HIRED FOR HER PLEASURE

Bonnie Dee

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2011 by Bonnie Dee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

* * * * *

Hired for her Pleasure

* * * * *

Chapter One

Monica stared deeply into magnetic blue eyes as she rode the swell of orgasm like a surfer on a curling wave, trying to make the sensation last. Her breath panted rapidly in and out of her parted lips and her body writhed on the bed. Oh God, it had never been like this before with anyone. Never so strong or sweet or all encompassing. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the escalating waves coursing through her. Higher, higher, higher and then…release. She was cut loose, falling weightless, timeless, bodiless until she landed back on her bed with a spasm of her entire body.

Monica gave a long, quiet sigh of relief. Her hand stopped moving between her legs and she opened her eyes to look at the handsome face in the movie poster on her wall. “Thanks for the inspiration, buddy.”

Her inner thighs were damp. She sighed and reached for the Kleenex box, wiping up before she rolled over and got out of bed to start another day.

Cereal rattled into her bowl, dry cat food into Amber’s while the tabby wound around her legs and meowed. Monica watched a morning talk show as she crunched down the cereal and breaking news as she walked several miles on her treadmill. A long shower and a little clean up around the house came next before she booted up her computer for the day.

She stared at the blank page on the monitor and took a long sip of coffee. There were plenty of articles she should be working on, several of which were due soon, but she wasn’t in the mood to tackle any of them. She stared at the flashing cursor and thought about switching her computer theme for a change of scenery. She minimized the page and gazed at the wallpaper. The perfect pecs, steel drum abs and rigid cock of the naked male model she’d dubbed Bruce greeted her. She decided she wasn’t quite ready to trade him up for a new face.

“You get a reprieve, Bruce,” she informed him. “I’ll leave you up till next week.”

She tapped the mouse and called up her blank page again. Still white and empty. The computer popped up a reminder of an impending deadline for the “Firm and Fit” article which she hadn’t yet begun. Monica grimaced and clicked the notice closed. Screw fitness. She was in no mood to focus on boring topics this morning. Instead, she began to type.

He is sandy blond, the ends of his hair bleached lighter by the sun because he’s a...

Monica stopped to think. What was he today? A construction worker? A lifeguard? An archeologist? No.

...a surfer. He has the broad chest and long, lean build of a swimmer. He spends every spare hour at the beach in the bright, hot sunlight, his body a part of his surfboard as he rides the waves. He loves the outdoors but at night he’s looking for some indoor entertainment. At night he comes to me, body still radiating heat from a day spent in the sun. Warmth pours off his tanned skin as my hands stroke the silken ridges of his stomach, his sculpted chest and powerful shoulders. He looks down into my eyes. His are as blue as the summer sky under which he spends so much time. He tells me how he thought of me today and couldn’t wait to do this, then he covers my mouth with his. I open beneath him like a flower, my petals unfurling at his bright touch and I feel how much his sunlight is drawn to my dark night.

“Too much.” She deleted the last sentence.

His tongue teases at my lips and slips between them. I taste the salt of the ocean and welcome the incoming tide of sensation. Our kisses are fevered, as if it’s been five years instead of five hours since we were last together. One of his hands cradles my neck while the other slides down my back to cup my ass and knead lightly. He pulls me hard against his groin so I can feel the ridge of his erection beneath his loose swim trunks. He almost always wears them, as if he might drop everything at any moment to go catch the perfect wave. I have to share him with the sea, but right now, he’s all mine.

He grinds against my crotch, letting me feel how much I arouse him. He surrenders my mouth after one last deep kiss and asks me how I want it and where. I consider having him carry me upstairs and lay me on the silken sheets of my bed or perhaps drawing a scented bath to wash the salt from his skin—Monica smiled thinking of her actual tiny bedroom and crappy bathtub.—but instead I tell him right here is fine.

He resumes kissing me frantically, hands roaming everywhere. He fondles my breast through my blouse then unbuttons it and removes my bra. When my breasts are free, he kisses the creamy skin of my plump, ripe...

She reached up and squeezed her A-cup bosom, then backspaced.

He kisses over the soft flesh until he reaches the flat circle of my aureole and the tender bud at the center. Looking up at me with a mischievous grin, he leans in and envelops my nipple with his mouth. He sucks hard, pulling and releasing over and over. The tugging draws a tight line all the way down to my crotch. I moan and thrust my chest toward him.

Her nipples felt tender and fevered as they pressed against her bra cups. The mental stimulation of her fantasy was almost enough to urge her toward another orgasm. Monica read what she’d written so far then began to backspace, blotting out the paragraphs character by character. When she was done it was as if the blank sheet had never been touched. Erotic fantasies wouldn’t pay the bills. She needed to get some serious work done before the morning slipped away from her.

She clicked on the folder where she kept her works in progress and scanned all the partially finished projects she should be working on. The trust fund her grandmother had bestowed on her was generous, but not enough to keep Monica solvent without additional income.

She opened the article about children’s TV and internet habits and read what she’d already written about the statistics and proposed remedies for electronic addiction. Basically it boiled down to unplugging the kids and sending them outdoors and spending more time engaged in family activities. Hard to say anything new about a topic that had been beaten like an old horse, but she typed a few more paragraphs and brought the horse across the finish line. One assignment completed. A quick edit and then she emailed the article to the online publication which would pay her a pittance for the words she’d wrestled out of thin air.

Now for that “Fit and Trim” thing… But instead, she opened another blank page and her fingers flew on the keyboard as images translated to words which poured onto the screen.

The escaped convict forced me to my knees with a rough hand on my shoulder. He pulled open his jeans, exposing the dark hair covering his groin. His cock was hard and huge, veins standing out along the shaft and the head a violent red. It thrust menacingly at my face. I feared it, feared him, yet part of me wanted to swallow that hot, throbbing length, to know at last the texture and taste, the very essence of a man.

“You want to suck it, baby?” he asked.

I was on my knees in front of him with my hands tied behind my back so he knew damn well I would suck it whether I wanted to or not. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and moved the engorged head closer to my mouth, offering--not quite demanding. A pearl of pre-cum slipped down the smooth head. Unconsciously I leaned forward as if to catch it on my tongue. I was horrified by my situation yet a secret part of me was aflame with desire.

He held my head steady and brushed his cock against my closed lips. I opened my mouth to protest--or so I told myself--and he pushed inside. The salty musk invaded my mouth like the man himself had invaded my home. Then, without him prompting me do it, I began to suck.

The doorbell rang. Monica jumped in her chair and hurriedly minimized the document before answering the door.

Her mother swept into the house like the Queen of the Bronx, and enveloped Monica in a hug. “Sweetie, how are you?”

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” It was Wednesday and only ten o’clock in the morning. Showing up unexpectedly midweek was not Julia Brennerman’s usual behavior.

“Nothing. Why would you think that? Nothing is up.” The tone of her voice and the repetition of the word “nothing” assured Monica there was some drama afoot.

She ushered her mother to the dinette in the kitchen and set about making fresh coffee. “Come on. What is it?”

“I told you, nothing, dear. Oh, honey, I don’t drink coffee any more. Got to watch the caffeine. Do you have herbal tea?”

Monica went to the cupboard and pulled out a selection of tea boxes then placed two mugs in the microwave to heat. “Spit it out, Mom.”

“I told you—”

“Nothing, I know. But last time you came rushing in here without calling first, the nothing turned out to be you’d found out you had to have a hysterectomy.”

“All right.” She brushed back her curly hair. “Maybe it is a little something. You know how your cousin Barb gets those discounts at the travel agency she works for?”

“Oh no. Don’t even go there.”

“Hear me out, sweetheart. Hawaii. This summer. Your dad and me and both of you girls. The ticket prices were unbelievable. Your father and I want to do this for you and Lisa for an early Christmas present for next year. Surely you won’t refuse a Christmas present?”

“Mom, what part of ‘agoraphobic’ don’t you understand?”

“Yes. I understand. But your therapist said you should start making little forays outdoors.” She indicated with her forefinger and thumb the tiny increments Monica could take in progressing back into the outside world. “You could start by working on your garden. You used to love your garden.”

“I like my window garden just fine.”

“Maybe another day you could take a walk just to the edge of your yard, and then maybe down the block. By summer you could be tanning in the sun on a beach surrounded by cabana boys with leis.”

Monica took a deep breath, determined not to snap. “I appreciate the offer. It’s very generous but it’s not going to happen. Lisa can bring a friend to use the extra ticket. Now I have to get back to work. I can’t talk about this with you anymore.”

“I haven’t had my tea yet.”

The timer rang and Monica pulled the steaming mugs from the microwave. “You’ll get your tea, but promise not to bring up Hawaii again. You can tell me about Aunt Helen’s back troubles or how annoying dad’s snoring is. You can even tell me about Barb’s fiancé and the wedding plans, but you won’t bring up traveling.”

“Of course, dear. Do you think I’m insensitive? I can tell when my girl is upset and I won’t mention again the great discount we got on the tickets or how your dad has dreamed about having a family vacation like we used to when you girls were little.”

“Good.” Monica thought longingly of her dream man, whoever she might invent today, waiting for her just a click away in the confines of her computer. “So, what color are Barb’s bridesmaid dresses?”

*

By the time her mother left, Monica’s morning was shot. She wasn’t the slightest bit interested in finishing her articles and even the lure of imaginary boyfriends or the nameless criminal who always wanted to tie her up had palled.

She entered the seductive world of the internet, where there was always something to do to distract a person from her priorities. She watched some amusing videos and surfed a little porn then she browsed both the legitimate dating services and the seedy escort ads. Her attention was caught by a man in formalwear holding a single red rose. He smiled at her from the screen as if he had a secret to share.

Need someone to escort you to that corporate dinner? A partner to dance with at your cousin’s wedding? Someone with whom to share a quiet, intimate evening at home? Your dream date is available 24/7 at Labors of Love.

A quiet evening at home. What would that entail?

The site design was conservative and tasteful. More information and links took up the parts of the screen not occupied by Mr. Perfect Teeth and his flawless red rose. It was a cut above other escort sites Monica had visited and she wasn’t sure sex was even on the menu at Labors of Love. It was certainly less threatening than the blatant prostitution she’d seen advertised elsewhere. Could she actually do this, hire a date for a “quiet, intimate evening at home”?

She drummed her fingers on the desk for a moment then reached for the mouse and clicked on the link that led to the catalog of providers. Instantly her screen was covered with smiling men’s faces and bare chests. Not to say all the men were shirtless, but most of their shirts were at least open to show their physique and the kind of sculpted bodies they possessed were clear from that glimpse of flesh.

Monica scanned faces, names and descriptions. There was square-jawed, All-American Mark, who loved moonlit beach strolls and giving full body massages in front of a crackling fire. David, with amazing cheekbones and almond eyes, was a trained ballroom dancer who would give private lessons in the art of movement. Travis loved poetry and literature and would explore any subject one desired. He had beautiful dark skin and huge biceps. Yuri’s steely blue eyes were captivating. His bio said he was a Russian immigrant and gave the impression he was former military and would be happy to discipline as needed. The implication from the wording of the bios was that sex could be part of the full escort service.

Monica lost track of time gazing at the handsome eye-candy and wondered how Labors of Love had secured such perfect male specimens. When she skipped to the rates page, she learned how. The base fee for an hour’s time was high budget. These guys were obviously meant as companions for the wealthy. Credit cards were accepted because it was a legitimate business enterprise. Labors of Love employees were being hired as escorts, not sex workers.

She needed to stop gawking and start working. A homeless agoraphobic would not be a pretty sight. Her cursor hovered, then Monica clicked on the candy counter one more time.

Halfway down the second page she came across a face that was neither smiling like a Ken doll nor pouting like a model. He was merely staring at the camera with an expression close to surprise, as if the photographer had walked into his bathroom and caught him about to get in the shower. Tousled, dirty blond hair tumbled down his forehead over wide, pale blue eyes. Light stubble roughened his cheeks and jaw. His mouth was absolutely kissable with a full lower lip and a sweet bow in the upper. A tribal tattoo encircled his arm, but she couldn’t make out the pattern in the small photo. He didn’t have the air of professionalism most of the other men displayed and had a totally non-threatening, scruffy art student vibe. He looked like the type of person who didn’t worry about his looks and probably wasn’t even aware of how hot he was. This was a guy she could feel comfortable inviting into her home for a casual stay-at-home date with an option for more physical contact to follow.

She read his bio. “Ryan is a carpenter experienced in wood-craft. He enjoys working with his hands and will fix anything that needs attention in your home. He’s new to our roster but will clearly be in demand by our clientele.”

She looked at his face again. I have to have him!

Horrified, she pushed away from the desk, escaping temptation. She couldn’t honestly be considering this. An escort or dating service, call it whatever you wanted it was still prostitution. How could she demean this young man by paying him for sex or even just a simple date? It was both unethical and humiliating. It would be an announcement to herself that she’d given up on the possibility of finding someone the way normal people do and was reduced to hiring her dates online. She could not do this.

She looked at Ryan once more. Stared at him so long she felt as if his eyes were meeting hers and seeing her. The more she looked the more she wanted him. She was so tired of having no one, no real man’s arms wrapped around her, no heavy body weighing hers down, no lips pressed against hers, no tongue gently probing her mouth or thick, living cock pushing into her. She was sick of vibrators or her own hand and imaginary fantasies. She wanted a real man simply to talk with if nothing else.

Monica took a deep breath and clicked on the link by Ryan’s name that led her through the process of ordering her date. She was afraid to fill out the profile about her private wants and needs, but she did it. The cursor hovered over the final button to complete the transaction and at last she pressed Send. She’d set the date up for Thursday night. Two more days and Ryan would be hers for one evening.

The service didn’t request pre-payment. She would finalize the transaction after meeting her escort. There went the birthday money from her parents. When her mother asked her what she’d spent it on, which she would, Monica would tell her she’d enjoyed a little personal pampering, suggesting she’d had an in-home massage or something.

She collapsed back in her chair and spun it back and forth. Her heart raced and a panic attack threatened. Was this even legal? Would she get busted by an undercover vice cop and hauled off to jail? Was this a scam and she’d somehow get ripped off? If so, she deserved it. What kind of a person paid to receive sexual services from another person? Not that hiring an escort meant she would have sex with him.

Anyway, it was too late. The deed was done. On Thursday night at eight p.m. she’d open her front door and greet her gentleman caller.

Monica leaned toward the computer and clicked on the photo gallery one last time. Amber jumped up on the computer desk and patted at the screen with one white mitten. The cat loved playing with the cursor as it darted across the screen, but just now the cursor wasn’t moving. Amber was tapping her paw on Ryan’s face.

“You approve, Amber? Wow! Thanks.” Monica moved the heavy cat to the floor. She saved Ryan’s photo to her computer, closed the Labors of Love website and returned her attention to the article she needed to finish.

She struggled to concentrate on the five top tips for keeping firm and fit, while fantasies about the upcoming date buzzed around in her head like a bee in a bell jar. It was going to be a difficult couple of days.

Chapter Two

Ryan stared at a mute Oprah leaning forward and handing a handkerchief to her guest then patting the woman’s knee. The camera closed in on Oprah’s face and she yammered at the network audience for a while.

What a fucking waste of an afternoon. He’d been sitting on a hard, molded plastic chair in the waiting area of the mechanic shop for the past two hours, staring at afternoon TV and listening to the whine of pneumatic wrenches in the garage. His physics textbook lay open on his lap but he hadn’t absorbed any of the formulas on the page. He was going to flunk the test if he couldn’t pull his head out of his ass. If his new job was going to distract him this much, maybe he’d better rethink it no matter how good the money.

The clatter of metal hitting cement coming from the other room reminded him why he’d taken the escort job. The near-death of his Jeep was the final block in a game of financial Jenga that threatened to topple and bury him any moment. Cash was crucial right now. There was no other way he could earn so much so fast. Hell, if he was paid as well for construction work, he’d never have reached this precarious position.

