The Escort Next Door Read Free

heavily through his nose, he was quiet for a few
moments. When he spoke again, it was in deliberately muted tones. “Why are we
doing this?”
    I couldn’t be sure whether the question was being asked of
me or my breasts, and I waited for his bleary eyes to find mine once more. “I
think,” I sighed, my head rocking back and resting against the door. “I think,
we’re both a little stressed and tired. It’s a rough patch,” I added. That
final phrase was spoken with more confidence than I felt in it. In truth, it
was a hope that I’d been clinging to. As the weeks and months dragged on, the
‘patch’ got bigger and bigger. I was beginning to wonder if things would ever
improve.
    His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. “All I’ve been
thinking about over the last hour is getting you back here and ripping your
clothes off,” he said, the fingers of his free hand suddenly snaking over my
hip.
    “That’s because you’re drunk,” I informed him, allowing him
to tug my lower half to him. My hips met his with a slight bump and I felt the
warm swell of his groin pressed against my belly.  The evening had been far
from romantic. I didn’t particularly want to make love with him right then. It
was clear to all but the blind that alcohol had made him horny. Nothing else
seemed to matter to him, not the fact that we’d been fighting, nor the fact
that it had been almost two months since the last time we’d had sex. 
    “So what?” he replied darkly, as he moved his body against
mine resulting in a surge of blood to his penis.
    He was rock hard, his erection straining at the tented front
of his pants. I wanted to stay mad; I was still mad. And yet, two long
months without physical intimacy had taken its toll on me. My fingers trembled
as an all too familiar warmth began to pool in my stomach and spread slowly
southward. “Maybe,” I mumbled, realizing my mouth had gone suddenly dry. “Maybe
we should talk about this in the morning.” As I tried to grapple some control over
my desire, he continued to drive me to the edge.
    Drawing his face close to mine, he teased my lips with his.
Close enough to kiss me, he simply brushed his mouth against mine and pulled
back as I instinctively leaned toward his lips. “I don’t want to talk,” he
breathed, “now or in the morning.” His fingers stroked their way over my hip
and grasped my buttock forcefully.
    I gasped as he tugged me closer, grinding his lower half
against mine. My hands automatically shot up to his shoulders, regaining my balance.
“Kiss me,” I pleaded, my fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his shirt.
     Paul’s hand slipped quickly from the bathroom door and
snaked around my waist. He turned me hurriedly, panting with need as he pressed
his open mouth to mine. His tongue dove between my lips, exploring with deep
thrusts and little finesse. He pushed me rapidly and I followed his direction,
my bare feet sliding backwards on the smooth carpet until my legs met the
bedstead. His momentum didn’t stop, and the force of his weight sent me
flopping onto my back.
    I bounced on the soft mattress, releasing a muffled groan as
his weight landed carelessly on top of me. “Mmm,” I mumbled into his mouth.
“Hey,” I panted, jerking my head to one side and tearing my lips away from his.
“Let’s slow down a little, huh?” I suggested, my hands stroking over the broad,
sinewy muscles in his back. “There’s no rush,” I whispered into his ear.
    Either unable or unwilling to listen, Paul grunted as his
hands slid down my thighs. Hooking the fingers of one hand beneath my left
knee, he coaxed my legs apart. His other hand was busy with the hem of my
dress, pushing it haphazardly up. “Oh, God. I need you,” he groaned, nestling
his hips between my legs and pushing his still clothed groin to my
underwear-covered sex.
    It had been a long time since Paul had been that frenzied
and impetuous. It was flattering to know, even after all those years,