He’d disappeared, only to return with a wet washcloth to clean me off.
I was so done with this. Now I remembered why I’d quit in the first place.
Seven weeks to go.
Seven weeks of evidently not feeling like a human being whenever my client popped in for a quiet fuck.
At least Tina had gotten me a sweet deal with the payment renegotiation. Now I’d be walking away with four grand a week, minus her ten percent. First payment was due tomorrow, which Tina had held for me. The client paid in advance; the sex worker got paid afterward.
“You didn’t get hard during…” Gideon’s voice filled the dark apartment, and it faded just as quickly.
I had nothing to say. He hadn’t asked a direct question.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and yawned, hoping he’d either leave or wanna get some sleep, because I was a few minutes away from losing the last fuck about the rules. And if I opened my mouth now, he’d get an unfiltered piece of my mind.
The mattress dipped with his weight as he sat down on the edge next to me. “I’m frustrated. I know the rules I’ve imposed, but now I feel alone in this companionship.”
“Because you are.” Welp, those words left me of their own volition. But now I might as well continue. “You asked for a plaything who didn’t move or speak and you got one.”
I heard him swallow and take a couple breaths.
“Have…Have I hurt you?” he asked hesitantly.
Yes, I wanted to say, but it wouldn’t be right. He hadn’t done anything wrong whatsoever. I just wasn’t as perfectly suited for this work as I’d once thought I was, and now I was out of the game. Two years had passed since this had been a regular thing. My guard was down. I’d been naïve to think I could jump in without any preparations.
“I’ve hurt myself a little,” I settled for saying. “I thought I could go through with an arrangement—as a one-time thing—like I used to. This was once my full-time job, but I quit two years ago.”
“Yes, Tina explained she was pulling someone out of retirement who matched my criteria.”
That was one way of putting it.
Gideon cleared his throat. “Are you saying you can’t go through with it? I’m not good at reading between the lines.”
I blew out a breath and sat up. We were doing this. We were gonna talk. “No, I can.” Because fuck all other options. I was not going back to fucking Applebee’s. “What I can’t do is play along with your stupid rules. It’s not genuine, Gideon. You wanna explore for real? Let me see you. Let me participate. Don’t put a freaking gag order on me.”
I was met by silence, and it wasn’t like I could see him. It was so frustrating.
“It wouldn’t kill you to have a simple conversation with me,” I went on. “We can do it on your terms—we can text each other for all I care if you don’t wanna talk verbally. Whatever you’re the most comfortable with, but this…?” I gestured between us, even though he couldn’t see it. “This is about as real as you exploring with a blow-up doll.”
The silence stretched on, but I could sense him processing what I’d said. It sounded like he scrubbed at his face, and he breathed easier. There was surrender in his sigh. He had to realize what we’d done so far wasn’t working. Not for two months. It wasn’t what he wanted, and it sure as hell wasn’t what I wanted.
“It’s…difficult…maneuvering, for lack of a better word, this arrangement,” he said slowly, seemingly struggling to phrase himself. “Normal people can multitask and try on various hobbies different days of the week, but I go all in. I almost obsess over something until I’ve figured it out, and I can’t do that with you. I’ve made promises. I have commitments. This is supposed to be purely physical, and…and that’s why I don’t want to see notes on the fridge about where you’re going on Friday. I don’t want to know that you play the keyboard and the guitar and God knows what else, because I get intrigued.”
I pinched my lips together and cocked my head.
My guitar case had been under the bed the entire time I’d stayed in this apartment.
Fucking hell, I had to see him. I was done with this. I understood his worries; I genuinely did, and I’d heard similar stories from some of Anthony’s students. About the obsessing, about multitasking. But he was paying me to give him a full experience of exploring his sexuality, and I was itching to break the number one rule. The client being in charge.
I could hear Anthony’s warning about not getting involved as I reached for the lamp on the nightstand.
Please don’t panic, please don’t panic.