At Your Beck & Call
My heart jolted crazily.
“Are you sure?”
“God, yes!” she groaned, making me smile.
I kissed her desperately, standing in that parking lot, wanting to touch her everywhere.
She pulled away, her eyes glowing and her cheeks flushed.
“We should go,” she said.
I wanted to drive at ninety, but kept to the speed limit the whole way. I didn’t need to be pulled over right now.
Neither of us spoke. There was so much I wanted to say, but no words seemed right. My brain was screaming, Say something! But every sound dried on my tongue.
Laura was staring straight ahead, sunglasses hiding the secrets in her eyes.
My skin was hot and icy, shivering restlessly. Clothes were constricting, the loose neck of my shirt choking me. I wanted to be calm, but my body betrayed me.
I parked outside my house and felt heavy and club-footed as I walked around the car to open her door.
She held out her hand to me, and the touch burned, making my nerves skitter and tremble.
The tension between us thickened until I could taste it, certain it would suffocate us. The air had been sucked away and it felt as if the damp heat of a Miami summer had oozed into the west coast.
I opened the door and let her walk ahead of me.
“Do you want a drink? Water? Anything?”
My voice was steady, some muscle memory of a thousand dates hardening my voice to marble. I sounded cold, but inside I was burning.
“I’m fine,” she said.
I wasn’t. I was parched, arid, baked and barren. I wanted water, I wanted to drink, to taste, to swim in an ocean of icebergs.
“Okay,” I said.
I took her hand, feeling the soft, dry skin of her palm against mine. Small flecks of ultramarine paint patterned my hand. I hadn’t noticed before. I noticed everything now. The fine hairs on her arm, the blue scrolls of blood pulsing beneath the skin of her wrist, the tiny points of gold in her hazel eyes—how had I not noticed before?
My blood was boiling through my body, and I felt sure my touch would make her recoil, but she stared at me with trust blossoming in her eyes.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said.
My steps labored against the stairs, and I noticed how the yellow pine was turning to gray where my feet had beaten a solitary path.
At the bedroom door, she turned and smiled.
“We’re here.”
“Yes.”
She closed the door behind us and lifted her arms to circle the back of my neck, resting her head on my chest.
“I can hear you,” she said. “Your heart is racing!”
“I know.”
“But why?”
“Because I’m fucking terrified.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m terrified of you.”
“Hallen?”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Made love. Never. Only fucking. And I don’t know what to do.”
A soft sound escaped her throat, and when she forced me to look up, I could see her face torn with pity.
“What do you want to do?” she whispered.
“Kiss you. I want to kiss you.”
She stood on tiptoe and rested her lips against mine, a shared breath.
I closed my eyes and felt her lips again.
I wanted her badly, but my brain was fighting with my body.
This is different. It’s work.
Never before. Same as always.
Take a chance. She wants it for free.
She’s not like that. Don’t kid yourself.
Don’t live with regrets. She’ll use you.
Take a chance. They all use you.
It’s time. She can leave the money on the way out.
Don’t screw this up. Too late.
It’s never too late. Too late for you.
“Hey,” she said. “Where did you go?” With her thumb she smoothed the frown carved across my face. “Kiss me.”
I opened my eyes and stared down at her where she was smiling gently, waiting, accepting.
So I did. I kissed her. Softly at first. Tentatively. Giving her a chance to change her mind. Expecting it.
It was hard not to fall back on learned responses—the thousand women that had been before her, a thousand dates that meant nothing except another pay check.
This was different. I would make it different.
I wanted this for me. For us.
She shifted slightly, lifting her lips from mine, kissing her way down my throat.
We didn’t speak. Not with words.
I want you, her eyes said.
Be sure, I answered.
A smile. I’m sure.
Show me.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said.
“No.”
“Of course you are. You’re a beautiful man.”
“I don’t feel it. In here,” and I pointed to my chest.
She sighed.
“Oh, you’re so wrong. That’s the most beautiful part.”
She rested her hands on my chest and placed a kiss on the washed-out cotton, right over my heart.
Then, raising her eyes to mine, she undid a single button on my shirt.
Another kiss, branding me.
Another button.
A third kiss. Scorched.
And another. Burned.
And another. Scarred.
Until all the buttons were undone and my shirt hung open.
She slipped it off my shoulders and draped it over a chair. Trailing burning fingers across my stomach, she walked behind me.
A kiss on my bicep. Wounded.
A kiss on my shoulder. Marked.
Then soft, moth-wing kisses across my back and down my spine until her lips pressed next to the waistband of my jeans and slowly, slowly upward again.
Her hands circled my waist until they joined above my bellybutton, and I could feel her cheek resting against my shoulder blade.
“Your skin is so smooth,” she said. “Like satin over marble.”
She breathed warmth over my back as she spoke.
Her hands drifted upward across my stomach and up to my chest, soft and certain.
