Boyfriend for Hire(2)

I run a hand through my hair and let out a sigh. Entertaining two women in one evening isn’t the ideal scenario. “Isn’t there someone else?”

Case shakes his head. “Ryder and I are both booked too. Think you can handle a doubleheader?”

I know what he’s really asking. Will I be able to get it up and deliver twice within as many hours? “That won’t be a problem. But what do you know about Amy?”

Case’s firm mouth softens. “You’ll like her. Thirty-something, fit, and attractive. She’s a single mom who occasionally books with Donovan or Ryder to blow off some steam.”

I nod. It’s not like I have much of a choice. “Fine.”

“Thanks, man.” Case looks down at his desk, seeming preoccupied.

“Is that all?” Why do I get the feeling there’s something else?

He smirks again. “I know I told you that you’d have tomorrow off, but . . .”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I’ve been looking forward to sleeping in late tomorrow, hitting the gym, and then spending the afternoon at my apartment’s rooftop pool to relax. I’ve been working too much lately as it is.

“But what?” I ask.

Case leans forward on his elbows. “There’s a woman I need you to meet. It’s just coffee. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“What’s the situation. Why coffee?”

“Guess she wants to meet you before she commits. It happens sometimes,” he says with a shrug, then closes his laptop and rises to his feet. “It’ll be your job to make her feel comfortable, win her over.”

I let out a sigh and stand. “Fine.”

Case hands me a sheet of paper that outlines my appointments for the rest of the week. Weekends are busiest, but I still have one or two clients I entertain midweek. I fold the paper and place it inside my jacket pocket, along with my sunglasses.

Since it’s almost time to get my evening started, I head out, saying good-bye to Case and then Ryder on my way out.

I really do love my job.

? ? ?

Two hours later, I grab the small black duffel bag I keep in my car for work and start up the walk after Rebecca. It contains all the basics—condoms, lube, a variety of vibrators, a silk blindfold, baby wipes, my toothbrush, and a small stash of Viagra.

I’ve needed help a couple of times to get hard for a client, but thankfully it doesn’t happen often. I love sex, and usually the women who book me are attractive socialite types who are bored of their husband and can afford to spend his money on a younger model.

At first, this bothered me—a lot, actually—but then I realized their husbands were doing the same thing—out seeing women half their age, sleeping with their secretaries on the side, basically nailing anything they could catch and release. Once I realized this was the way the game is played in their world, I got along just fine. That isn’t to say that sometimes I don’t like the feeling of being a pawn in their game. Even if I do support a woman taking charge of her own pleasure, there’s still the stigma.

I’d like to think I provide a valuable service. A forty-five-year-old client once told me that she’d never had an orgasm with her husband in twenty-two years of marriage. That’s some sad shit right there. I guess this job is just me making up for inadequate men who can’t please their ladies. Needless to say, she came four times that first night with me, and continued booking me on and off for over a year until she worked up the courage to ask her husband for a divorce. When she remarried last year, I was invited to her wedding. I didn’t go—that would have been weird—but I did send her a toaster. And it was a nice fucking toaster, if I do say so myself.

Dinner with Rebecca is nice, uneventful, and the conversation pleasant. Rebecca always pays, and we always eat at her favorite restaurant, an American bistro with big juicy steaks. Not that I’ve ever tried one. While I’m working, I try to eat light, knowing the aerobic activities I’ll be engaging in later in the evening.

Rebecca shimmies her hips as she walks, her round ass filling out her black pencil skirt nicely. I smirk as I watch her. No need to seduce me, sweetheart. I’ll be fucking you tonight no matter what.

When she unlocks the door and lets us inside, I’m familiar enough with her fantasies by now that I barely wait for her to close the door behind us. Pressing her against the wall, I devour her neck with kisses.

I never kiss on the mouth, but I have no problem putting my mouth pretty much anywhere else. Well, not anywhere. I don’t do oral. It’s one of the rules I’ve set for myself. There’s something about it that’s just so intimate, I’d prefer to save it for someone who means something to me. But Rebecca’s interests are pretty tame. She just wants to feel desired. Wants to feel that a man is so enamored with her that he can barely wait until they’re inside the bedroom to have her. It’s a fantasy I’m happy to act out for her.

I cup her round ass in my palms and give it a squeeze as my teeth nip at her exposed collarbone. It’s all very practiced, even if it doesn’t seem like it to her.

Her palms explore the contours of my chest beneath my suit jacket, and she makes a pleased sound low in her throat. “Yes, Nic.”

My cock hardens as she whimpers and rubs her body against mine.

“Tell me what you want,” I whisper against her neck.