The problem was all the shit had hit the fan at once. Gram couldn’t live unsupervised and he had to put her in a nursing home. Construction was in a dry spell and even the small repair jobs that usually kept him afloat were sparse right now. Other businesses weren’t hiring or couldn’t supply the pay he needed to keep his grandma housed. He didn’t want to add any more onto his student loan and he refused to give up on school after working at it for so long. He’d felt pinched between the slowly compressing walls of a trash compactor the day his friend Tim told him he should try a phone sex gig.

“Perfect for students. You can do your homework between calls. It’s easy work. The client practically leads you through what they want and the pay’s really good.”

Ryan had never before asked Tim about his weird job, but, for the first time, he asked, “How good?”

Tim laughed a rolling bass that sounded like it should come from a much bigger man. Tim did voice-overs on commercials or audio book recordings, whatever his agent could get him. “Good. You’ve got a great voice for it. Husky. People respond to that.”

Ryan grimaced. “So what’s the pay like?”

A couple of days later, he’d found himself taking his first phone sex call.

At first he wracked his brain to think of sexy things to say and felt like a fool sitting in a room with co-workers all purring smut into their headsets. They moaned, groaned and told the caller what they would like to do to him or her. Ryan copied the other operators and did like Tim said--listened to what the customer wanted and gave it to them. Female or male, it didn’t matter. He could act whatever part they needed him to play.

He learned to linger over certain words, caressing them and building the intensity until he brought the client off right over the phone. Hearing them let go was kind of satisfying in a weird way. Other times all he had to do was listen to fears, complaints and self-doubt--for a price. He felt guilty about how much the calls cost when a person unburdened his soul or broke down in tears as minutes ticked past. But maybe he was doing some good and it was probably a lot cheaper than a therapist.

Ryan had worked the lines for about a month when Gram’s nursing home upped their prices and he began slipping down the slope to broke again. One of his co-workers, Jeannie, a middle-aged single mom, listened to his complaining one evening and asked if he knew how to dance.

“Dance?”

“The money you can make as an exotic dancer makes our pay look like peanuts and baby, you’ve got the body and the look. You should go to the Boy Box and audition.”

“The Boy Box, That’s a real name?”

“It’s an honest enough living. You just happen to take your clothes off while you’re dancing.”

“Nu-uh.” He shook his head. “The phone sex thing is bad enough. Besides I don’t really dance, not like that anyway.”

“With a body like that you don’t know how to move it? Shoot. That’s a pure waste.” Jeannie paused and pursed her lips. “I could teach you. You come over to my place tomorrow before work while the kids are at school. I’ll give you a lesson.”

Ryan couldn’t decide if she was coming on to him or being friendly. He learned the next afternoon at her house. Jeannie taught him to strut and writhe across the makeshift stage of her living room to some soul classics then they spent the next hour dancing in the sheets.

The woman was energetic and experienced. By the time they’d repeated the lesson on several different occasions, Ryan knew more about how to please a woman than he ever had before.

After the fourth visit, as he was lying in the tangled sheets sweating, panting and boneless, Jeannie ran her hand over his chest and tweaked a nipple. “Boy, you would be totally wasted prancing around a stage. I have a friend, who knows a guy who works for an escort service. That’s where the real money is. And I know you’ve got talent. I’ll get you a phone number to call.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so. I don’t even have the courage to do the stripping thing let alone…what you’re talking about.”

She patted his stomach, sat up and reached for her top. “Whatever. I’ll give you the number. You talk to the guy then decide if it’s for you.”

It was later that night on his way home from the phone sex job that the timing belt broke on his jeep. He’d had it towed and walked to his apartment where a note from his landlord informed him the rent was being increased. When he put his frozen dinner in the microwave and it came out rock hard after ten minutes, he threw the tray across the kitchen smack into the TV, cracking the screen.

Ryan sank down on the kitchen floor, laughing until he cried at his outrageous bad luck. After he made it through his mini nervous breakdown, he called the phone number Jeannie had given him.

*

The suite that housed Labors of Love was located in an office park full of cookie-cutter buildings. Ryan had expected erotic sculptures or paintings but the reception area was elegantly neutral. He waited for less than a minute before a stocky woman in a tailored jacket and slacks emerged from an office. She shook his hand, introducing herself as Ms. Darrow, and led him to an interview room. There he was photographed, weighed, measured and asked to fill out a psychological questionnaire. Ms. Darrow told him he’d need to pass a standard physical, drug and STD testing before he could be employed. She questioned Ryan about his background and his reasons for seeking this type of employment then asked if he had any questions about Labors of Love.

“How does it work? How would I be matched up with a...a client?”

“Someone who has seen your profile in our online catalog will contact the company. You have the option of accepting or rejecting the assignment but too many rejected dates may lead to your dismissal. It reflects poorly on the company if a provider is repeatedly unavailable when a client requests him. Unless, of course, he’s simply in demand.” She looked Ryan over appraisingly and he tried not to squirm.

“I don’t suppose you have many female clients. Would I be expected to date men? Because I’m not too into that.” He feared—and hoped—this confession would be a deal-breaker, but Ms. Darrow accepted the news with a nod.

“Pity, because you’re right, a large percentage of our clients are gay men. This will considerably cut down on the number of dates you’re offered. If you’d be willing to entertain either sex that would be preferable. However, you’ll be surprised at how many female clients we have, and I’m sure you’ll be quite popular with them.”

Ryan had no further questions and Mrs. Darrow told him she’d contact him in the near future then saw him out the door.

Later that evening when she called and told him that Labors of Love would like to add him to their roster provided the results of his blood work and tests were clean, he listened to himself thanking her for the opportunity.

He hung up the phone, heart pounding and asked himself if he was seriously going to do this. But a call from the garage an hour later giving an estimate on his Jeep silenced the inner voice.

A few days later, after Ryan had passed the required tests, Mrs. Darrow called to tell him he had an assignment with a woman named Monica Brennerman on Thursday at her home. Ryan took down the woman’s address and information about what she was expecting from her date. He learned that she suffered from agoraphobia and had rarely been out of her home in the past two years. Ms. Darrow said Monica had friends and relatives who visited but had lived a reclusive life for so long she might be awkward and shy. It was Ryan’s job to put her at ease, share a romantic meal and afterward provide her with whatever kind of companionship was required.

Ms. Darrow said Labors would have preferred to have one of their established customers as his first client, but since Ms. Brennerman had chosen Ryan, he’d have to adapt quickly.

*

Now here it was, Thursday afternoon, waiting on his Jeep to be fixed and only hours away from his first Labors of Love assignment. Ryan balanced the physics text on one leg and watched Oprah’s mouth move, but he was picturing what Monica Brennerman might be like.

He imagined her as the classic spinster like on a deck of Old Maid cards. He was mortally afraid of what might happen at the end of the night. He was afraid of how he’d react, or more accurately, not be able to react if she wanted sex. What if she was repulsive and he literally couldn’t get hard? He should’ve got ahold of some Viagra just in case. Did a customer get reimbursed for non-performance? Would it come out of his paycheck--a paycheck he hadn’t even earned yet? Maybe he would end up owing Labors of Love money.

“Your Jeep’s ready.” The mechanic came through the door from the garage startling Ryan from his thoughts. “It’s parked around the side. In addition to the timing belt there was this oil leak so it’s a little over the quote.”

“I said not to fix anything else without checking with me first.” Ryan shoved his book into his backpack and rose to face off with the mechanic. It had taken days for them to get to his vehicle and now additional charges were being tacked on? No way. He focused all his fears and worries about the evening into anger directed at the mechanic. “I’m won’t pay one penny more than what you quoted me.”

One chastened mechanic and a significantly reduced bill later, Ryan walked out of the garage with the keys to his Jeep clutched in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder. Maybe after he got home and showered he’d finally have a moment to concentrate on studying for the physics exam before he left for his appointment.

Yeah, right.

*

Several hours later, Ryan pulled up in front of the address he’d been given. It was a small, brick ranch house with a tiny front yard in a neighborhood of duplicate houses with neat green lawns. The street was quiet with few parked cars and no children’s toys littering the lawns. It screamed “old people on fixed incomes.” Knowing the rates Labors of Love charged, Ryan wondered how the spinster lady could afford the service. This was not at all the kind of place he’d expected.

Now that the moment was here, his heart was pounding and sweat beaded his brow even though the night was cool. He hoped his clothes were okay. In her request form, Monica had suggested casual wear. He had on jeans and a gray T-shirt with a jacket over it to suggest a degree of dressing up. He glanced at his scuffed boots and realized he probably should have tried to polish them then he glanced in the rearview mirror and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck out in odd directions. He could never get it to lay flat.

Looking at himself he wondered how he’d passed Ms. Darrow’s inspection and been hired. He’d checked out other providers on the Labors of Love website and he didn’t have what they had. His body was fit enough, he supposed, but his face, which Monica Brennerman had chosen above all those other guys, was certainly nothing special.

“You can’t sit here forever. Just get it over with,” he told himself before taking a deep breath and opening the car door.

He walked up the cement path to the dark green front door, rang the bell and offered a silent prayer that Monica not be too homely, even though he had no right to ask God for favors because he was about to perform an illegal, immoral act.

His pulse pounded in his ears, deafening as the moment of waiting dragged on. He wiped damp hands on his jeans and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t crack when he spoke. He felt an insane urge to make sure he smelled okay and laughed as he imagined her opening the door and catching him sniffing his pits. Instead, he was standing there grinning like an idiot when the door finally opened.

At first Monica was featureless, a silhouette against the brightly lit doorway. Ryan wiped the shit-eating grin off his face. He resisted the urge to back away or maybe even bolt, cash in his chips and chalk this up as a lesson learned. Then the woman moved into the glow of the porch light and Ryan was so relieved he just stood there staring for a moment.

She was cute…and short. If she stepped into his arms, he could rest his chin on top of her head. Her curly dark hair was pulled loosely into a ponytail. Her features were sharp in a way that reminded him of a fox or a cat, something quick and clever like that. Her nose was tilted just a bit at the tip. Wide brown eyes gazed at him from under dark, apostrophe eyebrows.

Ryan continued to stare mutely at her, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. But as he watched her expression change from nervous anticipation to embarrassment, he shook himself and stuck out his hand.

“Hi. I’m Ryan, your, uh, date.”

She took his hand and he abruptly realized he should probably be kissing her hand and telling her how beautiful she was, not shaking it like they’d just concluded a business agreement.

“Monica,” she said. “I mean, I’m Monica.”

“Sorry. I’m kind of new at this,” he muttered then bit back any more apologies. He was supposed to be sweeping her off her feet and giving her a memorable romantic evening, not stammering and admitting his inexperience. “Let me start over. Good evening. I’m Ryan. It’s such a pleasure to meet you and may I say you look stunning in that outfit?” He’d spoke in a fake foreign accent that probably sounded like Dracula with a Scottish burr.

Monica’s face lit up and she began to laugh.

Ryan grinned back. This was going to be okay. He could do this. Hell, for the first time he thought he might have a lot of fun doing this.

Chapter Three

“Come in.” Monica stepped aside to let Ryan in. He’d put her at ease with his teasing, but her pulse still raced. She’d been nervous and shaky all day and her anxiety had built to a head as the time of the date approached. She’d been close to calling Labors of Love and cancelling but for once her willpower had been stronger than her fear.

And now, here he was, this gorgeous guy coming into her house. She felt the warmth of his body as he passed by her in the hallway. He smelled amazing, warm and clean, not a hint of cologne, just a trace of soap and a brew of pheromones that should be bottled.

“Can I, uh, take your jacket?”

“Sure.” He handed it to her and she added leather to the list of scents for the Ryan cologne. She fought the urge to bury her face in the coat and take a deep whiff before hanging it up in the closet.

She stole another glance at the man, getting a better look than she’d been able to outdoors. The hall light picked gold highlights in his dirty blond hair, which curled haphazardly as if he’d just run a hand through it. Likely the tousled effect was the result of careful styling but it suited him and had the desired result—making his date want to run her hands through it.

Beneath the fringe of bangs, translucent blue eyes scanned her living room. She glanced around, trying to see it as he would. The furniture was comfortable and well-used, a couch, armchair, coffee table and entertainment center designating the living area while a desk and shelf of books marked one corner as the office.

Amber, who’d been lying on the couch, perked up her ears, stretched and jumped to the floor. Braver than her mistress, the cat stalked up to the stranger and twined around his legs as if welcoming him home. Ryan stooped to pat her and won instant brownie points with Monica. With amazing nonchalance considering how seldom she saw strangers, Amber arched into his stroking hand.

Ryan glanced up at Monica, wowing her with those astonishing eyes once more. They were pale blue that caught the light like the facets of a diamond and sent it sparkling back into the world. “Nice cat. Friendly.”

“Yeah. She, uh, really seems to like you.” She wracked her brain for words as awkward silence fell between them. It was so quiet, Amber’s purring sounded deafening.

“I know this is kind of strange,” Ryan said at last. “I guess you can tell I’m not that suave. To use a cliché, I’ve never done this before.”

Monica blinked, taken aback and more certain than ever that this was a mistake. She was his first client and he was nervous. It made her feel like some predatory cougar taking advantage of him.

She’d spent hours over the past few days cleaning her house, re-thinking her wardrobe, fighting off panic attacks and almost cancelling numerous times. Her focus had been completely on herself, her anxiety. It had never occurred to her that her “provider” might be just as uncomfortable.

“Let’s make it easier,” Ryan said. “We’ll pretend this is a blind date our friends set up, well-meaning friends or relatives who threw us together because they decided we’re ‘perfect for each other.’ Ever been on one of those dates?”

“Oh yeah.” Monica smiled, remembering some real winners. “I don’t leave the house much these days but back in the day I had my share of set-ups. Usually not a fun evening.”

Ryan grinned and her heart flipped. “But tonight when you and I saw each other we knew right away our friends were right for once. This date was going to be okay. Let’s talk about stuff, get to know each other and who knows where the night will lead.” His smile disappeared and he appeared suddenly less confident and a good deal younger. “Unless you want to, you know, just get to it.”

“No! I mean, no. Not at all. Plan A is good. Sit down and I’ll get us something to drink. Dinner should be along in about,” she glanced at her watch, “twenty minutes. You’d think being in my house all the time I’d have developed amazing culinary skills, but I’m actually a pretty bad cook so I ordered our meal from a catering service. Have you heard of The Ample Pantry?”

“No, but anything sounds good right now. I missed lunch. I’ve had some car trouble and had to camp out at the mechanic’s for a good portion of the afternoon.”

He sat down on the couch with casual ease of a good friend dropping over. That calmed her nerves, but only a little. She went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. She drank about half of hers in a quick gulp and replenished it before returning to the living room where she offered Ryan his glass.

He took a sip of the Chardonnay while Monica sat on the other end of the couch putting a whole cushion and Amber between them. “Sorry to hear about your vehicle. What was wrong?”

“Timing belt and some other stuff. The Jeep’s old but it’s been holding together until recently.”

She nodded, understanding that this was probably one of the reasons he’d taken the escort job. Another stab of guilt flashed through her. He seemed like such a straight-up, open and honest kind of guy just trying to keep his head above water financially. She couldn’t dispel the idea that she was taking advantage of Ryan.

“I understand you’re a freelance writer. What kind of writing do you do?” he asked.

“Articles for magazines and journals and online content. It’s easier to be home bound these days with the internet at your fingertips. My freelance work is pretty lucrative but sporadic and of course there’s no pension plan or paid sick days.”

“Same here.” He said it as a joke, but only succeeding in reminding her he was a paid companion. More guilt. Well then, she’d give him a good meal and send him on his way. No sex. So she could stop feeling awful.

