hypnotically romantic...this book reads like a sensual dream and I didn't want to wake up.' - Tessa Bailey, New York Times bestselling author

Autoren/Hrsg.

Warren, Skye

Leseproben

Chapter Six

Her freckles don’t taste like anything. I know that, but I can’t stop kissing them. Can’t stop following the reckless trail across her cheek and below her jaw. I swear there’s stardust in them, something elemental and bright. They singe my lips, my tongue.

She makes a sound of surprise, a strangled little gasp in her throat. “Is this regular? I thought it would be more like…”

“More like what?” I don’t pause to give her time to answer. She must find the wherewithal even while I move my body closer to hers. Her hands flutter against my shoulders, not pushing me away, not pulling me close. They are confused, those hands.

“Like the movies.”

That makes me stop. I pull back so I can look into her pale green eyes. Jade, I realize. They’re the color of jade, the kind of stone you would hang on a gold chain. “What movies?”

This level of red, it’s an emergency. Her cheeks burn. “You know.”

“Do you watch porn, darling?”

“Only for instructional purposes,” she says too fast.

I do not laugh. I think I should get a medal for not laughing at this. “And what did you learn from the porn movies you watched?” I ask, quite seriously.

“Usually they…you know. The clothes come off.”

Naturally I am desperate to know what sort of clothes came off. Was there a nurse’s uniform? Or perhaps a man dressed as a burglar, come to tie her up? “Do you want to take off your clothes?”

“No,” she says on a squeak.

Of course not. Because she isn’t ready for that, despite the dubious education porn movies have given her. She’s practically vibrating with nervousness. “Then you’ll keep your clothes on. For now. For as long as you want them. You’re safe with me.”

Her eyes focus with puzzlement. “Safe?”

It’s the reason she stays in this tower, this princess with red hair. Because it’s safe. And that’s what I must be, if I’m to be allowed to stay. “Safe,” I say. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She looks reluctant, biting her lip.

“No matter what you say, I won’t be angry. Cross my heart.”

“I’m worried you aren’t really aroused,” she says, fast. “That you’re faking it.”

It’s not the first time a woman has ever worried about that with me, but it is the first time I’ve been as desperate to get a woman naked. That she doubts me now is a great irony. “What makes you think that?”

“In the movies they always show the—the—”

“You don’t think my cock is hard?”

She flushes. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be.”

Now I can’t help but laugh. A full belly laugh. When is the last time I had one of these? There are tears at the corner of my eyes. I turn her around, making her face the small countertop with its fancy espresso maker. She’s right up against it, her tummy pressed to the curved stone ledge. Then I cover her with my body, my throbbing cock between her sweet ass cheeks, the only barriers her clothes and mine.

She stiffens with a small gasp. “That is—”

“Do you see what you do to it? You make it hard. So hard it hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” I murmur. “Never apologize for that. It’s all a man can dream of, a woman making him so hard it hurts. Only letting him touch her over her clothes. Dying for a glimpse of bare skin.”

She moans a little. “This isn’t like the movies.”

I press my lips to the small patch behind her ear. “No, it’s not like the movies. This is real life, and that’s why you called for me, isn’t it? Because the movies were not real.”

“Yes,” she agrees, breathless.

“When the women come, and they squeal and shake, it isn’t real. It isn’t right. You know that, don’t you? They fake it. You won’t fake anything, darling.” I turn her to face me, because for the first time this is the right way. The only way.

“What if I don’t—”

“You will,” I assure her, which only seems to worry her more.

A shudder runs through her delicate frame, making her hair vibrate like dewdrops on a flower petal. It only looks fragile; in truth it can withstand this earthquake. “It would be easier if it didn’t feel so good,” she says, her voice plaintive and pleasure-dipped.

“One day you’ll tell me why you want sex so badly, without feeling anything.”

“I won’t,” she says, but she’s only cross with me because I’m rubbing gentle circles on her back, because it feels so damn good. She arches into my touch, the same way her cat would.