“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since I first met you … and then at the beach ... you looked so perfect.”
She brushed her lips over my neck and her hands stroked my ribs.
My body shuddered under her light touch, and my cock, engorged and heavy, throbbed in my jeans.
“You’re like a work of art. An exquisite, precious work of art.”
I started to shake my head.
“Shhh,” she said, as she scattered small kisses across my shoulders.
Then she walked around to face me, her eyes wide and serious, telling me to trust her.
I closed my eyes as her lips touched every inch of my chest, lingering over my heart. Blood pounded through my body, roaring loudly in my head, blocking out all other sounds.
I felt her fingers open the button on my jeans and slowly lower the zipper.
“Oh,” she said, when she realized I wasn’t wearing underwear. And again, “Oh.”
My body thawed slowly, and I stepped out of the denim rumpled at my feet, my cock pulsing and twitching as her fingers brushed across my stomach.
My entire body ached for her touch, but I needed to know that she ached for me. I was lost, drifting in a play of emotions that were new to me.
Show me how we do this.
She took my hand and led me to the bed.
“You should lie down now,” she said, her breath warm against my ear.
I stretched out on the covers, my eyes following her as she lay down next to me, still fully clothed.
She turned my head toward her and kissed me, her tongue gently pushing between my lips.
“Butterscotch,” she breathed.
And then she smiled.
I
understood.
Finally, I understood.
She was showing me how to make love.
“Laura.”
There were no other words.
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her. She sighed into my mouth and heat began to build inside me, flames licking at my skin as I kissed and kissed her.
She crawled across me, her knees pressing into my ribs.
Then she took my hands and pulled them above my head, twisting her fingers around my wrists.
“Let me love you,” she said.
I stretched my head up to kiss her again, and she smiled.
It released something inside of me, demolished a wall I hadn’t realized was there.
I nuzzled her breasts through my hockey shirt, and her mouth dropped open with surprise and pleasure.
I fastened my teeth around her nipple, sucking gently, leaving a wet mark on the U of UCLA.
“Oh, that’s…” and she gave a little gasp as I moved to her left breast, making a matching mark over the A.
I tugged on my hands and she released them reluctantly. But when I pushed the borrowed shirt above her bra, she didn’t stop me.
I pulled the cups down, massaging one tight little rosebud with my fingers and the other with my tongue. Her skin flushed more deeply and I could feel the heat blazing under my touch.
I blew lightly across her nipple, watching with fascination as it puckered and hardened.
“Hallen…” she whispered.
My name on her lips unleashed a storm in my chest that ignited my whole body. A growl built up in my throat. I wanted more.
Suddenly, she rolled away, pulling the tangle of clothes from her shoulders and pushing her jeans over her hips. And she was standing naked, brazen and shy.
“Do you … do you have condoms?” she whispered, her voice hesitant and needy.
I sat up wordless, dazed, desperate and afraid to touch her.
“In the drawer here?”
I nodded.
She rummaged through the bedside cabinet and pulled out an unopened box of condoms. That made her smile.
She tore open one of the foil packets and I held out my hand to take it, but she shook her head.
“Let me,” she said, softly.
I’d never let a woman do that before because I needed to be sure it was done properly, but it felt right to let Laura. I badly wanted to trust her, for it to be different with her.
It was different. Everything was different.
Her hands shook slightly as she reached for me, touching me intimately for the first time.
I held my breath as her fingers rolled the latex along my rigid, pulsing cock. I wanted everything all at once—her hands, her mouth, her body—all of it now.
“I haven’t done this for a while,” she admitted, staring down at her handiwork.
She was studying me as if I was a science experiment that might detonate at any moment. If she touched me like that again, I would.
My body was alive to her, every nerve ending screaming and singing and pulsing with pleasure.
“Oh God,” she said, sounding nervous. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
I struggled to find my voice, afraid if I spoke, she’d disappear like morning mist, the fantasy over.
“We … don’t have to,” I managed to whisper.
I was lying. We did have to. I needed this.
She glared at me, almost angry in her fear and frustration.
“No, just do it. Before I lose my nerve.”
Not what I wanted to hear.
“Laura…”
“Please, Hallen! Now!”
She lay back, her face tense even as her hands tugged me closer.
“Please, Hallen,” she whispered, again.
I didn’t have any restraint or judgment left.
I moved my hips between her legs, nudging her knees apart, and slowly sank into her heated center. I wanted to be fast, so I went slow; I wanted to go hard, so I was careful to be gentle.
So good.
She was soft and tight and hot and close.
I tried to speak but only a strangled gasp made it past my lips.
Two sets of emotions were warring in my brain: the side that insisted this was just another job; and the side that said she was mine—my woman. It was confusing, and I was finding it difficult to catch my breath. For the first time in a long time, I was with a woman I wanted to be with.
The balance shifted between us again and I felt like I was surfacing and drowning all at the same time.
“Harder, Hallen. Please!”