There was a beat or two of silence. Monica took a long sip of her wine wondering if the evening was ever going to get less strained. She’d actually considered pretending to not be home when Ryan rang the doorbell. As her breathing grew shallow and her anxiety threatened to slip its tether, she’d practiced Dr. Brewer’s deep breathing techniques and mentally withdrew to her safe place. How had she ever thought such a stressful situation wouldn’t have ramifications? Considering she couldn’t even venture into the outside world, how had she imagined she could bring a stranger into hers?

But she had answered the door and now Ryan was here and she must deal with him like a grown up. Make conversation and relax. Monica cleared her throat. “I saw in your bio that you’re into woodworking.”

“Yeah, I had an uncle who taught me everything from building birdhouses to making repairs around the house. That’s what I was doing before, but construction is soft right now and I was having trouble finding work.”

It seemed all topics led back to the fact that he was working for her tonight. And even as it bothered her, Monica also felt a deep-seated tingle at the possibilities inherent in the evening. Those blunt fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass could be touching her later. His muscular arms could lift and carry her. That mouth might press against hers, soft lips molded to her own, tongue pressing inside to caress her tongue. Her imagining left her breathless. No. It was wrong. She shouldn’t think…

As if sensing her discomfort, Ryan set his glass on the end table, scooted Amber off the couch and slid over beside Monica. He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “Look, I can tell you’re freaked by the circumstances, but I want you to know I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t my choice. Just so you can relax, let’s get the whole first kiss thing out of the way right now.”

Monica opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say a word his lips covered hers. A shimmer of excitement swept through her as he plucked at her mouth so softly. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation of tender, moist kisses nibbling away at her resistance. The tension she’d been living with for the past couple of days faded to the far reaches of her consciousness, and her focus became that point of contact.

Ryan cradled her face in his hands and danced the tip of his tongue across her lips until they opened and let him inside. He curled his warm tongue around hers and electricity rocketed straight down to between her legs.

Monica’s breath caught in her throat and she slid her hands around his back, clutching the folds of his shirt.

Ryan tickled the inside of her upper lip with his tongue. She jerked and pulled away, laughing. He smiled and drew her back to him. This time there was no teasing or tickling as he kissed her deeply and held her tight.

Her breasts flattened against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding. But maybe it was hers. Her senses were whirling, tangled and twisted. She hadn’t felt anything like this in so long. She’d forgotten the pure, simple yet intense pleasure of kissing.

He kissed her so deeply she was gasping for air by the time he released her. She sat with her eyes still closed trying to decide if she was dizzy from lack of oxygen, wine or the intensity of his kiss. If a little making out was putting her into this much of a tizzy, she’d completely lose her mind if they had sex.

“Better?” Ryan asked, brushing his thumb over her lips then tucking her hair behind her ear.

Monica opened her eyes and nodded mutely. Her lips felt bee-stung. She resisted the urge to touch her mouth.

“Good, because your doorbell just rang. I think the food’s here.”

She blinked away her fuzziness and rose to answer the door.

Ryan helped her unpack the serving dishes and arrange them on the table she’d set for two. Monica lit the candle and they sat to eat the swordfish steaks, rice and vegetables.

“I hope you like fish. This restaurant has the best Parmesan chicken but I thought something without garlic might be better for tonight.”

“It’s great. I haven’t had a meal like this in—ever. I usually get Chinese takeout or make frozen pizza, and Gram never moved beyond stew or goulash in the cookbook.”

“Your grandmother?”

“She pretty much raised me. My mom wasn’t really in the picture.”

“Oh.” Monica thought of her own mom who would never get out of the picture and was suddenly glad she had Julia Brennerman for a mother.

“So besides writing and not cooking, what else do you do?” Ryan asked. “Do you like sports, movies, reality shows?”

“All of the above.” She lowered her voice in mock confidentiality. “I hate to admit it, but I’m a TV junky.”

“Oh really.” Ryan propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands. “Classic shows, too?”

“Of course.”

“Munsters or Addams Family?”

“Addams Family,” Monica answered promptly. “Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie?”

Ryan made a scoffing noise, “Jeannie of course.”

She shook her head. “Men always go for a sexy costume.”

“Beverly Hillbillies or Gilligan’s Island?” He raised an eyebrow.

She hesitated. “Beverly Hillbillies with exception for certain Gilligan episodes.”

“Oh, come on! You choose hillbillies over castaways? No way.”

Monica struggled to think of another pair. “Dallas or Dynasty?”

“Neither,” he said flatly. “Saved by the Bell or Full House?”

“Definitely neither. Okay, last pair. The Love Boat or Fantasy Island?” She noted his grimace of distaste. “You have to pick one.”

“If I have to, Fantasy Island I suppose.”

She nodded in agreement. “More scope for imagination. If we’re going in the direction of paranormal, there are plenty of newer shows to compare. Buffy versus the Vampire Diaries or Tru Blood.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t know a thing about any of ‘em. Sorry. I don’t watch much TV anymore. Too busy and I only get a couple of channels cause I don’t have cable. I catch an occasional baseball game and that’s about it.”

Monica thought about her own quiet, non-busy life. She had way too much time to get wrapped up in television programs. That was pretty sad for someone as young as she was. “Who do you root for?” she asked and listened as Ryan enthused about baseball for a while.

They chatted their way through the rest of the meal, cleared the table and poured more wine before returning to the living room. Monica felt as comfortable as if she’d known Ryan for years. She almost forgot what the point of the evening was.

Almost.

Silence fell between them as they sat sipping the wine and listening to the quiet music of a station that played mostly ballads. Sarah McLachlan’s plaintive voice crooned about the arms of the angels.

“You like this song?” Ryan asked.

She nodded. “It’s beautiful. You don’t?”

“Too sad. Life’s depressing enough without whining about dying in a hotel room or whatever.”

“I think it’s meant to be comforting not depressing.”

“I have a better idea. We should dance.” Ryan took the remote and changed to a 50’s and 60’s station. He stood, pulled Monica to her feet and twirled her around to the cheerful be-bop music. He passed her under his arm, threw her out and pulled her back into his arms then danced her in a circle.

Monica had never danced much before but it was easy to follow his confident lead. She was breathless and laughing as they jitterbugged through the rest of the song.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” she panted, brushing strands of hair from her sweaty forehead.

“Gram actually won prizes for ballroom dancing back in the day.” His pressed his hand against Monica’s lower back, guiding her into a dip before righting her. He held her close as he added, “She was a real character. When I was a kid and I’d get in a bad mood and sulk or mouth off, she’d look at me like and say, ‘You need to dance.’ Then she’d make me dance with her.”

“Dancing as punishment.” Monica laughed. “That’s unique discipline. My mom made me and my sister sit on the couch until we could ‘act civilized,’ but all we ended up doing was poking or slapping at each other until we got the giggles.” She paused, her hand smoothing the material of his shirt against his chest. “You said ‘was.’Has your grandmother passed on?”

“No. Alzheimer’s. She’s still here but not, you know?” A slow song began and he placed a hand on her waist and swept her into a foxtrot. “But we’re not here to talk about my Gram.” He guided her in a circle around the tiny living room, their steps growing smaller until they were simply swaying.

It felt so good to be wrapped in a man’s embrace, to feel his solid body pressed against the length of her front and his warm hand pressed against her back. He slid his hand up to rub the muscles of her neck and she relaxed even further, letting her head rest against his chest.

Monica held onto Ryan as tightly as he was holding her and wished this was for real, that instead of a paid companion he was a guy who was here because he wanted to be with her.

When the song ended, he stepped back and looked down into her face. Monica stared back, feeling suddenly shy, even a little frightened. She could call it off. Thank him for the lovely evening and send him away with her gratitude, but she knew she wasn’t going to.

She knew how this evening was going to end up.

Ryan’s eyes were gentle, his mouth smiling and her fears disappeared as he leaned down to kiss her. She yearned toward the insistent pressure of his mouth, opening to him as naturally as if they’d been together for years rather than just one evening.

His tongue explored her mouth while he stroked the side of her face. His other hand at the small of her back dropped lower to knead the swell of her bottom. She was pressed so tight against him she could feel his erection nudging her belly. Her crotch tightened at the sensation.

Ryan abandoned her mouth to kiss her jaw and neck, sucking at the tender skin over her pulse point. She moaned and dropped her head back, offering more of her throat to his kisses.

He moved lower, pressing kisses across her chest. Her nipples tightened in anticipation of his mouth sucking them, but her blouse impeded his progress. Ryan unbuttoned it then continued exploring the swells of her breasts with his nuzzling mouth. When his lips wrapped around one nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra, Monica jumped as if she’d been shocked by a jolt of electricity.

Ryan looked up at her, eyebrow raised.

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just ... been a while.”

He turned his attention back to sucking her nipple, hard strong tugs that sent trails of fire through her. Ryan pulled away, stripped her blouse off and reached behind her to unfasten her bra. The ease with which he accomplished it made her extremely aware he was proficient at stripping off women’s clothes.

He sat back to gaze at her breasts and Monica reached to cover them. She camouflaged her embarrassment with a self-deprecating laugh. “My mother always said I’d fill out but as you can see...”

Ryan removed her hands from her breasts and replaced them with his own, weighing each small globe before thumbing her raspberry nipples. “They feel just fine to me. Perfect in fact.” He leaned down and sucked one breast while toying with the other. Suddenly they felt perfect.

He drew her nipple out with the suction of his mouth and a tug of his teeth, extending it then letting go. The drawing and releasing sent Monica’s nerve endings jangling straight down to her pussy, telling it to wake up and get ready for action.

Ryan switched his attention to her other breast and Monica gazed at the unbelievable sight of a stranger sucking on her tit. She didn’t really know him at all. How could they be engaged in such an intimate act? But even as she thought it, her fingers itched to touch his hair and learn if it was as soft as it looked. She removed her hand from his back to stroke his hair then plunge her fingers into it. Wrapping her hand around his head, she drew him even closer to her breast. Her eyes closed and she moaned at the sensations filling her.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to lie naked with him to have his body press her down, slide over hers, enter her…

Ryan pulled away and straightened. Monica blinked and focused her lust-glazed eyes on him.

“Shall we go to your bedroom now?” he asked.

She hesitated only a second before nodding. No use pretending she wanted to stop. “That way.”

Before she could lead him down the hall, Ryan swooped her up off her feet. She slid her arm around him, clutching his shoulder and he carried her to her room—just like in her fantasies.

The aroma of vanilla and flowers permeated the room from candles she’d lit earlier. Not too sweet but just a hint of sweetness in the air.

Ryan laid her on the bed and began to take off his clothes. Monica swallowed, frozen, riveted, as he stripped off his T-shirt. His chest and shoulders were solid, muscular. She could picture him with a hammer in his hand, muscular arm flexing. His stomach was flat and a tawny trail of hair led from his navel down to the top of his jeans. She stared at the button on his fly then glanced up. He was watching her with a smile.

“You want to examine the merchandise?” He unfastened the button and slowly pulled down the zipper beneath.

Monica felt light-headed, dreamy. This could not be happening—a handsome stranger, the man of her dreams, stripping naked at the foot of her bed. But then she’d paid for the fantasy, hadn’t she? So why was she so stunned that it was coming true?

“More?” he teased.

She nodded. This was real and therefore both more intensely erotic than her daydreams and more alarming. But Ryan seemed relaxed and at ease which kept her anxiety from developing into a full-blown panic attack.

He paused and gave her a reassuring smile. “There’s no hurry. We could make out some more. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. This is your date.”

The thought of stopping now was impossible. Her resolve firmed as her libido flared. “No. I don’t want to stop. More. Please.”

He slid his jeans and underwear over his hipbones, revealing a light brown thatch of hair. Then his cock burst free from the waistband of his underwear, thrusting proudly from his body. Monica though of a figurehead on the prow of a ship and suppressed the giddy urge to giggle.

“What?”

“I’m just overwhelmed and maybe a little tipsy from the wine.”

He finished stripping, shoes, socks, jeans all the way off and then he straightened—a naked, live man standing in her bedroom. Without clothes. Naked. In her bedroom. She didn’t know if she could contain her insane desire to laugh.

Monica exhaled and murmured, “God, I can’t believe this is happening.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the waistband of her skirt. In moments he had taken off the rest of her clothes and tossed them aside. Cool air and Ryan’s hot eyes caressed her nude body. Her flesh burned feverishly from head to toe.

He smoothed his hands up and down her thighs, moving a little higher with each stroke. “You’re beautiful.”

His eyes glittered in the candles’ glow. She might be paying him to make love to her, but the desire in his eyes was real and at that moment, Monica felt beautiful. Maybe it was weak of her to need a man’s approving gaze to grant her beauty. A person was supposed to be confident in her own inner beauty and all that. But it certainly didn’t hurt her ego to hear Ryan praise her.

He nudged her legs apart and crawled between them, lowering his face to her pussy. She reclined against her pillows and watched him breathe her in, her heart beating so hard she feared it might burst through her chest. And then he leaned and kissed across her twitching belly and over her quivering thighs. He nibbled and kissed all around her neatly trimmed pussy, making her throb with the desire for touch.

She arched her hips and whimpered in frustration, but he continued his evasive dance until she finally begged, “Please.”

Ryan smiled as he parted her folds to reveal her clit. He licked it with a slow stroke of his tongue, then another, before descending lower and delving deep into her cleft. Monica jerked and cried out at the sensual assault. It had been so long since a man had touched her down there. His tongue was amazing, incredible, as he returned to flicking it over her clit. She wanted more. She wanted everything.

Ryan worked his finger inside her, crooking it and massaging while still lapping her clit. She rose into his hand and mouth, following his lead as she had when they’d danced. Already she felt herself spiraling up higher and higher.

“Right there. Yes!” She bucked up hard, convulsing. Her cry resounded through the quiet room. Her body twitched as waves of bliss slowly receded. Her chest heaved until breathing slowed and finally she lay still.

Ryan kissed her mound and slid up her body to look down into her eyes. “Was that good?”

“That was ... unbelievable. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” His voice was husky, eyes burning with heat and hunger. His cock brushed against her clit and a fresh wave of tingles erupted. “Do you want more?”

She suddenly realized she must let him know what she wanted before he would go farther. Her pussy yawned, aching to be filled. “Yes. Please, go on.”

He groaned quietly and the hair on her nape rose. She reached out for him and pulled him down for a kiss. He tasted of her, musky and rich and his body slid over hers, cock bumping against her entrance.

Ryan pulled away. “Just a second.” He rolled to the side, reached over the edge of the bed for his jeans and produced a condom. After he’d put it on, he glanced at Monica. “Do you prefer to be on top?”

“No. This is good.” She reached for him again, pulling him back over her. She sighed as his warm, heavy body blanketed her. “It feels so nice.”

“Good.” His expression was intent, a slight frown creasing his brow as he reached between them and guided his cock to her opening. When he pushed inside, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

Monica felt needed and wanted to earn more of his sighs and groans. Tilting her pelvis, she grabbed his ass and urged him deeper. She sighed her own satisfaction as he filled her. Sliding her hands up his back, she marveled at the strength coursing through his tense muscles.

His weight was braced on his arms, biceps corded as he rocked against her. He moved in and out slowly, filling her in deep, satisfying ways no vibrator could equal, then pulling almost all the way out before thrusting again. His thick cock stretched her with every stroke, and he slowly gained speed, building urgency in her. The shimmers of her orgasm were still lying in her like shiny scattered bits of mercury which began to coalesce again.

Monica gripped his cock inside and arched to meet him on each thrust. She’d never been able to achieve an orgasm without oral stimulation, but now she felt something beginning to blossom. With every thrust, he hit a place deep within her that made her whimper. Ryan’s slow pumping became hard pounding, and his groans grew louder as he lost himself in her.

