I hesitate for a second, lost in thought–mostly thoughts about his hand just inches away from my pussy.
He misunderstands my hesitation because his eyes flash. “It doesn’t have to be your actual house. You can give me a friend’s address, or a place nearby. I won’t follow you without asking again.”
My chest tightens at the thought. He thinks I’m mad about today, about him coming to work. I shake my head, reach up to grip his shoulder. “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” I glance down pointedly at his hand in my pants. “How could I complain?”
He relaxes a little, smiling again, and I give him directions to my place. It’s not far, only a ten-minute drive. Normally I ride with Diana or walk home. But now, for the first time ever, I find myself wishing I lived a lot farther from work. Anything to drag this moment out. To get more time with him.
We pull out of the parking lot as his hand slips beneath my panties and his thick, strong fingers spread around my pussy lips. He doesn’t touch me, not quite yet. Just everywhere around me, letting me feel his warm palm against my mound, his fingers exploring my inner thighs.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Corbella,” he murmurs, eyes on the road. “I fantasized about you last night. Thought about fucking you in my shower, pushing you up against the cold tile wall and feeling your legs wrap around my waist. I got off thinking about the little moaning sounds you’d make as I fucked you…”
My pussy clenches, heart thrashing. “I fantasized about you, too, sir,” I whisper. Then I get distracted for a second as he drags a finger along my slit. A faint moan escapes my lips.
He chuckles. “I love how wet you get for me, my little slut.” His fingers spread my pussy lips wide, and his middle finger circles my entrance, teasing. “Tell me, whose pussy is this?”
I swallow hard. “Yours, sir.”
“Tell me again.” His finger presses against my entrance, poised to take me, not quite giving me what I want, not yet.
“It’s your pussy, sir.” I cry out the last words, as he thrusts his finger deep inside me. “Fuck, oh, fuck, it’s yours; I’m yours.” I hardly realize what I’m saying, it feels so good when he curls his finger inside my pussy.
He slips it out, and I whimper in protest. But he doesn’t leave me hanging for long. Soon he pushes two fingers into me, fucks me gently while his thumb circles my clit. He doesn’t quite touch my clit, as though he knows how sensitive it is right now, from what feels like ages of deprivation, unmet desire.
“One rule,” he says, and my eyes flash over to him. He’s still focused on the road, cool as ever, as though nothing is going on below the belt. Belatedly, I realize we’re driving right through downtown, with dozens of people crossing the street in each direction, or sitting waiting for the lights to change in cars around us. Did anyone see me? Notice what was happening, the way my mouth parted and I moaned with desire?
Shit.
But also, fucking hell that’s hot.
I clench around his fingers, unconsciously. “Yes, sir?” I ask, panting with effort at maintaining a straight face.
He strokes his thumb over my clit, and it’s so electric I jump against the seat, sucking air through my teeth with a hiss. “You have to finish before I park outside your place. Or you’ll get no release from me.”
I glance at the intersection where we’re currently idling, waiting for the light change. Shit. Only a few minutes left. “I understand, sir,” I murmur, nodding, even as I arch my hips up against his hand.
He adds a third finger inside me, thumb still resting against my clit, not moving, just putting pressure on. Then he starts to fuck me in earnest. Thrusting faster as the light changes and he hits the gas. I lean back against the seat, arching my back, trying to keep my face under control even as my body writhes with pleasure. I’m half distracted, worrying about the distance home, and half lost in pleasure every time he thrusts into me again, deeper, fingers curling against my front wall, grazing that G-spot over and over.
Just as we turn onto my street, it finally hits me.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Come for me, slut.”
Right on cue, the orgasm sweeps through me. My hips fly up off the seat of their own accord, my shoulders digging into the backrest, my legs trembling with the force of the orgasm. I cry out something, though I’m not sure what. All I see are sparks across my vision; all I feel is a deep throb of release, something unspooling inside my belly.
Then he slides his hand out of my pants, and brings his fingers to his lips to taste me, one at a time.
I’m still catching my breath, staring at him, waiting for my next orders. He catches my eye and smirks.
“I’ll see you in two days, Corbella.”
I blink, startled. Then remember where we are. We’ve already parked outside my place. Time to go.
I don’t want to, though. I want to drag this moment out. Make it last longer–forever, if possible. Taking a risk, I lean across the gearshift to cup his cheek in my hand. I kiss him, slowly, gently. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets me kiss him. But his lips don’t move against mine–I get nothing back in return.
When I draw back an inch to look at him, questioning, his eyes are dark and unreadable. He’s holding something back… But what? Why?
“Corbella,” he murmurs, and this time the command has gone from his voice. We’re out of dom mode, back into normal Giovanni mode.
Is it strange that after just two days of knowing one another, I already can tell what’s normal for him?
“You need to think about what you’re doing,” he says.
My eyebrows draw together on their own, a little frown of confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask.
He continues watching me in silence for another long moment. Then he shakes his head, laughs a little ruefully. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.” He taps the door button to unlock them. “I shouldn’t be trying to talk you out of something I want, after all.”
I’m still watching him, making no move to leave. I want to figure him out. I want to understand what makes him tick. I want more than just sex from him, I realize. I want to know him.
But he glances toward my house pointedly. “Goodbye, Corbella.” And at that, I have no choice.
I push open the door and step out of the car. Slam it behind me, and stand on the curb, watching his taillights fade into the distance. Even after he’s gone, I keep standing there, watching the space where he used to be, thinking. Wondering.
Is it all in my head? This dissolving line between us, the idea that we’re more than just client and escort? That he could want me for more than just his whore?
Maybe I’ve imagined it all. Maybe he just wants to fuck me, business-arrangement style, and be done with it.
But then, why did he come to my coffee shop today? Why seek me out, when he’d already told me he wouldn’t see me for a few more days? And why did he go quiet now, almost warning me off?
I shouldn’t be trying to talk you out of something I want, he said. Which almost makes it sound like he’s worried about me, in spite of himself.
But why?
I don’t know what to think anymore. None of this is what I expected when I decided to start escorting.
And yet, I don’t want it to stop…
3
Remember why you’re doing this, Corbella.
I’m standing outside Giovanni’s house–mansion would really be the better term. It’s huge, four stories of gabled turrets and tasteful gardens around it. Homey but intense all at once. When he sent me the address last night at a little after one in the morning, I immediately googled it and saw it was in a rich area of town. I wasn’t prepared for this, though. Standing in front of the reality of this guy I’ve been fucking–or everything but fucking, actually.
Not only is he a hot sex god, but also he’s also rich? How can he possibly be single?