I focused on the sound of her voice, the painful pleasure coursing through me, and I did what she told me, moving faster and harder, reaching deeper each time, pounding into her, grinding her into the mattress, molding her to my body.
Her legs clamped around my waist, tilting her hips upwards. I drove in still deeper, my eyes fixed on her face, gritting my teeth as her body writhed beneath me. She closed her eyes and arched her neck backwards, fingers scrabbling blindly on my arms.
She started to tighten around me and I nearly came. I hung on and used my fingers to get her there before I lost it completely.
My balls felt hot and heavy, and I was so hard it was borderline painful.
Her breath was coming out in short gasps, and her mouth was open, her eyes wide.
When she cried out, I let myself go, my body locked above hers. I pulsed into her, relieved, intense, delirious.
She was gasping for air, her eyes closed.
“Thank you,” she sighed, at last.
I kissed her cheeks, her mouth, her nose, before drifting down her neck, my lips against the salty skin of her throat.
I kissed her while I slowly softened inside her.
I kissed her even though she didn’t speak again.
And then the world tilted back into focus. I could hear cars on the street outside, the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach, and her breath, still laboring beneath me.
I knew I shouldn’t stay inside her so long and risk the condom coming off, but it had felt too good to end. Reluctantly, I pulled out of her, carefully holding onto the ring of rubber, trying to make sure there was no leakage. Practical things. Fantasy finished.
I sat on the edge of the bed to remove it. I was shaken, shocked by how my body had responded to hers. Feverish, stunned by the power she held over me.
I peeled off the condom, taken aback by how full it was—for sure more than 10 ml. Maybe because I hadn’t had sex in nine weeks—maybe because it was Laura.
She still hadn’t spoken again and I had no words.
In the bathroom, I barely recognized my face in the mirror—old but new. Familiar but unfamiliar. A strange and unsettling sensation.
I was embarrassed, too. I mean, I’d spent nearly eight years fucking any woman who could meet my price, working their bodies until they sang like freakin’ canaries and passed out from the intensity of their orgasms (and yeah, that really happened once). But the one woman that I really wanted, I’d frozen. I wanted to slam my head against the cold glass; to pound some understanding into it.
I wasn’t used to feeling so much during sex. I mean, it’s just sex, right? The body’s physical response to the procreation drive. Just sex. But with Laura … Christ, I couldn’t even begin to understand or explain the intense emotions that had rioted through my body.
I looked in the mirror again.
I stared and stared and stared, but my reflection didn’t change.
If this was love, it scared the hell out of me.
I splashed cold water onto my face and tried to rearrange my features into something I recognized, staring until I couldn’t look at myself anymore.
When I walked back into the bedroom, she was watching me, her face unreadable. I prayed she wasn’t regretting what had happened. I wasn’t, but it was disorienting to feel so much.
She’d pulled the sheet up and I slid down beside her, uncertain if she wanted me to touch her,
but I couldn’t stop myself either. Gently, I coaxed her into my arms.
“Hi,” I said.
Lame, I know, but at least I said something.
“Hi,” she said, her voice quiet.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you?”
“I am now.”
And I meant it. I was confused as all fuck, but there was a core of rightness inside me that was hard to explain. But I liked it. I liked it a lot.
She was still watching me, her usually expressive face unmoving.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry for weirding out on you before.”
Her face softened immediately.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I meant what I said, Laura. I’ve never … it was … that felt good.”
“Good?” she questioned.
“Hell yeah! A lot better than good. At least, it was for me.”
Suddenly, I was worried. I’d never had performance anxiety—not even the first time I got it on with a girl. But now, I wondered.
“Was it okay for you, Laura?”
She gave a small laugh.
“Oh, yes. Good, definitely good! I’m still seeing stars.” She rolled onto her side and smiled at me, her eyes crinkling with humor and warmth. “Don’t tell me that you couldn’t tell?”
Tension that I didn’t know I was holding fell away.
“God, I don’t know anything when I’m around you, Laura. If you told me the earth was flat, I’d probably believe you.”
She laughed loudly. “You mean it isn’t?”
I felt completely relaxed as she laid her head on my chest—until she idly began playing with my right nipple. I stroked her hair and enjoyed the soft warmth of her body against mine, trying to ignore my hardening dick.
“Hallen?”
“Yeah?”
“Has … has a client ever … fallen in love with you?”
I looked down at her but she refused to meet my eyes.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Well, probably not.”
“What do you mean?”
Shit. I didn’t want to talk about this.
“If I got the idea that they had … feelings for me … I wouldn’t take any further appointments.”
A couple of times I’d got the distinct impression that I was being looked on more as a boyfriend and less of a pay-by-the-hour date. Kindness, any TLC, and some clients wanted to interpret that as me returning their feelings when it was about good business. I knew it wasn’t real, because how could they be in love with me, when they only saw a highly edited version?