Like a tightly clenched fist, her desire unfurled finger by finger until the fist became a hand that was open and reaching out to grasp for something. This time when ecstasy broke inside her it was subtle and deep rather than the sharp intensity of her earlier orgasm. Her body clenched around Ryan, both inside and out and she felt the pulsing shudders as he came, too. She clung to him, her arms and legs grappled around him while passion coursed through them.

When those precious moments were over, Ryan collapsed onto her, resting his head against her breast. Monica stroked his hair, damp with sweat.

He pressed his lips to the side of her breast. “Thank you.”

This is afterglow, she thought. She’d either never felt it before or it had been so long since last time that she’d forgotten what it felt like. She wanted to lie here drowsing with him forever.

The word brought her sharply back to reality. This was not a forever situation, but a one time only deal. Her bliss dissipated and she was left feeling sad and empty. While still holding Ryan’s warm body in her arms, she could already feel him gone.

“Shall I stay a while or would you rather I leave?” he asked after a moment.

She wanted to wake with him in the morning, but time was literally money. She tried not to think how much a little post-coital cuddling might cost her. “It’s up to you.”

“I’m in no hurry. I’ll hang here a while if you don’t mind.” He paused then added, “No charge.”

“Please stay,” Monica said.

Chapter Four

In the early dawn, Ryan got up and dressed. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned to kiss Monica’s shoulder. He brushed her hair back from her temple. “Thanks for making my first time so easy. Ask for me again.”

“I should see you out,” she murmured sleepily.

“I can find the way and I’ll lock up behind me. Sleep.” He rose and walked away, pausing in the doorway for one last look at her dark, tousled head on the pillow.

Sweet, pretty woman. Why was she reduced to hiring a date? But the agoraphobia issue kind of answered that.

Driving home from her house on nearly empty streets, his chest felt tight and constricted like the time he’d had pneumonia. Sleeping with Monica had been a very pleasant gig so why did gloom envelop him like the early morning fog?

Ryan entered his apartment and it seemed smaller, shabbier and colder than ever. When he flipped on the light, cockroaches skittered away to their dark holes. He tossed his keys on the table, shrugged out of his jacket, took a leak and rinsed his face in the bathroom sink then toppled into bed still clothed.

He stared at the spider web of cracks in the ceiling plaster and relived his first experience as a gigolo--hustler, whore, prostitute, fuck-toy. He had actually just had sex for money, sex with a woman who, under normal circumstances, he would call for a second date. He liked Monica. She was funny, a little quirky and completely adorable. He’d like to know her better and see her again. That was something he’d never expected when taking on this job.

“What the fuck? Grow up,” he snarled, stripping off his shirt and throwing it on the floor. He couldn’t lie here mooning about this woman. He had to get some sleep, wake up and squeeze in study time before his morning class. After that he had to make time to visit to Rose Arbor and see Gram. He hadn’t been in over two weeks what with work, school and his ailing Jeep.

He burrowed under the covers and squeezed his eyes shut, but his mind still raced. After visiting Gram he had to go to his phone sex job, which he hadn’t quit until he knew whether Labors of Love would pay off. Every second of every day was packed. Something was going to have to give and he was damned if he’d let it be his college courses. At this rate it was going to take him years to get the Bachelor of Architecture degree he coveted.

Ryan covered his head with the pillow trying to stop his whirling thoughts. Maybe he should get a union card and work construction full time, give up on college and accept his blue-collar place in the world. At least then he could have some pride in his work instead of being ashamed of it.

He threw the pillow across the room where it bounced off the dresser and crawled out of bed to pad barefoot into the living room. He sat on the couch with his laptop warming his lap and opened his CAD program.

*

Bright morning light filtered through the living room blinds, highlighting the obituary section of the newspaper. Monica stared at it blindly as she walked on her treadmill. Her body may be getting exercise, but her mind was on her workout with Ryan last night.

The phone rang, interrupting her memories of sliding bodies and panting breaths, groans and sighs and whispers, and the slow deep thrust of his body into hers. Monica jerked and slowed her steps on the treadmill until it stopped before going to answer the phone.

“What were you doing last night?” Lisa asked without a greeting.

“What?” Monica flashed back to Ryan’s mouth on her pussy, his strong arms braced on either side of her, his cock moving inside her, and his face grimacing in bliss. “Uh, what?”

“Monica! I mean, why was your phone off the hook? I was trying to call all evening. What do you think about Mom and Dad’s plan to go to Hawaii? It’s way too expensive. We shouldn’t let them pay for our tickets, but doesn’t it sound like fun? This might be just what I need to get past all that crap with Steve. But it won’t be any fun if you don’t go too. Monica, you have to at least think about it. If you have some intensive sessions with Dr. Brewer, don’t you think you could get better? Like Mom says, you should begin by going outdoors again. Take it in baby steps.”

“You’ve been talking to Mom about me?”

“Think about it, Monica,” her sister used that wheedling tone she’d applied whenever she was determined to get her way. “You’ve had panic attacks ever since middle school but it wasn’t until after college when you had that horrible job you hated and Carl who treated you like shit, that you began freaking out every time you went out in public. Pretty soon you couldn’t even go to the mall with me and then you drew in like a turtle in a shell until you weren’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah. I know. Lived it,” Monica snapped. “Don’t need to be reminded.”

“The point is, if we work back in the opposite direction, you might get better again. You should aim for going to Barb’s shower. She’s our cousin. She’d love to see you and you wouldn’t have to stay long. Five minutes tops. Long enough to show Barb you cared enough to show up for her. Won’t you try?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I know you’re just trying to get me off your back. Come on, Monica, you can’t live like this forever and you know it. Aren’t you ready for a change?”

Visions of the previous night flashed in Monica’s mind. “I said I’ll think about it. Stop pushing.”

“Well, that’s something.” Lisa had the grace to drop it after that. She filled Monica in on her impressions of their cousin’s fiancé.

After a while, Monica made an excuse to end the conversation. She hung up and thought about her talks with Mom and Lisa. Both of them were giving her the hard press. Baby steps, they said. But they had no idea she’d taken a giant step last night by having sex with a stranger. Talk about really stepping outside the box.

Maybe it was time to see if she could physically step outside as well.

She walked through the kitchen to the back door and paused with her hand on the knob. She drew a deep breath and opened the door.

A brisk breeze swept inside.

Monica stepped onto the back step and inhaled. Her pulse was steadily drumming but no stabbing bursts of fear clanged like cymbals. So far so good.

She stepped down onto the patio, the flat stones overgrown with grass. The weed-covered square that used to be her garden sent a pang of remorse through her. She used to tend it so faithfully, but now weeds were the only lush plants to fill the space.

She ventured a few steps into the yard, walking toward the garden plot. Her synapses clamored from all the foreign input of a new environment. It had been so long since she’d been outdoors that every sight, smell and sound was fresh and new. The dirt beneath her feet was rich and loamy. Exhaust fumes wafted from passing automobiles and the sweeter exhaust of someone’s dryer, smelled of fabric softener sheets.

So many small sounds mingled into one loud cacophony--bird calls, traffic noises, distant sirens, barking dogs and muffled televisions or radios. The wind raised goose bumps on her arms and she shivered as she wrapped her arms around her body.

Monica took another deep breath, enjoying the liberating sensation of simply standing outdoors in her own backyard. She paced the perimeter of her garden, remembering what it felt like to dig in the soil under the hot summer sun. And then abruptly, for no discernable reason, the wonderful feeling of freedom was overwhelming.

Her pulse sped up as the sense of the hugeness of the world engulfed her. She felt as if she’d sprinted down the block and back in seconds flat her heart was pounding so hard. She gasped for breath and despite the breeze, felt as if there was no air.

Recognizing her symptoms, she headed toward the house. Breathe slow, breathe steady, she mentally chanted, matching action to thought. Keep it together, Monica.

She would control her body and not let her body control her. But by the time she reached the house and slammed the door behind her she was shaking. She crumpled to her knees.

Her therapist, who specialized in anxiety disorders, had explained that although her condition was psychological, the symptoms were very real on a physical level. He’d explained she was genetically pre-disposed to anxiety attacks, as were sufferers of bi-polar syndrome or obsessive-compulsive disorder. Knowing that, didn’t make it any easier when people gave her the impression they thought she was an over-dramatic hypochondriac.

Monica sat with her forehead pressed to her knees until the waves of anxiety subsided, and then she began to cry--for the debilitating fears that kept her imprisoned in her house, for the loss of close personal relationships and for the game of make-believe she’d played with Ryan last night. She’d felt so happy in his company and deeply fulfilled by the sex. For a short time, it had been possible to imagine their connection was real.

But it wasn’t. She’d paid for his services and now she was alone again. The joy of those brief hours with Ryan only made the absence of it worse. She almost wished she’d never had the experience.

Almost.

Ask for me again. His parting words drifted through her mind.

Ryan was only a phone call away. But she couldn’t hire him again, could she? Her budget wouldn’t stand it and, she was afraid, neither could her heart.

*

Ryan turned into the drive of Rose Arbor that afternoon with a heavy heart. As much as he loved Gram, this was a depressing way to spend the afternoon. She didn’t recognize him at all any more. He tried to show her pictures from her photo album, but she batted it out of his hand and started yelling about Andrew, who had stolen her baseball mitt. He had no idea if it was some childhood memory or completely invented paranoia. The doctor was still working on finding the right combination of meds to keep Gram calm but not catatonic.

He stayed for an hour talking to her as if she still understood him, reminiscing about incidents in their life together. By the time he left, she seemed calmer, gazing at the wall as though looking out a window.

He kissed the papery skin of her cheek and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Bye, Gram. I’ll be back to visit soon.”

He was walking through the door when she called after him, “Ryan, feed the cat before you go out on your date. He won’t feed himself and you were the one who wanted to get the damn thing.”

Ryan grinned, happy that she’d recognized him even if the memory was from the past. “Yes, ma’am.”

Traffic was a bear as he drove across town and he was later for his job at the call center. His supervisor, Bruce, reprimanded him before Ryan slid into the cubicle next to Jeannie. Her calls were always entertaining so he listened to her for a moment as he adjusted his earpiece.

“Oh, yeah, baby. I’m feelin’ it now. Your big, hard cock stuffed right up inside my hot, wet pussy. You fill me till it hurts you’re so big. I never had such a huge, fucking prick in all my life. I’m ridin’ you like a horse now, boy. Up and down so hard. Giddy up, you big stud.”

She waved at Ryan then continued polishing her fingernails.

“You want me to suck it instead? No problem. I’d do anything for you, baby. I want to be your sex toy, do everything to please you. Should I should call you Master? All right then, Master, I get down on my knees and beg you to give me a taste of your meat. But you tell me I’ve been a naughty girl and I have to beg harder if I want to suck you. I’m crying now, baby, telling you I can’t live without it. I need your hard, hot cock in my mouth right now or I’ll die. Then you finally let me take a taste and it’s so good--salty and sweet. I gobble your head then suck your whole huge cock into my mouth ‘til it’s halfway down my throat, gagging me. And then I suck and suck...”

Ryan grinned. Jeannie could keep up a constant stream of talk as long as it took to make her customer come. The longer the call, the more money they made, and Jeannie was an old pro at keeping clients on the phone.

Ryan tried to get comfortable in the crappy old office chair. He pulled one of his texts from his backpack hoping to get in some study time, which Bruce allowed as long as it didn’t interfere with taking calls. Afternoons weren’t as busy as late night, but a surprising number of calls came in at all times of day. Just as he was about to accept his first call, Ryan’s personal phone rang.

“This is April from Labors of Love. I wondered if you have any time available later this evening. I have an appointment for you. I know it’s a bit short notice but that’s how it works sometimes.”

He jotted down the address the receptionist gave him for a Wilma Addington along with her particular likes and dislikes.

“I have some other requests for you. Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening.”

“Oh.” Ryan looked up and saw Bruce watching him from across the room. “I’ll, uh, check my schedule and get back to you.”

He hung up, amazed that he was so in demand. Maybe it was just because he was new on the roster. Something different to try, like a new restaurant. The idea of being the flavor of the month was awful and he was kind of disgusted with himself for stooping this low. But he thought of Rose Arbor in comparison to other facilities he’d checked out and knew that he’d pay whatever it took to keep Gram in comfortable, familiar surroundings.

Ryan the flashing button on his headset and lowered his voice to a seductive purr. “Hi, this is Kurt. What can I do for you?”

As he spun out a fantasy for the client, he thought about his other job and wondered what Wilma Addington would be like. He had a hunch she wouldn’t be near as great as Monica had been last night. No one would. He’d been lucky his first time out, but the escort job was bound to get unpleasant and demeaning.

Chapter Five

Over the next five days Ryan learned something about himself. He could have sex with a woman whether he found her attractive or not. Giving them oral pleasure was a no-brainer. All he had to do was tune out any distaste he might feel and do it. He tried to concentrate on how much his client was enjoying his technique. But the part he’d been worried about--achieving an erection when he wasn’t particular attracted--turned out not to be a problem. Seemed he could get it up and keep it up until the customer was satisfied.

His next client, Mrs. Addington was a large-bodied woman with a full-bodied voice. Her manner was so overbearing during their meal at a restaurant that he was sure she was going to request him to take a submissive role during sex later. Instead she surprised him by doing a one-eighty and losing her domineering attitude. It was clear she wanted Ryan to take charge and she hinted that she ought to get a spanking for being a bad girl. So he turned her over his lap and spanked her until her pale buttocks were bright red. He’d never been much into that kind of sexual play and winced at the angry marks his hand made. But his client didn’t wanted him to hold back and encouraged him by crying, “More. Harder. Make it hurt!”

After the spanking, some pretty vanilla sex ensued and Ryan was back in his comfort zone. He made it through the evening with Mrs. Addington by remembering what excellent pay he was getting for a few hours work. He reminded himself that if he couldn’t afford to keep Gram in Rose Arbor, he’d have to move her to someplace cheap and a lot less welcoming like Twilight Glen. Or he’d have to put school on hold.

Ryan’s Saturday assignment was to accompany a woman named Amanda Rice to an old friend’s wedding. She was a pale, thin woman with lightly freckled skin and abundant red hair. Since she was quite attractive, he wondered why she couldn’t line up a real date, but Amanda confided that she’d just been through a series of bad relationships and simply wanted to have a man on her arm at this wedding. None of her male friends were free to go with her and this was one event she didn’t want to attend solo. It was an easy afternoon’s work. The food at the reception was plentiful and Ryan enjoyed the dancing.

At the end of the evening he thought he was going to get away without providing additional services, but Amanda invited him up to her apartment for a nightcap which led to kissing and then sex. Ryan went home with another mission accomplished.

His Monday tryst was less pleasant. The client, who demanded he call her Mistress Yara, had him dress in some strappy leather fetishwear with a studded dog collar. She took him to an exclusive club on a leash and had him perform all sorts of tricks.

Note to self, he thought as he was on his knees, licking her feet. When the special requirements on a client’s profile call for a subservient male, give it a miss.

He began to regret his decision to work for Labors of Love no matter how good the money. It wasn’t just the experience with the dominatrix, but all of it, the sum total of the few clients he’d served. Each one left him feeling a little more diminished and used. This was not the person he wanted to be, or the man his grandmother had raised him to be. He would find some other way to make money, take out more student loans or something.

By Wednesday afternoon he’d decided to tell Ms. Darrow the job wasn’t going to work out for him. Before he could, he received a call from the receptionist telling him Monica Brennerman wanted a date for the following weekend.

“All right,” he agreed. Monica was one client he wouldn’t mind seeing again.

“She has a special request for this visit. A particular scenario she was quite shy to express.”

Ryan’s stomach dropped. What unexpected kinks did sweet Monica have? Was there going to be a dog collar involved?

