Tease (Tease 1)

“Good. Same old same old around here. I’m not sure where your father is…?” She craned her neck to see out the door, shaking her head, her eyes flashing with annoyance. My heart plummeted. Forgetting that Dad had died over twenty years ago was something Mom did often. Having to remind her he was gone was not fun.

“Mom,” I began gently, “Dad died back in 1992, remember? Nic and I were only little.” Her face clouded over as the memory of Dad dying came back. I couldn’t imagine how painful it would be having to be reminded of that every single day.

“What happened?” she asked me tearfully. I explained it to her as I did every week: He’d had cancer of the liver. He’d fought hard for a year, then it had spread so much that treatment wasn’t an option. The last few months we all spent together, creating memories.

Memories that this disease would end up robbing from my mother.

I stayed with Mom until after lunch before I did some shopping and then headed back home. With an appointment at five, I had enough time to kick back and relax for a few minutes and then be on my way.

I threw a frozen dinner in the microwave and put it on high for five minutes. While I was waiting, I grabbed a can of soda and took it over to the sofa. Setting it down on the coffee table, I arrived back in the kitchen just as the microwave finished.

Yum. Frozen pot roast.

I stabbed at it with my fork, washing down the flavorless meat with mouthfuls of soda. It wasn’t great, but it still beat my own cooking. I forced the last mouthful down, and threw the container in the trash. Maybe I needed to hire a personal chef.

I freshened up—by which I mean I washed my face and changed my shirt, then headed out. I drove toward the hotel where my next client was waiting still thinking about Mom. I was so nervous the treatment wasn’t working. Too many days she seemed to be going backward. That had to be a bad sign. The worst thing about it was deep down, if I were completely honest with myself, a small part of me looked forward to the time when I could start the next phase of my life. Quit escorting. Do something else. God I felt so guilty even thinking about it, and maybe that was why I was so invested in doing everything I could to help Mom now. After all she’s done for me, it mortified me that even think about the future, when she was no longer around. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was my choice to do what I do—nobody was holding a gun to my head. Plenty of other people have problems and deal with them.

I was definitely not as together as the front I put on.

Chapter Five

Have you ever had that thought where you find yourself in a moment and wonder how the hell you got there?

Take right then for example: there I was, my foot resting on the edge of the bath in the penthouse of one of the most expensive hotels in New York with a fucking naked Oscar-winning actress bent over in front of me, taking my cock up her ass. And this was one hell of a bathroom to fuck anyone in; marble and brass everywhere, spotlessly clean (at least it was five minutes ago) and a deep Japanese-style plunge bath I hoped to be soaking in later. That was the one thing I missed in my apartment—a bath.

For sixty, Melinda Diveno certainly still had a healthy sexual appetite. She was “happily” married to her husband of over twenty years, but what I found most interesting about her was that out of respect to him, she declined any role with a graphic sex scene. Yet she saw no problem with paying me two grand to fuck her senseless twice a month.

“Oh lord, harder!” she cried, craning her neck as my grip on her waist tightened. This was it—she was about to orgasm, and I wasn’t far off either. Whoever said you couldn’t mix work with pleasure obviously wasn’t getting paid for sex.

“Come on, Melinda, come for me baby,” I crooned softly, as pushed myself harder and faster.

She whimpered as her body released.

I closed my eyes, my jaw tightening as I came, hard. “God, Mel, you’re so fucking sexy.” I pulled out of her and spun her around. Gripping her neck, my thumb resting on her chin, I tilted her head and kissed her roughly. She wrapped her arms around me, her lips crushing against mine.

“You’re such a sweetie, Coop.” She s

miled and moved away, grabbing the bathrobe from the hook behind the door and sliding it over her shoulders before walking out into the living room. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, thanks.” I wrapped a towel loosely around my waist and walked in after her. The king-sized bed, complete with a mountain of pillows and a plush duvet, sat against the far wall. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed part of the reason why this hotel was voted New York’s finest at the last year’s Hotel Association Awards—the view was fucking spectacular. I walked over to the two burgundy suede armchairs that sat in front of the TV, sliding down onto one. Melinda smiled at me, her face still flushed from our earlier fun.

She handed me a glass of wine. Her robe fitted snugly against her tight, slim body. She was hot, but then again, most of my clients were. I eyed her as she sat in the other chair, her robe slipping open, exposing her long, lean legs.

“I have no idea how I survived without you, Coop.” She stretched, lifting the glass to her lips. “You’re amazing.”

“I aim to please. Besides, fucking you is a privilege. You’re Melinda Diveno, for Christ’s sake. I feel like I should be paying you,” I chuckled softly.

I finished my wine and then went back to the bathroom to take a shower. Melinda came in as I soaped myself up. She watched me for a moment, her eyes not straying from my cock. Finally she looked up.

“I’m off, darling. I’ll see you next week. Stay for the night if you want to. Order room service.” She blew me a kiss and left.

She never showered after our sessions, which struck me as odd, considering she was going home to her husband. I don’t know about you, but I can smell sex on a person—especially a woman. There is something about the fragrance of a woman’s scent after she’s been intimate that is enough to drive me insane. Maybe her husband knew what she was up to, and maybe he didn’t. Not my problem. My only concern was making sure she was satisfied with the service I’d provided and making sure I treated her with the respect she deserved.

It wasn’t always just about the sex, but Melinda had never been big on the small talk. My clients get from me what they can’t get elsewhere in their lives, and when it came to her, she had a husband and kids. Why waste perfectly good fucking time with talking? Some women liked the banter, and for them that was all part of the experience. Every woman was different in what they wanted from me.

I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and then wrapped a towel around my waist before grabbing a can of soda from the minibar. Payments with most of my clients were done electronically because it was easier—especially when you’re having to draw out several thousand in cash every few weeks. And let’s face it, these days you can write off payments as anything, so leaving a paper trail wasn’t an issue.

After I finished my soda, I filled the tub and ordered room service—chocolate fudge cake with ganache and raspberry coulis—which I ate whilst immersed in the hot water. With the amount of sex I got I figured I could treat myself every now and then. With the amount of sex I had, I figured I could treat myself every now and then.