AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Escorting paid rent and tuition and meals and gave him enough to build a big nest egg. In the beginning, sex for hire hadn’t been a part of it
But then that changed.
And he’d embraced it.
For a while, after he graduated, he kept up the steady work. Why? Because of his near mantra—I love to fuck. The women who hired his services were usually among New York’s elite. Bored housewives of successful businessmen. Older widows with money to spare and a full libido in need of fulfillment. The occasional actress or model in need of a gorgeous face and hot bod in a tuxedo. But one thing they all had in common was as much as they chose him, he also chose them. He didn’t escort or fuck just anyone. It was never something required of him but rather something he chose, eyes wide open.
Then his career took off like wildfire after he wrote an expose on one of America’s self-proclaimed mega-billionaires. He’d started making real money. Then the kicker . . .
Some great aunt he’d known nothing about had died, and her attorney had tracked him down to tell him she’d left him her entire estate valued in the millions. After that, he could have stopped escorting altogether, but for a variety of reasons, he chose not to. It did, however, become only an occasional indulgence; getting paid was no longer even a factor in the equation; it became one hundred percent about whether he wanted to do it.
Now he only catered to a few of his favorite clients, including his most frequent one, Margaux Leon. She was kind, funny, intelligent, and amazing in bed. And like all his remaining clients, she required the ultimate in discretion. He preferred it that way; as one of the world’s top investigative journalists, he wouldn’t welcome having to defend solicitation charges, even if he’d set these pieces in place that would make doing so quite easy.
Still, the Masquerade Ball had been a risk.
A risk that came with an amazing reward— the platinum blonde.
When she’d stood there, staring at him through the mirror with those honey-colored eyes, it was as if time itself had failed to exist, and he had an infinity to admire her beauty, touch every inch of her skin, feel her heart beating, memorize the arch of her lips into the cupids bow, count the fine, soft hairs along her stomach that caught the dim light from the lamp. There was no longer a goal. No aim. He had no end but to be near her, to be with her. To give her the ultimate pleasure.
So he’d buried his face between her legs and drove her to the edge with his tongue, cock straining against the front of his pants.
That’s when it all went to hell.
She’d been close, oh so close. He could feel it in the way her thighs clenched around his head, the way her muscles quivered, and the way her breath came in high-pitched gasps. He expected her to come, to let go, but instead, she’d pushed against his head and cried out for him to stop. Then she’d said the safe word, and before he could get past the delicious taste of her on his tongue, she was gone.
Julian shoved a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated breath.
He wanted to go after her. He wanted to keep fucking her, keep tasting her. Why had she been so afraid to come? Did she think if she did so, she’d be cheating on her fiancé, the asshole who probably couldn’t find her clit if a spotlight were on it?
But perhaps the more important question was why he was seeing her as more than just a regular fuck. Someone whose delicate and sweet-tasting body he could enjoy and then walk away from, never to think of again. Why was he this worked up over the blonde running out on him?
A heavy knock sounded at his door, and a man he recognized from the ballroom suddenly barreled into the room.Herman.
What had she called him?
Rex.
9
Rex was breathless as if winded by the climb up the stairway, and his once neat and tidy gelled hair stuck up at the crown of his head like that of a little boy.
“Private room,” Julian said laconically as he leaned against the four-poster bed.
“Well?” Rex blurted out.
At first, Julian assumed Rex had stormed into the bedroom, upset that his woman had fucked another man. It could be he’d thought it was a game he could play, but he’d been wrong. But as Julian stared at the man, he realized he wasn’t angry . . . he was questioning. Asking what they’d done without objecting to the fact they’d done it. “Well, what?”
Rex huffed and pointed to the rumpled sheets on the bed. “You came in here with my fiancée. Did you . . . ” His voice rose by an octave or two, his cheeks bright red.
Did the man want a play-by-play? Some couples enjoyed that. A twist on the cuckolding kink where instead of the male partner watching, they hear all about it later, in vivid detail. Julian had participated in that in the past with no objections before. But now? Julian wasn’t about to tell this man shit. Somehow, his time with the blonde was theirs and theirs alone. Not something he wanted to share with this dickhead. “Do you want a drink?” Julian asked, moving toward the bar cart against the velvet-covered walls.
Fuck—he wished he’d had a chance to pin his princess against the dark green crushed velvet. Her white hair would have looked like snow against it. Would her fingers, those long, white fingers, have torn at the velvet? He could almost see the claw marks above him as he reached for the ice bucket.
“Can you just tell me if—” Rex started.
Julian glanced over his shoulder when Rex stopped mid-request. He ordered himself not to grin at the other man’s obvious discomfort. Whatever it was this man wanted to know, Julian would make him work for the answer. “Ice?” he asked.
“Ice?” Rex frowned as if puzzled at the question, frustrated at Julian’s non-answer. He shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, two cubes, but that’s not what—can you just tell me already?”