“She wants to act out a home invasion fantasy—what we used to call a rape fantasy but that’s not PC. Nothing extremely violent, only a little harmless play-acting with you in the role of escaped convict. You are to invade her home at 8:30 p.m. next Friday if that’s acceptable and ‘force’ her to have sex with you.”

Ryan smiled a little as he agreed. Playing a dominant role sounded much better than acting submissive. Get rough, but not too rough? He could do that.

*

Friday came fast, which was good since Ryan had spent most of the week thinking about his session with Monica. As he walked up the path to her house, he rehearsed the lines he’d made up and practiced brandishing the pistol he’d bought.

When Monica opened the door for him, he was so pleased to see her that he broke character and smiled. Then he rearranged his face into a scowl and pushed her inside the house and up against the wall, pinning her with his body so she couldn’t move. He pressed the gun against her temple.

“Scream and I’ll shoot, bitch!” he growled.

Monica glanced sideways at the gun and began to laugh.

“What?”

“Ryan, it’s a neon orange water pistol. That doesn’t help the illusion.”

“I knew I should’ve brought a knife instead.” He jammed the small plastic gun in his jacket pocket and grabbed her throat, gripping hard enough to let her know he meant business. The feeling of her body trapped beneath his, her pulse beating fast against his palm, made him hard. He ground his growing erection against her.

Monica’s eyes widened. “What do you want?” she choked. “Money? Credit cards? Jewelry? Take anything. Just don’t hurt me.”

“I don’t want your shit or your money. I just want to fuck you, and if you scream I’ll...” He glanced around. “I’ll kill your cat!”

Monica’s mouth trembled and a snort of laughter escaped her.

“Come on! I’m doing my best. You’re ruining my scene.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re really not very good at this.”

“Oh yeah? Well, get on your knees…bitch!” He let go of her throat, grabbed her shoulder and pushed her to the floor. He released her long enough to unzip his jeans, and whip out his cock. He’d figured his character went commando. “Suck it, you little slut.”

Seizing a handful of her hair, he dragged her face toward his crotch. An obscene thrill went through him at the sight of her on her knees before him. It gave him a new appreciation for Mistress Yara’s kind of play.

Monica wrapped her hand around his shaft and brought the head to her mouth. She licked and looked up at him from beneath her brows.

His heart stuttered she looked so hot. He wanted to thrust, but waited while she sucked him in bit by bit until he was fully engulfed in her hot, wet mouth. Ryan groaned as she moved her head up and down. The slow suck and release was heavenly. He twisted his fingers in her dark hair to guide the movement of her head. His body trembled with the need to push harder, deeper, to choke her with his cock, but he held himself steady, letting her take the lead.

Monica’s encircled his dick with her hand, stroking with good, hard pressure while she continued to suck. Her other hand slipped around his hip to grasp his ass and squeeze. Ryan closed his eyes and surrendered to the amazing sensation of her mouth on him, her soft hair wrapped around his hands and her harsh fingers digging into his cheek. As the tension inside him grew tighter, he began to thrust. If he didn’t regain control, he’d come in a moment.

He pulled away from her mouth and hands and opened his eyes. “Get up.”

His voice was so hoarse he sounded like a stranger to himself. He tugged at Monica’s hair pulling her head away from his crotch. As she climbed to her feet, he quickly decided what to do next. “Strip.”

Ryan stood, fully clothed except for his dick sticking out of his open fly, and watched as Monica took off her top, skirt and underwear. If she was nervous to strip in front of him, she hid it well, keeping her eyes locked with his as each garment fell to the floor. At last she stood before him naked and shivering either from chill, nervousness or anticipation.

Her petite frame made her appear younger than twenty-seven, the age in her profile. His arousal raged at the sight of her teacup breasts with their rosy, pert nipples. A triangle of dark hair hid the prize of the pussy he longed to plunder. He wanted to attack her like the savage rapist he was supposed to be portraying. The primal need to possess coursed through him.

Monica looked at him expectantly. Ryan fought the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her—not appropriate criminal behavior.

“Over here.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly over to the couch, where he put his palm between her shoulder blades and pushed her over the back. Her body curved over the back, arms and head resting on the cushion, ass lifted into the air as she stood on tiptoe. She looked helpless, vulnerable, submissive and extremely fuckable that way. Her cheeks were slightly parted and he pushed them wider to reveal the puckered entrance there. A fresh jolt of lust enflamed him at the sight and he spread her legs apart to afford a better view of the dark shadow of her pussy below. He ran a hand between her thighs, dipped his fingers inside her and found her incredibly wet for him.

Monica shuddered and moaned, the soft little sound driving him crazy. He withdrew his fingers, brought them to his mouth and tasted her. He would’ve fallen to his knees, pressed his face in between her thighs and started feasting, but it didn’t seem likely for an attacker to take the time to pleasure his victim.

Ryan stripped off his clothes and sheathed his cock in a condom. Monica remained obediently in the position in which he’d placed her, egs quivering from the strain of keeping on her toes and spread apart. He hoped they were also quivering in anticipation of being fucked.

Instead of driving into her pussy with one hard push, he decided to do something unexpected. He dipped his fingers into her entrance, coating them with moisture then traced a circle around her other entrance, which clenched in response. He inserted the tip of a finger, easing inside.

Monica gasped.

“Hold still. Relax and they’ll go in.”

She quieted and he worked two fingers into the tight channel. His cock grew even harder, desperate to thrust into her. Ryan pumped his fingers carefully in and out and snaked his other hand around her hip to rub her clit.

Monica’s moan was muffled by the couch cushions. Her buttocks tensed and her entire body trembled. She pushed back onto his hand.

Ryan replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, fascinated by the sight of her sphincter stretching around him. Lust roared through him, demanding he push in hard and fuck her deeply. Her tightness felt so good around him. But without more lubricant—and he hadn’t thought to bring any—he wasn’t going to be able to fuck her ass without hurting her. Reluctantly he withdrew from that delicious constriction.

He stripped off the condom and switched to a fresh one before leaning over Monica’s back, his weight pressing her even deeper into the couch. He whispered hoarsely into her ear. “I’m going to fuck you now, but first I want to hear you beg for it.”

When she didn’t respond immediately, he grabbed the nape of her neck. “Say it, bitch. Say, ‘please fuck me.’”

“Please.” Her voice was muffled. Monica turned her head and repeated, low, “Please. Please fuck me.”

He squeezed her neck a little. “Louder. Tell me how much you want me inside you.”

“Please, fuck me. Please.” She sounded breathless. “I need you inside me right now. God, I need your big, hard cock pumping into me. Please do it. Give it to me right now.”

Ryan drove inside her hard enough to lift her feet off the floor and slam her into the couch. He showed her none of the tenderness he’d displayed their first night together, but took her with brute force as requested.

“You like it rough? You like it like this, slut?”

“Ohhhhh!” Monica howled, tears leaked from the corner of her closed eyes.

Ryan felt another rush of burning lust as their flash slapped together. For a moment he lost himself. He wanted to hurt her, to ram her so hard she cried for real. The intensity of this urge frightened him. He drove into her with increasing speed and intensity, hoisting her hips higher so he could thrust even deeper. His cockhead hit something unyielding deep inside her.

Monica squealed.

Immediately he backed off a fraction, but continued pumping hard and fast until his balls drew tight. The tension gathering in his groin unfurled, filling his cock, pouring through him. He groaned as he came.

At nearly the same moment, Monica’s body clenched around him and she gave a cry of passion so loud Ryan feared the neighbors might think she was actually being assaulted and call the police.

His legs shook and he collapsed against her back. He relished the feel of her heaving body trapped beneath him. His weight pressed her down into the couch, but if it was uncomfortable, she didn’t complain. Ryan listened to her heart pounding, her breath drawing in and out.

Suddenly something landed on the couch right beside Monica’s head. Ryan looked into golden cat eyes as the tabby cat sniffed at them curiously.

“Mrrrow?” Amber patted at Monica’s sweaty tangle of hair, making them both laugh.

Ryan kissed Monica between the shoulder blades and straightened, then helped her upright. “Was it good? I wasn’t too rough?”

She shook her head. “No, it was…

“Crazy,” he finished for her. “I’ve never felt anything so...”

“Intense. I know.” She smiled. “I screamed like a banshee.”

He took her in his arms and pulled her against his chest, rocking her in his embrace for a few moments. “Want to take a shower?”

“Yes.”

He followed her to the bathroom where she turned on the shower. They stepped under the stinging hot spray, letting it rinse away the sweat of sex from their bodies. Monica applied gel to a puff and began soaping her body, but Ryan took it from her and completed the task. He loved the way her breasts looked jutting through the soapsuds like small islands, her dark nipples tiny mountains. He rinsed off the lather and took first one nipple then the other in his mouth as the water beat down on his head. He sucked until Monica gasped with pleasure.

“Now you,” she said, picking up the puff from the bottom of the tub where he’d dropped it, squeezed more body shampoo onto it and lathered Ryan’s back, chest, arms and legs.

He closed his eyes and he enjoyed the feeling of the soft, scratchy puff gliding over him. He rotated to give her access to every part of his body and froze when her hand glided up and down his cock.

She smiled and his stomach flipped. “Wanna get dirty again?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” He dragged her to him, under the hot, steady stream of water and kissed her.

She pressed the length of her body against him and put her arms around his neck. Their slick skin glided together and Monica whimpered into his mouth. The needy sound sent a new urge to possess rushing through him. Ryan lifted her up and pressed her against the glass shower door.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pumped against her stomach, his dick gliding over her clit with each stroke. The water beat on his back and Monica pressed against his front as sleek as a seal. They kissed fiercely and ground together more fiercely until the shower door rattled with each thrust.

Monica pulled away. “Maybe we should continue in the bedroom where there are condoms.”

Ryan turned off the water and they wrapped in towels before making a dash for the bedroom. Monica dove onto the bed and Ryan discarded his towel and jumped on the bed with her, making the frame shake. He tore away her bath towel and tossed it aside then kissed her throat until she squirmed.

“Stop! It tickles,” she choked.

He moved from her throat down to her breasts, nibbling the nipples and drawing them out before releasing them. He pinned her arms on either side of her head. She struggled against him until he let her get away and take the upper hand.

She rolled him onto his back and straddled him, leaning over and holding his wrists as he’d held hers. Her hair was a wet curtain on either side of their faces. She rocked against his erection. Ryan was amazed at how much he wanted her again, as if they hadn’t just had that intense faux-rape sex in the living room.

He kissed her deeply once then pulled away to whisper, “Fuck! Condoms again. They’re in my jeans.”

“I have some.” She stretched to open the nightstand drawer and pull out a box.

He watched her face, memorizing every adorable feature, as she opened one of the condom wrappers and dressed his erect cock. He vowed this time he would go slow no matter how much he wanted her. He needed to make this last in case it was the last time he got to be with her. Just a client, not a girl you’re dating, he reminded himself.

She looked at him with glowing, dark eyes, as she sat astride him again, settling her body down onto his erection. He moaned as she engulfed him and reached out to touch her face, cradling her cheek in his hand. He lifted his head from the pillow and Monica leaned to kiss him. The stroke of his tongue against hers matched the leisurely thrusting. They rocked together, building up a slow burn of heat, nothing like the frantic urgency of before but deeply satisfying.

“Want me to go down on you?” he murmured.

“No. This is nice.” But she rolled over, pulling Ryan on top of her.

He studied the woman spread out beneath him, so beautiful and open, and not just her body. Monica’s eyes were clear and honest. They didn’t hold secrets. She was transparent and right now desire and…something more, emotion, shone in them.

Ryan moved in her with gentle, insistent pressure, barely withdrawing on each stroke. The rhythm was almost hypnotic. He felt a sense of suspended time in the dim, quiet room. It seemed possible to make this moment last forever if he desired.

Monica arched beneath him and pulled on his hips. “Harder now.”

He obliged, withdrawing completely on the next stroke and sinking deeply into her delicious warmth. Again and again he repeated the move until his control began to slip and he moved faster. Mounting tension gripped him and suddenly, a euphoric burst of fireworks exploded as he came. His cock pulsed deep inside her.

Monica wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

He collapsed on her, turning his face into her neck to inhale her scent. Her hair smelled like shampoo and her skin like soap and woman. A rush of warmth filled him. He was grateful for having found Monica, held her and lain with her, if only for a while.

He wished it could be longer. He wished he could have more.

Chapter Six

Monica held Ryan tight as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck and shoulder. She smiled, sexually satisfied and also happy that she’d given him pleasure. She wondered if he enjoyed sex with all of his clients, or if tonight had been as special for him as it had been for her.

Since he’d admitted he was just starting out as an escort, she wondered if he’d been with other clients besides her yet. The idea of him fucking other women was both upsetting and strangely exciting.

Ryan rolled onto his back and exhaled a long breath. Monica snuggled up to his side with her head resting on his chest, one hand lazily tracing his nipple.

Ryan ran his hand lightly up and down her side. “Can I ask you something?”

She shivered at the feel of his palm running over her skin. “Yeah.”

“Your condition, the agoraphobia, how did it start. How long have you been in your house?”

Monica hesitated. She didn’t like to discuss her condition, but Ryan’s ease in asking made her feel comfortable telling him. “I’ve had anxiety attacks since I was about thirteen. I couldn’t stay at a sleepover at a friend’s house without having to go home after a while. It took a while to realize these were more than childish fears, to understand the attacks were an actual condition.”

She shifted, finding a more comfortable position for her head on Ryan’s hard chest. She hated remembering that period when her parents had been convinced the panic attacks were “all in her head.”

“New or stressful situations were always hard for me, but I attended college while living at home and keeping to a routine. The attacks came less often as I got older. By junior year I moved to an apartment with a couple of other girls and held a job with no problem at all. I thought anxiety attacks were something I’d outgrown.”

She leaned up, resting her head on her hand and looking at Ryan. “Do you really want to hear all this?”

“Yes. Go on,” he encouraged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“After college I got a job copy editing at a publishing company. There was a lot of detail work with no room for error. It wasn’t what I’d planned to do but I figured, hey, stepping stone. Then I got involved with Carl. He was an asshole, but by the time I’d figured that out, he’d torn my heart out and shredded it. I was a wreck and the panic attacks came back. I couldn’t even stand to be in the cubicle at my work.”

She stared at the tribal tattoo on Ryan’s arm so she wouldn’t have to see any pity in his eyes.

“I went to a therapist and made some progress on controlling the symptoms, but I also stayed in more and more. My grandmother had left me this house and a small trust fund so I had a place to retreat to. I quit my job and started doing freelance work from home. Pretty soon I wasn’t going anywhere at all.”

A long silence followed. Monica couldn’t believe she’d spilled her life story like that. “Go ahead, say it. Pathetic. I know.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.” Ryan turned on his side to face her, held her chin and tilted her face to his. “I was thinking that for someone who doesn’t deal well with new situations you’ve been very resilient during our encounters. You don’t seem uncomfortable or close to panicking to me.”

“Because you don’t make me nervous. Not even when you’re supposed to be a rapist. I trust you.” She could have told him that being in her own environment was the key. She felt in control here and better able to keep her fears in check. But the fact was, if she’d chosen a different man she might never have had the courage to let him in the door. Almost from the start Ryan had felt as comfortable as an old friend—a friend with a killer body, a dazzling smile, sexy lips and amazing eyes, but still a friend.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, but it doesn’t say much for my acting skills does it? Wasn’t I at all intimidating?”

Monica grinned. “Only in a good way. But in general you just don’t seem that dangerous.”

“Oh, I can be very dangerous.” He started tickling her side with his fingers.

Monica squealed and squirmed toward the far side of the bed.

Before she could blink, he was on her with both hands seeking out her most sensitive spots. He tickled her until tears of laughter ran from her eyes and she was gasping for breath and crying for him to stop.