And then I move my hand lower, to the upper curve of her ass. It’s a beautiful ass, which is saying something. I’ve seen more than my fair share. Enjoyed every single one of them, but the picture of her heart-shaped behind, from when she bent over the dresser, is emblazoned in my mind. So perfectly wrapped in black, silky fabric, thick enough to ward most men away. I’m not most men. The challenge only makes it sweeter as I stroke the slope of her, as I feel her gasp in response. I’m the first man to ever traverse this land, something I hadn’t thought to find pleasure in. What a barbarian I am. A Viking, to find such deviant delight in taking a young woman’s virginity. It has nothing to do with seduction, the palm I place on her, the squeeze I give her. That’s pure indulgence on my part, knowing I am the first.

She shifts closer to me, making tiny sounds I’m not sure she hears. Her body is out of her control; it’s in mine now. “I don’t even know your favorite color,” she whispers.

I laugh softly. “Red.”

The color of my Bugatti.

“Mine’s blue,” she says, but she doesn’t explain why.

I reach down to the lace hem of her dress, pulling the fabric into careless bunches, until I touch bare skin. It’s a godsend, the satin of her. Like opening my mouth to the sky after years of thirst. With a firm grasp I hitch her leg up to my hip, spreading her. “Any other questions?”

Her eyes are hazy. I can see the struggle behind the green curtain, the valiant attempt to string words together as her body comes apart. “Favorite food.”

“A tagine,” I tell her, not adding that it’s my mother’s I dream about. The spice of it on a hot night, making me sweat in the dark. This isn’t about revealing secrets, not truly. It’s about making her feel like she knows me. I won’t lie to her, but I won’t rip apart my skin to set her at ease either.

That clears enough of the arousal from her eyes to ask, “A tagine?”

It makes me wonder what other foods she hasn’t yet experienced, trapped in this gilded prison of hers. Even the richest of foods can be punishment if they’re all she can eat. “A stew. Spicy. Do you like spicy food?”

“I don’t know,” she says, confirming my worst fears.

I want to book us a flight to Thailand or South Africa, to show her a thousand buildings and give her a million new tastes. Like most penthouse suites, this one is large—for a visit, not for a lifetime. “What’s your favorite food, darling?”

She pulls back, looking me right in the eyes, proving that though she is untried, she is far from naive. “I haven’t found it yet.”

Her words travel straight to my groin, a challenge I’m desperate to accept. “You think these questions make it easier? We could talk for hours and hours, darling. And still you would be nervous.”

“Then how do people do this?”

I grasp her small hand and place it flat on my chest. “These are your questions. So what do you wish to know?”

Awareness sparks in her eyes. She moves her hand in the smallest circle, testing, asking about the solidity of my body, wondering at the reality of this encounter. I can’t let so eager a question go unanswered; I bend my head to capture her lips.

Her other hand flutters against my shoulder before settling there. A butterfly I must be careful not to spook if I want to enjoy its beauty. I dart my tongue against her lips, letting her think about the presence of it before delving into her mouth.

She startles for a moment, and I think, this is it. This was all I’ll have of her, this taste. It’s shocking, the depth of my disappointment. I can walk away from any woman. We enjoy our time together. And then we part. I have never wanted more, never needed another taste like I do now.

She moans in sweet acquiescence.

I’m overcome with relief I don’t want to examine, and I slide my tongue against hers in quiet insistence. The physical sensations are a tidal wave; they drown out any thoughts or worries. They sweep over the both of us, making her breath come faster. She’s excited and hungry and needy, and so I can push aside the realization that I am, too.

If my response to her is stronger than I expected, so be it. I can use it to be a better tutor for her. Because that’s what I am right now, as experienced as I am, with a virgin—her teacher.

I press my forefinger to the small furrow between her eyes. “You are thinking too hard. Feel, instead.” To illustrate my point, I bite her plump bottom lip. It’s only a small nip, but enough to make her jump. “Only feel.”

Her eyes spark with a lovely rebellion. “Like this?”

I know what she’s going to do before she leans forward, before her white teeth peek from between peach-colored lips. There are one, two, three seconds when I could jerk out of reach. And it wouldn’t be awkward; I would be too charming for that. I would laugh and cajole and coax her into the most pleasure she’s ever known.

It would be a beautiful performance,...