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I smile, wanting to pat my shoulder. I'm pretty proud of myself for that one.
Philips cheeks burn with anger, and I feel satisfied that he looks like he’s about to explode. He's a fucking prick, the kind I have no patience for. Straightening his back, he turns and stalks off with the stick still in his ass.
James doesn't say anything, and I'm almost afraid to look at him. I'm certain he's going to report my behavior to Christine. It's going to suck getting fired from escorting for running my mouth.
"Finish your drink. Let's go," he says low and near my ear, and my heart plummets. I was actually having a good time until that fuckwad came over. I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, upset I let that asshole get the best of me.
Buttoning the middle of his suit coat with one hand, his gold watch flashes in the corner of my eye. I look over, and catch a view of a tattoo on his wrist where his cufflinks are. I’m surprised that a man as polished as he is has a tattoo, but as I move to get a closer look, he drops his hand.
James finishes his drink in three large gulps, and I do the same. Taking my fingers between his, he walks us out of Bryant Park, and I'm thankful for my long legs that let me keep up with him. His gait is wide with determination and purpose. Probably trying to dump me as soon as possible.
My stomach is twisted with anxiety as I look ahead and see a tinted gray Rolls Royce at the curb. Now I wish I had kept my big mouth shut. As we reach the car, I open my mouth to apologize, but he spins me toward him and grabs both my cheeks, then smashes his mouth to mine in a bruising, fierce kiss. He doesn't ask. He just thrusts his tongue between my lips and kisses me hard.
I'm momentarily stunned. This is the last thing I would have expected, but I quickly react and kiss him back with the same intensity. The fine hair of his beard tickles my lips, igniting a fire and sending a heat straight to my core that I wasn't expecting. His tongue caresses mine with dominating strokes, causing my heart to race in response. I reach for him, gripping the lapels of his suit.
"I've never had a woman talk about me like that," he says, breaking the kiss. "Not in public, at least."
Here it comes. My heart is pounding in fear and I know I'm going to get the boot.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it was out of line—"
"Don't apologize. I like seeing a woman able to hold her own. The shy and mild don't do it for me."
I look back and forth between his eyes and notice they’ve darkened to sapphires.
"You're not embarrassed? Mad? Reporting me to Christine?"
A look of confusion crosses his face and he pulls back. "Why would I be embarrassed?" Taking my hand, he brazenly places it on his rock-hard cock. "Does this feel like I’m mad, Valentina?"
My cheeks heat at his boldness, but I love it.
I purposely run my fingers down his length and his eyes flicker with lust. At least I hadn’t lied back there. He is hung. Jesus.
I pull away. "I spoke up when I shouldn't have. I talked about the size of your dick in a public setting at a work-related event." My body starts to shake thinking about all of the money I’m about to lose. Christine made it clear she doesn't do refunds.
The corners of James's lips twist into a hot smirk. "See? This is why I'm keeping you. I can already tell you have no issue speaking up or saying what's on your mind. Let me tell you something, Valentina. Confidence and having a brain is a fucking turn on. And as you can tell, I am hung like a fucking animal. Philip is a bastard and needed to be put in his place."
James places his hand at the small of my back and ushers me into the backseat. He follows and sits next to me, then shuts the door.
"I'm so confused right now. I thought you couldn’t leave."
"Aureole, please," he says to the driver, then he looks at me like he's keeping a juicy secret to himself.
I want to ask him more, push to know why he isn't getting rid of me, but I don't. My gaze drops to his mouth. There's red lipstick on his lips—my lipstick—a stark contrast against his beard. I reach over and wipe it with my thumb, then rub my fingers together to smear it away. His lips are full and plump, which I didn't realize at first. It makes me want to kiss him again. I look up and find his eyes fixated intensely on me. Blinking, I give him a timid smile.
"You looked like you were wearing lipstick. It was on your beard too, but I got it off."
Three hours later and half a bottle of cognac gone, I'm way more than tipsy. Though it’s a smooth, refined kind of tipsy that gets the heat flowing through my veins. I like it. I’m relaxed, sated, and I don't have the urge to get my eagle on.
I guess this is the kind of boozing that wealth buys, not vodka by P. Diddy that makes me want to dance naked.
We're sitting next to each other in this underground, private room at an upscale restaurant I've never heard of. Our arms are touching and I'm leaning into him, more comfortable in the moment than I ever imagined I would be with a client. We talk about the firm where he works and the type of law he practices, our favorite foods, and what we read. He reads boring books about stock trading and loves Italian food. I tell him about my love for smutty romance novels and any food that isn't ramen. He doesn't care for the law he practices but it makes him good money, so he stays. I obviously feel the same way about escorting, and despite the warning attitude from Christine, I tell him that, which doesn't seem to bother him one bit. It's easy, almost too easy for us.
I throw my legs over his muscled thigh so my high-heeled feet dangle between his. James hasn't taken his hands off me since we got here, and there's an air about him that fascinates me. I like being next to him. I like the sexuality his body oozes, the way he looks at me with hunger when I lean forward and the material of my dress shifts, letting him see more of my breasts. He makes me feel wanted, not like I'm a doll to be played with. I study him. There seems to be nothing I can find wrong. I'm curious to learn more about who he is.
As he leans over to pour another glass of cognac, I stop him. I'm not supposed to get drunk, and since I'm not used to this warm, relaxed, alcohol-induced body high, I feel like I should slow down.
"No, no more for me. Thank you, though."