“You’re not getting a recommendation from me after this,” she said sternly.

“Mm.” He hauled her into his arms and held her close while he nuzzled her shoulder.

When she was sure he wasn’t going to start tickling again, Monica relaxed and enjoyed the cuddling. This part that could never go on long enough.

After a few moments, Ryan’s even breathing told her he’d dozed off. The feeling of his breath warming her neck, his arm resting heavily across her body was comforting. She wanted to remember tonight always, from the exciting role playing to the luxurious shower and the exquisite lovemaking that followed. Monica knew she couldn’t afford to have Ryan a third time so these memories would have to suffice.

Or maybe she could have him, if she stopped ordering takeout and cooked her meals from scratch, or pushed back the re-roofing of her house she’d planned for next summer. It wasn’t as if she needed new clothes since she never went anywhere. There were a lot of corners she could cut and she could start writing faster, turning in more articles. Ryan was definitely worth it.

She gazed at his sleeping face, the long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks and his lips slightly parted. She’d told him everything about herself and still knew so little about him. She wanted more than sex with him. She wanted friendship. A relationship.

Melancholy welled in her as she realized that part couldn’t happen. He was a man she’d hired to have sex with and that was all she could expect from him. But at least she could find a way to afford to see him again for that if nothing more.

She would make this last as long as she could.

Chapter Seven

“So, Monica, sweetheart, what are you going to wear to Barb’s wedding? You should have something new.” Her mom leaned against the kitchen counter and blew across her cup of tea.

Monica wiped the already clean counter vigorously. “Mom, I told you I’m not sure I’ll be able to go, but if I do I’ll wear my blue dress.”

“The blue sheath with the spaghetti straps, asymmetrical hemline, and beading on the bodice? That’s a little dated, honey.”

“Yes, Mom. That’s the one. But like I said, I’m not sure I’m ready to take that step.”

“Have you been taking the baby steps we talked about? Out in the yard, up the sidewalk, a visit home for Sunday dinner with me and your father and before you know it you’ll be ready for the wedding. It’s only our relatives. They’re keeping the guest list under a hundred. Nothing stressful there. Just some dancing, eating and celebrating. Honey, you have to give it a try. Barb so wants to see you.” She set her cup on the counter and turned to face Monica. “Your Aunt Helen is throwing a wedding shower for Barb. I’m sure you got an invitation. That will be your trial run.”

“I did get it and the present is wrapped and ready for you to take for me.”

She shook her head. “No. I will not. I don’t want to seem cruel, but it’s time for you to overcome this debility. You need to get out. Your sister and I will be with you every step of the way. All you have to do is make a brief appearance then you can go right back home.”

“Mom, enough! Look, I am making progress. I’ve gone into the backyard every day this week and it’s been ... okay. The first couple of times were rough, but it’s better now. I’m taking those baby steps so please stop pushing.”

“Really? Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful news.” She made a zipping motion across her lips. “And I won’t say another word about the shower or the wedding or the Hawaii trip, which by the way we bought the tickets for because the deal was for a limited time and we didn’t want to miss out in case you changed your mind, so... Keeping my mouth shut about all of it from now on.”

“Thank you,” Monica said dryly as she ushered her mom to the door.

“But can I say one more thing? Just one? I think the fresh air you’ve been getting is exactly what you’ve needed because, honey, you’re glowing today, absolutely glowing!”

“Goodbye, Mom.” Monica gave her a kiss and hug goodbye and closed the door firmly behind her. She put a hand to her cheek. Glowing, really? It was silly but she had to see what had prompted her mother’s comment.

In the bathroom, she peered at her face in the mirror. Maybe not “glowing,” but a happy smile was trembling behind her eyes and broke through to settle on her mouth unbidden. Excitement flooded her anew as she considered that tonight, after ten long days, she had another date with Ryan.

Monica returned to the kitchen, rinsed her mother’s tea cup and set it in the sink then leaned against the counter to stare out the window at her back yard. Before he’d left last time, Ryan had given her his personal cell number, saying it would be easier for them to connect directly. He’d told her to call or text any time.

She’d stared at his name in her phone but resisted the urge to contact him for days. Instead, she’d used Ryan as sort of dangling carrot for herself. If she could finish writing five assignments, she’d allow herself to call him. If she went outside every day for at least twenty minutes for two weeks straight, she’d earn a text. At the end of that time she would have “earned” Ryan. That was the plan, but by Friday she couldn’t stand it any more and dialed his number.

“Hey, I was beginning to wonder if I’d hear from you again.” Ryan’s voice was warm and welcoming.

She wondered if other clients had this number and how eager he managed to sound for each of them. It was hard to remember his job was to be pleased to hear from a client.

“I’ve been really busy with work this week and I’ve earned a treat.” She’d actually rehearsed the line, practiced giving it a light, casual sound as if she hadn’t been focusing all of her thoughts on this moment.

“I would love to treat you.” His voice lowered seductively. “When do you want me to come over?”

The hair on her arms and neck stood on end. Right now! she wanted to cry, but answered, “Any time this weekend if you have a night free.”

“Shit. I honestly don’t. What about early next week? Is a week night all right? Maybe Tuesday, but a little later than last time. I have a class in the early evening.”

Any day. Any time you say. “Tuesday would work out for me.”

“Good, I’ll see you then.” There was a pause but he didn’t hang up and neither did she. “To tide you over until then do you want to... I mean, if you wanted to, we could talk for a while. The call’s free.”

It took a moment for Monica to realize he was offering phone sex. Her panties grew moist, or rather, damper since her pussy had been responding to his voice from the moment he answered the phone.

“Um, sure,” she finally managed to say. “What class do you have on Tuesday? What are you studying for?”

“Tuesday is an English lit class. I’m still working my way through my gen. eds. At this rate I’m going to be taking classes the rest of my life.”

“What’s your major?”

“I’d like to be an architect, but it’s a long haul. Right now, it feels like I won’t ever get through the undergrad work let alone get my master’s. Not for a long time.”

That comment made Monica feel like a callous bitch. She’d been so concerned about her wants and needs, how long it had been since she’d gotten laid, how good Ryan made her feel, how much she wanted him in her bed again. As if he were some kind of sex machine there to provide her with what she needed. She’d spent little time thinking about why he was working as an escort.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

She realized she’d been quiet too long. “Nothing. I was just remembering when I was in college. I’d forgotten how hard it was to juggle everything. And I was still living at home so I didn’t have to worry about paying rent, cooking meals or even doing my own laundry. My mom does everything if you let her and what eighteen-year-old is going to volunteer to do laundry or clean the house when she doesn’t have to? But it sounds like you have so much to deal with all on your own. Can I ask how old you are?”

“Twenty-three, and still plugging away at basic classes. It’s embarrassing.”

Twenty-three was younger than twenty-seven, but not so very much.

“But I wasn’t suggesting we should talk about me,” Ryan said. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘What color are your panties?’ or ‘Are you wearing panties? Take them off.’”

Monica laughed. “It so happens I am wearing panties and they are plain cotton and white. No lace, no satin, no thong. Sorry.”

“I can work with white. It’s so ... virginal.” Ryan’s voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Have you ever touched yourself down there while a man was listening? Slip your hand under the elastic of that plain white underwear and put a finger in your pussy. Is it wet?”

“Yes.” Monica was already breathless as she obeyed his command.

“Two fingers in now. Deep inside. How does it feel in there?”

“Hot. Wet. Um, fleshy.”

“Now pull your fingers out slowly. Rub them over your clit and let me hear how that feels.”

Monica complied and a soft moan escaped from her throat. This was infinitely hotter than when she did it alone.

“Good. That sounds so good. I want you to bring those fingers up to your face now. Smell yourself then put them in your mouth and lick them clean. Taste yourself. Find out how good you taste to me. You’re hesitating. I can hear you thinking too hard. Just do it.”

Monica would never have thought to taste her own juices, but this was different, following Ryan’s orders. It felt decadent and erotic. She did as he bid, wrinkling her nose a little at the flavor. If that tasted good to him, his taste buds were off.

“I did it,” she said softly to signal him on.

“Okay. Now I want you to reach under your shirt and touch your breasts. Stroke them lightly until your nipples peak.

Feel how hard they are?

Pinch them. Twist them a little.”

Each command was followed by a pause while Monica complied. She gasped at the pain mingled with pleasure.

“Imagine I’m biting you there. Pinch harder. Now touch your clit with your other hand.”

His husky voice was hypnotic. Monica felt like she was in a trance as she continued to obey every instruction. She continued to pluck at her nipple while rubbing her clit. She closed her eyes and concentrated on his voice, trying to complete the illusion that it was his hands on her body.

“Don’t rub your clit yet. Just touch it lightly at first. Tell me how it feels.”

“Good.” She searched for words, describing her sexual feelings was new to her. “Uh, hot. My p-pussy is aching.”

“Wonderful. Now I want you to—Shit, Monica, I’m at my other job and my supervisor just came in. I have to go now. See you on Tuesday at nine.”

Abrupt silence followed. Monica longed for the old days of a click and a dial tone to tell you the other person had hung up. She felt disoriented. One second he was there in her ear, whispering in her mind, controlling her with his voice and then he was gone.

Supervisor? Other job? Did Ryan ever get any time to rest?

She considered finishing the job he’d started, but masturbating wasn’t what she wanted right now. She wanted Ryan and she’d rather save her desires for Tuesday night.

Monica shivered at the memory of that erotic conversation. She blinked away the memory and refocused on the view outside her kitchen window. Minutes had passed while she stood there reliving the phone call. Her pussy yearned, open and wanting. Not much longer now.

It was, Tuesday at last and she was evidently glowing in eager anticipation of the new delights the night would bring. Monica felt herself growing far too attached to someone so impermanent, but she was too far gone to care. Right now at least she was excited and happy.

If there were disappointment and loneliness later, she would worry about them then.

Chapter Eight

“What’s up with you lately?” Tim asked Ryan as they sat at their usual bar watching basketball and sipping beer. “You seem more stressed out than usual and you’ve always been wound tight.”

Ryan hadn’t told Tim about his job at Labors of Love. He shrugged. “Exams, work, money trouble, my grandma, the usual.”

“It’s that phone sex job, isn’t it? I knew it was a bad idea for you.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who pushed me into it.”

“It was a bad idea. You’re too nice for that kind of shit. I should’ve known better.” Tim tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth and crunched them down.

Ryan grimaced. You have no idea how not nice I’ve become.

During the past week he’d had three more sex assignments which gave him an increasing feeling of being covered in the soap scum that wouldn’t come off a tub no matter how hard you scrubbed. Meanwhile, the only woman he’d wanted to hear from hadn’t called, until at last she had and they’d set another date. This should’ve made him happy, but instead he felt guilty. He was doing this one on his own not through the agency, which is why he’d given Monica his personal number. He didn’t want to charge her for something he wanted to do and didn’t want their arrangement to be strictly business any longer, but he was too afraid of her reaction to tell her. She must have wanted a no-strings-attached relationship or she wouldn’t have contacted an escort service. It was unprofessional of him to have any feelings for her.

Yesterday, he’d called Labors of Love and given his resignation. Mrs. Darrow hadn’t expressed surprise. Maybe, like Tim, she thought he was “too nice” too.

“You should quit that phone sex gig if it bugs you this much,” Tim said.

“Maybe I will.” To distract Tim from more personal talk, Ryan made a comment about the game then swigged his bottle of beer while Tim babbled about point averages.

On top of Ryan’s concerns about the sex trade and Monica, he was also worried about Gram’s respiratory infection. The doctor said it could easily cross the line to become pneumonia. The Rose Arbor staff was professional and caring, but it bothered him that someone else was taking care of his grandmother while he could barely make the time to go over and see her once in a while. The only good thing he could focus on was tonight’s date with Monica, a bright spot that made him feel more hopeful overall.

Rising from the bar stool, he clapped Tim on the shoulder. “Hey, thanks for covering my shift tonight. I owe you.”

“No problem. I got nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than talk dirty to people. But what are you up to? I don’t believe you’re studying. You said your exams are done. Besides, this is not the face of a guy who plans to hit the books all evening. You’re meeting someone. One of those little campus hotties, right?”

“No. No co-eds.”

“Ah-ha, but you are seeing someone. Please don’t tell me it’s some woman you hooked up with on one of your sex calls. That’s so unprofessional, plus you have no idea what she’ll really look like. Don’t go there. I’m telling you.”

“You sound like you’ve tried it.”

“Just once and believe me, it was scary. So, who’s the girl?”

“An old friend from high school.” He was getting amazingly good at thinking up lies fast.

“Well, all right. About time. I never knew a guy your age who partied less and worked more. You get yourself laid tonight, buddy. You could use it.”

“I’ll be sure and take care of that,” Ryan said dryly, but as he left the bar and drove off, he thought that getting laid by Monica was exactly what he needed tonight.

*

Ryan’s noisy Jeep pulled up in front of the house and Monica’s heart fluttered wildly. After a ten-day absence this felt like a first date all over again. She was ridiculously nervous and knew it was because she was treating this like a real date instead of a business transaction. She had to stop doing that.

“Don’t let me act stupid, kitty.” She scratched behind Amber’s ears then pushed the cat off her lap. “Ryan’s nice. We get along great and the sex is wonderful, but no matter how sweet he is to me, it’s only business. I have to keep it light.” She brushed white fur off of her black pants. “Got that? If you see me starting to swoon, you dig your claws into my ankle and ground me in reality.”

Amber was already strolling for the front door even though the bell hadn’t rung yet. Her sensitive hearing had identified a foreign presence approaching and rather than running to hide, she seemed eager to greet their visitor.

Monica answered the door with a shy smile. She was struck anew by how drop-dead gorgeous Ryan was. Tonight he wore a plain black T-shirt and faded blue jeans. He wore no jacket and his muscular arms were bare. Seeing those sculpted biceps, triceps and whatever other ‘ceps, Monica flashed back to how strong his arms had felt when he lifted and carried her. Those were good pair of arms to have around.

She dragged her eyes away from his arms and reached out to take the bouquet of flowers he was handing her. Her heart melted at the profusion of daisies, tulips and daffodils, perfect for a spring evening.

“Thank you! This is so sweet,” she cooed and broadcast a mental message to Amber, twining around her ankles. This is swooning, you idiot. Dig in your claws and stop me.

“Come in.” She gestured Ryan through the door.

“What’s on for tonight?” he asked then stooped and petted the cat. “Hey, Amber.”

Her back arched into his hand like she was his best buddy.

Pet me, Monica thought. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Always.”

“Good, cause we’re having a picnic.” She turned to lead the way toward the kitchen.

Ryan snaked his arms around her from behind and pulled her against him. “A bed picnic?” He burrowed his face against the side of her neck and nuzzled.

She twisted her head away from his tickling mouth, but didn’t try to escape his arms. “No. A real picnic in my backyard.”

“Outside? I thought you didn’t go out?”

“Lately I have been. I’m “reclaiming my life” as Dr. Brewster calls it, an area at a time starting with my yard.” She pulled a vase down from above the fridge and arranged her flowers. She handed him the wine bottle and glasses and she carried the hamper of food.

Ryan followed her out the back door to the beautiful bower she’d created out of her tiny yard. She’d spent the afternoon hanging mini-lights on the hedge and the small plum tree. It was early for very much bloom, but the crocuses, daffodils and hyacinths were starting to open in the bed near the house. The hyacinths emitted a strong, sweet perfume that filled the air.

Monica had resurrected the wooden arbor that had blown down in the wind over a year ago. It was a little tipsy, but still sturdy enough to stand and it too was wrapped in lights. She had cleaned grime and bird droppings off the hexagonal picnic table. Although warped, it was almost as good as new and covered with a red and white checked tablecloth. A decorative oil lamp at the center of the table illuminated the area.

