Читать книгу Quench My Thirst - R. Moreen Clarke - Страница 7

He’d been in the business for about eight months when he first met Paige. He immediately recognized something different in her. There was a sense of vulnerability about her that wasn’t evident in the other women he was servicing.

She opened the hotel door and gazed up at the tall, handsome stranger in the hallway. Immediately she experienced second thoughts. What was she doing? Did she really call this man here to have sex with her?

“May I?” he asked in a deep voice as he arched an eyebrow in her direction. Conflicting emotions were doing battle in her head, and the uncertainty was etched on her face.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking when I asked you to come here,” she began nervously. She stepped back and allowed him to enter the room. He walked through the doorway and glanced around. It was a standard no-frills hotel room: queen bed, end tables, dresser, and TV armoire. He noticed the curtains were drawn tightly, preventing any outside light from filtering in. The door automatically closed behind him.

He observed her nervously shifting eyes and wringing hands. She was an attractive woman. Slim of build, smooth tan complexion, and small waist. Her breasts were rising and falling quickly with her sharp, short breathing. He, too, began to wonder why she called him, but then he stopped himself. He never knew what drove women to call him. He just complied with all reasonable requests. After all, that’s what they paid him for.

“I’ll still pay you. But I’ve changed my mind,” she explained haltingly.

“Are you sure?” he asked kindly. “We can go very slowly if that would make it more comfortable for you.”

Paige finally looked up into his warm brown eyes. He was an extremely handsome man, and it had been a very long time since a man touched her in any way. She longed to feel his body next to hers, if just for a short while. “I don’t want to sound stupid, but could we just get in the bed and be close for a while. If that’s okay?” she asked timidly.

“Sure, whatever you want,” he said, resisting the urge to check his watch.

“I—I’ve never done anything like this before. When do I pay you? Now?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

“You know what my fee is. My preference is for you to leave it on the table by the door in an envelope. I will collect it on my way in or out as I see fit. I prefer we not pass cash between us. It sullies the mood of our afternoon. If we are to do business together, there must be a modicum of trust between us. I should not feel it necessary to count the money while I am with you. It cheapens you, and it cheapens me. If you were ever to shortchange me, then simply do not call me again,” he stated quietly.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she said, putting her purse back on the dresser.

“Since this is our first time together, I will need a little time to learn your preferences. Would you like my clothes on or off while I am in bed with you today?”

“Off, please, except for your…” she stammered, blushing profusely.

“I understand,” he interrupted and began removing his shirt.

She felt like a voyeur watching him as he peeled off his shirt and sleeveless T-shirt he wore under it. She stared intently as he pulled it over his head to reveal a caramel six-pack and hairless rock-hard chest. His pectorals jumped as he raised his arms above his head, releasing the shirt. Small brown nipples capped each solid breast. She began to feel the familiar tingling sensation in her loins.

Trevor was used to women watching him undress and was proud of his physique. He worked hard to keep it this way. His hands moved to the belt buckle, and she continued to stare as he unbuckled his belt and then unzipped his pants.

Still feeling like a voyeur watching a strip show, Paige turned away. Embarrassed by the hunger, which must have been evident in her eyes, she busied herself with pulling back the spread and cover on the bed.

She looked up to see him standing next to the bed in his briefs. How long had it been since she had seen a man in this state of undress? Three years at least, she thought. His thighs were strong and muscled. Seeing the large bulge at his crotch, she got weak in the knees.

“Are you going to change?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll be right back,” she said as she walked quickly into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her breathing was quick and shallow, and she was once again gripped with fear. It took her a few more minutes to gather her wits again as she leaned her hands on the edge of the sink and closed her eyes. “You can do this,” she said quietly, picturing the handsome stranger waiting patiently for her in the other room. Uncertain of this step she was taking, but determined to go through with it, she nervously slipped out of her slacks and pulled her sweater over her head. She retrieved the thin nylon gown from the counter and pulled it down over her head. She chose this gown because the thick straps would conceal her brassiere underneath. It was thin but not sheer. She checked her reflection in the mirror and adjusted the prosthesis in the left breast cup. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and returned to the bedroom.