It was really too chilly for a picnic but comfortable that her light jacket kept her warm. The yard was sheltered with a privacy fence that cut most of the breeze.

“Are you going to be okay wearing only a T-shirt?” she asked Ryan as he poured wine into the glasses.

“I’m very hot-blooded.” He winked and grinned. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Please stop. Smarmy doesn’t become you,” she teased.

After unloading sandwiches, deli salads, fruit and cookies from her basket, Monica set service for two on the table and offered Ryan one of the napkins. “Cloth, not paper. See how you rate?”

Ryan loaded his plate with a ham and cheese sandwich and big servings of the various salads then dug into the food with gusto. Monica wasn’t very hungry but enjoyed watching his unselfconscious pleasure in eating.

“Good,” he said between bites of potato salad. “Homemade?”

“Only if you consider a deli somebody’s home. I didn’t bake the cookies either but I did make the sandwiches. Two slices of ham to one slice of cheese, generous portion of mayo is my secret recipe,” she said conspiratorially.

“And they’re great.” He took another huge bite of the sandwich.

Monica was distracted watching his jaw work. God, the clench of a man’s jaw was sexy. “Uh, thanks.”

He swallowed and glanced at her sheepishly. “Sorry, guess I was hungry.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed everything.”

Ryan pushed his empty plate back. “So, what have you written this week?”

“Nothing you’re likely to read unless you subscribe to Today’s Homemakers or Whole Body Fitness.” She summarized the articles and explained how the freelance process worked—querying a publisher, having her idea accepted then meeting a deadline. “It gets easier once a writer is established. Editors know my style and that I’ll complete the work in a timely manner.”

In return, Ryan told her about an incident in one of his classes involving a petty tyrant of a T.A. and how the class had revolted. “Considering the cost of tuition, you’d think classes might be taught by the actual professors whose salaries we’re paying. I’ve had more assistants than professors.”

They worked their way through the bottle of wine and discussed current events and likes and dislikes in food, music and movies.

“I suppose we should go inside,” Monica finally said. “It’s a little cold.”

“Or we could lie on a blanket and I could make love to you under the stars.” Ryan glanced up. “Or clouds.”

Monica considered the prospect. Naked, outdoors, under the great open expanse of sky. Last week the idea would have been unthinkable but after spending time in her garden every day and with Ryan beside her tonight, her anxiety was at bay. Outdoor sex sounded lovely. “I’ll get some old quilts.”

They walked toward the house with the remains of the picnic, passing through the tilting arbor. Ryan shook it lightly. “I can fix this for you. I could probably do it quickly right now if there were enough light, but I can come back another day.”

“Really? That would be...” Monica hesitated. She could afford to pay him for the repair, but they way he said it sounded almost like he wanted to do it as a favor for a friend. Whatever he meant, she wanted him here again and the arbor was an excellent excuse to have him come around. “That would be great.”

She dug up some old quilts that had been among her grandmother’s possessions. They were too worn to use around the house, but she wouldn’t thrown them away since her Grandma had made them.

Back outdoors, Ryan helped her spread the thicker one over the cold ground. They kicked off their shoes and huddled together under the top quilt trying to get warm.

Wrapped in Ryan’s arms, pressed against the length of his body that radiated heat like a stove, Monica soon lost her chill. The ground was hard but the scent of flowers and soil wafting through the air made up for any discomfort,

They lay face to face, foreheads resting against each other. In the darkness underneath the quilt, she couldn’t see Ryan’s face, only feel him pressed against her.

“I used to go camping with my friend Steve’s family.” As he spoke, Ryan’s breath brushed her lips like a kiss. “Every summer. It was like my family vacation only with somebody else’s family. It was fun though.” He chuckled. “Especially the summer when Steve’s sister, Melanie, suddenly grew tits. We used to sneak out behind the garbage dump in the campground, a more romantic spot than you’d think, and make out for hours. Of course, once we were back home she ignored me like before. There were older boys paying attention to her and I was back to being her kid brother Steve’s annoying friend.”

“What did Steve think about it?”

“I never told and he always wondered where I kept disappearing to that summer.”

“My family went camping once,” Monica said. “It rained and rained, took a break to drizzle and then rained some more. We sat in the tent and shivered until my mom declared she’d had enough. My dad wrestled down the tent in a thunderstorm. It wouldn’t fit into the bag so my sister and I rode home with yards of dripping wet, nylon on the floor of the car around our legs.”

“So no campfires or S’mores? Then you haven’t really camped. I should take you some time.” Silence followed Ryan’s words as each remembered the nature of their relationship.

Monica quickly changed the subject. “Did your grandmother take you on any vacations?”

“The beach, same cottage every summer. Gram loved the ocean.”

“How is she doing?”

“Not too good this week. She has a respiratory infection. She’s living at a really nice facility, but I can’t get over there as much as I should. It sucks watching a person who was so sharp and strong deteriorating into a stranger right in front of you.”

Monica hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t imagine living through that with one of my parents.”

“I’m depressing the hell out of you. This is supposed to be fun.” He kissed her, long and deep, then pulled away. “Are you warm enough to get naked under here?”

“I will if you will.” She slid her hand up his back underneath his T-shirt, feeling the hard ridge of his spine and the smooth muscle. She stripped the shirt over his head and Ryan pulled down the quilt to fling it onto the grass. Then he started to work on her.

In moments their clothes were stripped off. Monica shivered more at the novelty of being naked outdoors than from cold. They were actually quite warm under Grandma’s flowered quilt?

Ryan pulled Monica on top of him. She straddled him, quilt draping her shoulders, his hands gripping her hips, and gazed down at his face. His eyes reflected the twinkle lights decorating the garden. He regarded her so intensely she could almost imagine some strong emotion arching between them. She forced herself to repeat her mental mantra, sweet guy, good sex, but no strings.

Monica sat straighter and the quilt slid down, leaving her torso naked. The breeze caressed her skin, chilling her and tightening her nipples into hard knots. Her areoles puckered and every bit of exposed skin was covered with gooseflesh. But even with that discomfort, she was aroused by the sensation of being naked under the night sky.

Ryan’s eyes were trained on her breasts.

Monica stretched her arms above her head then laced them behind it, thrusting her chest forward. She pouted her lips, playing pinup girl.

Ryan slid his hands up her sides, leaving trails of fire on her cold flesh, but he couldn’t quite reach her breasts, which she kept just out of reach.

He pulled her forward. “Come down here,” he said gruffly.

She laughed and leaned down. He cradled her breasts, warming them in his hands and sending sparks shooting through her from the nipples he pulled and twisted.

Monica moaned and leaned lower to press her lips to his. She tasted the sweetness of wine and a trace of salty ham and under that, simply him.

His tongue warmed her mouth and his body warmed the rest of her. He reached down and drew the quilt over her back again, cocooning them in warmth. Monica rocked against him, her pussy ground against his rigid cock.

Their mouths were fused together in a passionate kiss, which Monica ended only to kiss the line of his jaw and down his neck. She felt the vibration of his groan as her mouth skated over his throat and down to the hollows above his collarbone. She nibbled each hard nipple, earning from him a sharp intake of breath. She kissed all the way down his body, over his taut, hairy stomach and down to his cock, solid and hot against her lips.

He touched her shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” She took him in her hand and sucked the weeping tip into her mouth. His cock was so ready for her, hard and pulsating with energy. She engulfed him in her mouth, swallowing him as deeply as she could. Ryan groaned loudly at the sudden deep-throating and she hoped her neighbors’ windows were closed. Monica sucked strongly as she rubbed her hand up and down his shaft.

Ryan groaned again and lifted his hips. He thrust into her mouth and hand, his body arching in pleasure. “God, that feels so good,” he murmured.

Pride filled her at the knowledge she was giving him pleasure. There was something wonderful about holding a man’s cock and controlling him like it was a joystick. She enjoyed having the power to please.

At last he tugged on her hair, pulling her off him. “Stop now. Your turn.”

He lifted her up then flipped her onto her back and disappeared under the quilt.

She looked down at the lump moving beneath the quilt and smiled at the sight. Then she gasped as his fingers parted her folds and his tongue touched her clit. He licked lightly, swirling around and over bud. The heat and wetness felt so good, she couldn’t contain herself and soon she was moaning and writhing beneath him.

He held her hips down not allowing her to thrust and abandoned from her clit, to dip his tongue inside her pussy. The penetration felt good, but not as fantastic as having his tongue on her clit. She whimpered in frustration and wiggled, but he continued to pin her down. Then he approached her clit again, licking and sucking until she was close to the edge. She squeezed her eyes so tight, sparks flew in the darkness behind her closed lids.

Ryan stopped again, pulling away.

She whined. “Don’t! Please finish it.”

He chuckled and then his mouth moved on her once more. With a few deft twists of his tongue he brought her right up to the edge again and then over. She bucked and cried out as she fell through space. She continued to thrust for several moments, riding the diminishing waves of pleasure until she was grounded once more.

Ryan moved from between her thighs, left her alone for a moment, and then he was back again. He laid beside her and once more pulled her on top of him.

Monica reached down and felt his condom-covered cock. She guided it to her entrance and pushed onto the thick, heavy length. She rose up on her knees and sank down on him. She sighed at the sensation of fullness that satisfied the empty yearning inside her. She moved on him, rising and falling, slowly at first then faster.

Ryan seized her hips and guided her up and down as he thrust. Monica looked down at his face, contorted in ecstasy. His eyes flickered open and met hers.

“Monica,” he breathed and continued to hold her gaze as he pumped into her until at the very end, his eyes closed. He groaned and shuddered as he came.

Monica collapsed on top of him, resting her head on his chest and listening to his heart pounding beneath her ear. She licked the salt from his skin and ran her hand up his arm, stopping to trace the blue swirls of the tribal tattoo that banded his swelling biceps.

He held her and stroked his hand down her back for a few moments before gently laying her aside. He removed the used condom then lay beside her. They stared at the starless sky in blissful silence.

“Is there anything we haven’t done--sexually--that you’d like to try?” he asked after a while. “Some secret fantasy? I’m up for it. I’ll do anything you want.”

“No. Nothing really.” A glimpse of one of her favorite erotic fantasies flashed in her mind.

He turned his head and looked at her. “You do have a wish. What is it?”

“It’s embarrassing is what it is.”

“Come on.” He turned onto his side, head on hand. “You don’t want me to have to start tickling do you? You’ll wake the neighbors with your screaming which would really be embarrassing.” When she still hesitated, he repeated, “You can tell me. Whatever it is I’m not going to be shocked.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in a threesome.” She half-swallowed the last word.

“Everybody fantasizes about threesomes. You shouldn’t feel weird about it. A threesome with two guys or a guy and a girl?”

“Two guys. At once. With, uh, me.”

He was silent a moment then said, “I could arrange that if you want it.”

“I don’t. It’s only a fantasy. I would never really do that.”

“Why not? You should try it if that’s what you’re into.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I’ll introduce you to Travis. You’ll like him. It will give you a chance to meet someone new and I’ll be there to make sure you’re comfortable. If you decide you don’t want it to go any farther, that’s it. He goes home.”

Ryan seemed to forget she couldn’t afford to fork out what might be over a thousand dollars to fulfill a fantasy. One escort was expensive enough and Ryan was worth every penny, but she dreaded seeing her credit card bill at the end of the month.

“You think about it.” He took her hand and rubbed his thumb against the side of her palm. “But if it helps financially, I wouldn’t charge you for my, ah, services. I’d be there in an assistant capacity.”

Monica turned her head to look at him. “You’d do that?”

“I want to make sure you aren’t nervous or uncomfortable with someone new.”

Besides which, he didn’t want her to be attached to only him. Was she that obvious? She had to guard against her feelings showing or he’d think she was a needy, love-starved woman who couldn’t tell the difference between lust and love.

“All right,” she said lightly. “I’d like to try that. Maybe next week. But you don’t have to waive your payment. I can cover it.” Finances be damned, she must let him know she realized this was strictly business.

“Okay. I’ll contact Travis and set something up.” Ryan said after a brief pause.

Monica bit her bottom lip and stared at the sky again. For a moment there was a break in the clouds and a sliver of moon shone through. It was beautiful and she would have pointed it out to Ryan, but suddenly he felt like a stranger to her. She’d been play-acting they were a happy couple, but he really was hired help, like the dishwasher repair guy or the plumber. How could she keep forgetting that?

So, fine, she would enjoy one more secret fantasy and then she would put an end to all this craziness and resume her normal life. She had it all under control.

Chapter Nine

Ryan drove a nail into the wood with several hard blows of the hammer. He was glad to be working with a real hammer and not a nail gun as he inhaled the scent of wood and mentally thanked George Wilkie for putting him on his crew. It felt good to be working with his hands again in a manly way, not in the bedroom. Sex should be for recreation or to express love. Having it become work had been just plain wrong. It was a mistake he’d never make again.

Except for one last time with Monica, although she didn’t know he wasn’t actually accepting payment. He pulled another nail from the pouch and drove it in hard. This was a Catch-22 situation. If he hadn’t become a whore he’d never have met Monica, but because he’d been her whore, he couldn’t ask her out on a normal a date. She didn’t see him that way. He’d thought that was pretty clear in her attitude the other night.

He remembered his promise to fix her trellis and thought that maybe after this next sexcapade was over he could use that as an excuse to go to her house in a non-sex-related capacity. Would that be too obvious? Would she be able to tell he cared?

Damn! He was crushing on her again. He needed to participate in this threesome for his own good, to see Monica with another man and remind himself it was all about sex and he was replaceable.

Ryan shook his head to clear the thoughts of Monica and breathed in a deep lungful of the fresh spring air. It was a beautiful day. He was outdoors in the sunshine, working hard, sweating and enjoying creating something permanent with his hands. He was between semesters so he didn’t have to worry about studying and according to the call he’d received from Rose Arbor, Gram was doing much better. Even his Jeep was running well for a change. Agonizing over sex and love and if onlys wasn’t an option on such a perfect day. Tim was right, he had to stop his chronic worrying.

He lifted his hammer and drove in another nail.

*

“Monica, remember how much fun we used to have playing at Barb’s house when she babysat us?” Lisa braked at a stop sign and glanced over at Monica in the passenger seat. She hadn’t stopped reminiscing since picking up Monica to take her to the bridal shower.

Monica was well aware her sister was chattering to try to distract her from getting caught up in worries and perhaps spiraling off into a panic attack at the idea of facing a roomful of people.

“She’d let us play with her Barbies that were packed away in the basement,” Lisa continued. “I remember wondering how she could possibly be ‘too old’ to want to play with them anymore. She had such a fantastic collection of clothes plus all the cool accessories.”

“The Corvette, the Dream House, the speed boat and Barbie’s Tropical Vacation Cabana,” Monica remembered. “Oh how I loved that Cabana.”

“And the Cabana Boy. Remember?” Lisa laughed. “We made the best looking Ken be the Cabana Boy Barbie fell in love with while vacationing with her dull fiancé, Fred.”

Monica joined in her laughter. “God, yes. Cabana Ken. Only he wasn’t really a Ken doll but some Disney prince. He was so hot.”

Her spirits lifted. It was a beautiful spring day. She was with her sister on the way to a party yet felt no trace of anxiety brewing. That was fantastic. She was fantastic. The world was fantastic. And in another handful of hours she’d be having fantastic sex with not one but two fantastic looking guys. Could life be any more fantastic?

When she’d confirmed the day and time with Ryan, Monica had wondered if maybe she wasn’t planning a little too much activity for one day, but she’d shrugged off her doubts and made the date anyway. Right now she didn’t foresee any trouble. She felt as if she could handle anything.

Lisa turned into Aunt Helen’s driveway behind a long line of parked cars. Monica took a deep, calming breath then opened the door and stepped out. So far so good.