He was in the bed leaning back against the headboard. If her granny-style gown surprised him, he gave no indication. He pulled back the top sheet so she could crawl in beside him. Tentatively she scooted closer to him in the bed until her skin touched his bare thigh. He reached out and pulled her into the crook of his arm. Slowly, testing the feel of him, she nestled her head in the little niche of his shoulder and placed her hand on his chest. She found it firm yet baby smooth. She raked her fingers lightly across his chest, enjoying the sensation under her fingers. She sighed deeply as she snuggled in closer to him. She breathed in his scent, clean with a subtle hint of cologne.

He glanced over her head at the clock on the end table. He’d been here thirty minutes already. Usually by this time he was deep between a woman’s thighs, and she was screaming like a banshee. At this pace he knew there wouldn’t be any of that today.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“This is perfect,” she mused.

Tentatively his fingers began caressing her back. His hand lightly brushed across the fastening of her brassiere. He felt her immediately stiffen in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing something was not quite right here. He assumed she was a virgin and thought it might have been the reason for her strange behavior. But why was she wearing a bra? He moved his hand back up to her shoulder.

“I guess you think I’m weird or something?” she said sadly, slipping back into her shell.

“No, I think you’re frightened—very beautiful, by the way, but very frightened. Do you want to tell me why?” he asked with concern. He wondered if perhaps she’d been raped. He couldn’t put his finger on the cause of her fear.

“I’m not beautiful,” she said adamantly. “Not anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

He felt the wetness from her tears as they fell onto his chest. She didn’t even look at him during the exchange. He lifted her off his chest so she was sitting up and facing him. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.

“I haven’t been beautiful since the surgery, since they took my breast,” she blurted out and began to cry.

He wasn’t prepared for that admission. A rape victim, a virgin—he could handle that. He’d handled it before. But this was different. This woman was beyond fragile, and what he did now would affect her psyche for years to come. “You’re still a beautiful woman. You are more than the sum total of your breasts,” he said as he pulled her back onto his shoulder.

“Jamal didn’t think so. He left me because he couldn’t deal with it,” she said angrily.

Once again Trevor found himself in the position of having to fix some other man’s screw up. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her face to his. Tenderly he kissed her. Her lips were salty from her tears. She responded slowly to his kiss. It had been so long. He deepened the kiss, flicking her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth to accept his probing tongue. She was growing moist as her body responded to him. Normally he would have reached across to caress her breast, but without staring he wasn’t sure which one was missing. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable so he placed his free hand on her flat stomach instead. Sliding her hand down his stomach, she felt the top of his briefs; unable to stop herself, she placed her hand against his organ through the cotton briefs. It was not erect. Disappointed, she pushed away from him.

“I don’t excite you either,” she accused.

“Yes, you do. But you don’t want this right now. And I don’t think it would be a good idea to rush into this. I only have a little time left with you today,” he explained.

“But how come you’re not…” she asked. Jamal had always gotten an erection from kissing her, and he’d stopped getting an erection after the surgery.

“Because I’m not fifteen, and this is what adults call control. Don’t worry, I won’t disappoint you,” he said easily. He smiled as he climbed out of the bed. She sat there looking forlorn and lost. He leaned back over the bed and kissed her again. “Next time,” he said. He collected his clothes and walked into the bathroom. She climbed out of bed and hastily retrieved his fee from her purse and put it on the corner of the dresser. Today she did not have an envelope; next time she would be prepared. Next time, she thought. Yes, she’d ventured this far; there would be a next time.

He emerged from the bathroom and headed for the door. Smoothly collecting his fee, he shoved the cash into his pocket. Turning at the door, he looked back at her. “Call me when you’re ready,” he said.

“What’s your name? Can I know your name?” she called to him.

“My name is Steve,” Trevor replied and closed the door behind him.