At the front door, their aunt greeted them with an air kiss to each cheek. The noise from the living room assaulted Monica, but didn’t make one dent in her shield. It was just a lot of happy, chattering women. No reason to get nervous. Good heavens, she’d had sex with a stranger—what could be more out of the comfort zone than that?

Aunt Helen directed them toward the gift table and the buffet table where hors d'oeuvres were available, then bustled off to her next task.

Lisa leaned in to ask Monica if she was doing okay and Monica glared. “I’m not an invalid. Stop it.”

As they entered the living room, they were confronted by a circle of women chattering at top volume. Monica felt a flutter in her stomach as the noise level dropped and everyone turned to observe the new arrivals.

“Sweetheart, you made it!” Monica’s mom rose and came at her with arms outstretched. Monica hadn’t confirmed she was coming in case she chose to bail at the last minute. “I’m so glad.” She enfolded Monica in her arms.

“Mony, Mony!” Barb also rose and came to welcome Monica. The pet name recalled childhood days when Barb had put on Billy Idol and danced with Lisa and Monica around the living room. “I had no idea you’d be here. Thank you so much for coming. Everyone,” she announced, “these are my cousins, Lisa and Monica.”

She turned back to them. “We’ll have a name game soon so I won’t try to tell you all of Alex’s aunts’ and cousins’ names.”

Games. Oh goody.

Barb led Monica over to sit near her. She squeezed her hand and winked at her before sitting down on her crepe paper-draped chair of honor.

The women resumed their interrupted conversations and the noise level crept up enveloping Monica in a solid wall of sound. Okay. This wasn’t so bad. She could do this. All she had to do was sit and smile, make occasional small talk then Lisa would drop her off at home.

But, God, the room seemed warm and the voices all sounded like one loud buzzing hive of bees. Her ears were ringing and she realized she was breathing too fast and shallow. She concentrated on slowing down her respiration and missed whatever Barb had said to her.

“Pardon me?”

“I was wondering if you think you’ll make it to the wedding now that you’re out and about again.”

“I’ll try.” Monica was having a hard time concentrating on Barb’s words. The voices around her seemed overly loud and a high-pitched whining filled her ears.

Aunt Helen swept in and started the games. They were supposed to go around the room and introduce themselves by their name and relationship to Barb then tell something unusual or interesting about themselves to act as a reminder. Afterward they’d each be called on to recall a name and fact about one of the other people at the party. The repetition was supposed to help them get to know one another.

Monica thought, Hi. I’m Monica, Barb’s cousin, and I recently enacted a rape scenario with a paid escort I found on the Internet.

Since she was to Barb’s right, Monica actually was first. “Hi. I’m Barb’s cousin, Monica, and I’m a freelance writer.” It was a lot less memorable than what she’d been thinking, but it would have to do. Looking around at the women’s faces, she wondered how many of them had secrets they’d never admit to.

After everyone had introduced herself, numbers were assigned and chosen so each woman could re-introduce another at random. “This is Kristy, Alex’s second cousin, and she once won a baking contest. That’s Alexa, Alex’s mom and she’s terrified of snakes.”

It was a silly game, harmless and fun. Everyone laughed together when someone drew a blank and couldn’t remember a name or factoid. So why was Monica’s heart beating faster in anticipation of being called on? It was ridiculous. There was nothing to fear here other than some light teasing if she messed up. Why was her pulse beginning to race? She despised how her body betrayed her when her mind was being perfectly logical.

“Twelve,” Alex’s mom, a blond woman with hair teased into a bouffant and shellacked into place with hairspray, pointed at Monica. “She is Monica, Barb’s cousin, the writer.” Everyone murmured and smiled. Party games were just so damn much fun.

Monica’s smile was frozen on her face. She blinked her eyes to clear them of the fog creeping in at the edges and took a deep breath. She looked at the number she’d been given. “Three is Sylvia? No, Sybil, a friend from Barb’s work, who used to date Alex and set Barb and Alex up for their first blind date.”

The guests roared with laughter at that one. Everyone’s attention swept on, away from Monica, and yet her symptoms lingered. There was simply too much here. Too much noise. Too much hearty laughter. Too much estrogen altogether.

Monica rose and made her circuitous way behind the chairs and out of the room. She went into the hall bathroom and closed the door behind her, shutting out the cacophony.

After splashing cold water on her face, she looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. You can do this. Smile, nod, eat tiny sandwiches and cake, go home again. No racing heart, no shortness of breath. Just a normal afternoon at a bridal shower. You can be like everyone else.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Monica? You okay?” Lisa asked.

She patted her face dry and opened the door. “Peeing. Is that allowed?” she snapped, knowing Lisa didn’t deserve her shortness, but unable to stop being annoyed.

“You looked kind of pale. Do you want to leave now?”

“Without having a piece of cake? I don’t think so.” Monica forced a smile. “Seriously, I’m good. I’ll let you know if I need to leave.”

Together they returned to the living room but Monica got no farther than the archway before she began to feel dizzy. She rested a hand against the wall to get her balance and forced her mind to the safe spot Dr. Brewer had helped her create for herself. She breathed slowly, while the noise around her seemed to go up and up in pitch and volume until her head was filled with the assaulting clamor.

“Now,” she whispered to Lisa. “I need to get out now.”

“Okay. I’ll say goodbye to Barb from both of us. Can you make it to the car by yourself?”

Monica nodded then turned and walked toward the foyer, still with a steadying hand on the wall. She imagined Lisa explaining the situation to Barb and figured by the time the party was over everyone would know about poor Monica’s “condition” and think how sad it was such a nice young woman had imprisoned herself, too fearful to live her life. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked to clear them.

Once she made it through the front door, Monica was suddenly frozen on the doorstep. The day was as glorious and sunny as it had been earlier when they’d walked from the car to the house, but she couldn’t take one step into it. She waited, shivering, for her sister.

A moment later the front door opened and Lisa came out.

“I’m sorry you had to leave.” Monica’s voice cracked. “I feel like an idiot. This is exactly why I never want to go anywhere.”

Lisa took her arm and led her toward the car. “It’s okay if you need to leave early. That’s better than never even trying to go anywhere. The important thing today is you really tried. Both Mom and I are so proud of you.”

And now the tears spilled over. “Damn, Lisa. You’re too nice. You make me feel like a shit for ever being snotty to you.”

“Little sisters are always snotty to big sisters. I think it’s a rule.”

The car ride home was quiet. Lisa had the sense to let Monica rest in silence. When they reached the house, she walked Monica to her front door and hugged her goodbye. “You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”

“No. I’m good. I want to lie down for a while. Thanks for picking me up today. Bridal showers are such fun, especially the games.”

“I know, and you made me miss the ‘create a wedding gown out of toilet paper’ portion of the day.” Lisa laughed with her. “See you later, hon.”

Inside, Monica collapsed on the couch, exhausted from fighting her panic. She considered calling Ryan and canceling the evening’s plan. That would be the smart thing to do. If she couldn’t handle the stress of a simple party, how did she think she was going to survive something as daunting as a threesome?

But maybe the release a wild night of sex would give was exactly what she did need. She’d meet the other guy and decide later whether to play out the fantasy. But if nothing else, she knew she wanted to see Ryan.

Kicking off her shoes, she drew her feet up on the couch and lay down to take a nap in preparation for the evening.

Chapter Ten

On his afternoon break at the construction site, Ryan sipped a cup of coffee and rubbed his shoulder, which was sore from hammering. His phone rang and he checked the ID. It was Rose Arbor. The administrator informed him Gram had collapsed. An attendant had found her on the floor of her room and she’d been taken to the hospital.

Ryan explained the situation to the foreman, jumped into his car and peeled out of the drive. His heart raced as he drove to St. Martin’s Memorial. He thought of everything his grandmother had done for him, how she’d mothered him when his own mother hadn’t been able to, and prayed he’d be there in time to be with her if this was the end.

But when he checked in at the emergency room, the situation turned out to be less dire than it had sounded over the phone. Gram’s body had reacted aversely to the antibiotic she was on for her infection. By the time Ryan saw her, she was awake and alert, although still lost in time.

He leaned to kiss her cheek and she called him Aaron and asked how Becky was. He told her Becky was just fine and asked if there was anything he could do for her. She plaintively begged for a candy bar and he promised to get her one if the doctor approved.

The on-call doctor said he’d like to keep her overnight for observation, but she could probably return to Rose Arbor in the morning. Ryan’s heart sank as he imagined the cost of an overnight stay. Medicare was Gram’s only insurance and her small pension had long since been depleted. He didn’t know how well-covered this stay might be.

An orderly transferred Gram from the ER to a room while Ryan went to the gift shop in search of a candy bar for her. He spent two hours sitting with her and listening to her alternately talk about events from her past and sit silently staring straight ahead at nothing. Spending time with her was more exhausting than all the hours he’d put in at the construction site. At least she seemed to enjoy the candy bar.

When Gram finally fell sleep, a nurse gently reminded him visiting hours were over and urged him to go home and rest. Only then did he realize he’d totally forgotten about his date with Monica. He pulled out his cell phone to call her and say he’d be late, but the battery was dead. He considered finding a pay phone in the hospital, but it seemed better to simply hurry to Monica’s as fast as he could.

He climbed into the Jeep and floored it out of the parking lot.

*

Monica woke from her nap in the early evening feeling muzzy and dull. She could tell by the light coming in the windows that it was late, but she was amazed when she checked the clock and found it was seven thirty. Her guests were supposed to arrive by eight.

She quickly showered, dressed and gobbled a yogurt to have something in her stomach since she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but before she had time to calm down or orient herself, the doorbell rang.

Ryan. Her heart bounded like a running antelope. Her eagerness embarrassed her but she couldn’t deny the joy the thought of Ryan awoke in her. She opened the door with a huge smile on her face to greet him and was dismayed to find a stranger on her porch. Well, not a complete stranger. She remembered Travis’s picture and bio from the Labors of Love profiles. He was the handsome poet with the huge biceps and gorgeous white teeth. Seeing that much male beauty in person was intimidating.

He was tall and toned, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and slacks. He had smooth brown skin and intense brown eyes. Monica half expected him to speak in abstract poetic phrases. “Hello, you must be Monica.” His voice was as rich and creamy as a Dove bar. “Am I too early?”

“No. Please, come in.”

He followed her inside. Where was Ryan? She’s assumed they’d be coming together. The choice of words evoked an image of two sweating, thrusting men wrapped around one another, both with identical expressions of ecstasy. Or rather, arriving at the same time.

“Ryan’s not here yet,” she said. What in the world was she doing? This was absolute madness. She was not actually going to share her body with two men, one of whom was a complete stranger.

She gestured toward the couch. “Won’t you sit down?”

“First I have something I’d like to prepare if you have a blender. I hope you like margaritas.” He held up a paper bag.

Monica sighed in relief. Something to do to fill the time. “Yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Travis made himself at home, moving around her kitchen preparing the drinks. He kept up a stream of conversation, asking her about her work and telling about an interesting book he was reading. By the time he poured the thick, lime-green slush in a glass and offered it to her, Monica was feeling much more relaxed.

“Here’s something else for you too.” He held out his hand. In the middle of his palm was a small white tablet and Monica was suddenly reminded of the D.A.R.E. class she’d taken in fifth grade. The goofy little “Just Say No” ditty ran through her head.

At her doubtful look, he added, “It’s Ecstasy. Trust me, it’s safe and it will enhance your experience this evening.” He popped the tab in his mouth and swallowed then produced another and offered it to her again. “Works best without the alcohol, but what the hell, you can’t have a party without margaritas.”

Monica swallowed the E and chased it with a sip of the tart drink. “I haven’t done this before. How long before I feel something?”

“Depends on your metabolism, but it should kick in in about a half hour. Meanwhile, why don’t you let me give you a massage? Guaranteed to help you relax.”

Monica’s heart fluttered. This was starting to happen and where was Ryan? Why didn’t he call? She was about to get a naked massage from a total stranger and she needed Ryan to be a part of it or she didn’t know if she could handle it. How odd was that? She’d never felt any hesitation about stripping in front of Ryan. Other than a brief stab of nerves at the very beginning, she’d always been comfortable around him.

Travis took her hand and led her to the couch. Monica sat with her back turned toward him and he put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded them gently. He kissed the side of her neck, soft, warm lips pressed against her skin. “Come on, sweetness. Let me help you relax. I want you to have a good time.”

Monica shivered at his touch.

“You don’t have to be nervous. Nobody’s going to do anything here that you don’t want. It’s your play.” He continued to reassure her in his deep, rumbling voice, telling her how safe she was and how good she was going to feel. He continued to massage her shoulders and back and before Monica knew it, she was shirtless and wasn’t quite sure how she got that way. His hands were warm on her skin as he rubbed from her neck all the way down to her ass, slowly, deeply digging into her muscles and relieving all pressure. And, oh, what happened to her bra?

His hands slid around her sides, up her rib cage to encompass her breasts, and he continued to murmur that low, seductive chant, “You feel so good. Your skin is soft and as smooth as satin. I can’t wait to see how you taste and to know what your body feels like wrapped around me.”

His mouth trailed across her back from shoulder to shoulder, kissing, licking, while he fondled her breasts and toyed with her nipples. Monica felt like bread dough beneath his knowledgeable hands. Her muscles melted at his touch and she felt boneless. A growing sense of bliss blossomed through her and she wondered if the little white tablet was already kicking in.

“You feeling more comfortable now, baby? Good. I want you to enjoy every bit of this because it’s all about you. Making you feel good.”

He turned to face him and stopped the mesmerizing stream of words to lean in and kiss her. His soft lips covered her mouth, tempting it open with soft brushes of his tongue.

Monica felt as if her nerve endings were tuned to high like the whiskers on a cat which sensed the slightest touch against them. Her skin, her lips, her tongue vibrated with feeling. She sank into Travis’s skillful kisses, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulder, her hands running through the tight curls of his hair.

Travis slid his hands down her back to grab her ass and pull her onto his lap. Her knees pressed on either side of his waist and her bare breasts brushed against the front of his shirt. Her nipples had never felt so sensitive. They were match heads likely to be struck to flame any moment.

“Just a minute, honey.” He pulled away from her long enough to remove his shirt.

Monica was awestruck at the sculpted muscles he probably worked on every day. She ran her hands over his massive chest and swollen biceps and down his arms to his hands which were busily unfastening her pants and sliding them over her hips. The material scraped her skin like sandpaper and that feverish feeling convinced her she was feeling the effects of the E.

Travis lifted her up and she helped him strip off her jeans, shoes and socks. He pulled her back onto his lap, and the material of his trousers scratched her naked thighs, and ass. Her pussy clenched and released and she was afraid she’d leave damp marks on Travis’s slacks.

He offered her another sip from her margarita glass. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed too fast. She squeezed her eyes closed as blinding pain shot through her head. “Ice headache,” she explained.

He laughed a warm, honeyed chuckle and massaged her temples until she was better. Then he kissed her again and in contrast to her ice-chilled mouth, his was hotter than a fever.

God, he kissed good! He was sweet and warm and nice and she loved him. Loved him almost as much as Ryan. And where was Ryan? She missed him and wanted him to be a part of this because she really, really liked Ryan and wanted him to be as happy as she was right now with all these good, good feelings and the warmth and the love.

“Slow down, baby girl, or I’m going to lose it here.” Travis grasped her hips and stopped her from writhing against him like a cat. And where was Amber? She hadn’t seen her pet all evening. Must be hiding underneath the bed. She hadn’t come to welcome Travis like she did when Ryan came.

“Sorry.” Monica giggled and stopped rubbing her aching pussy over the bulge in his trousers. She wanted to see his cock so she reached down to unbutton his fly, pleased by how the button slipped through the buttonhole so neatly and the zipper opened with a little rrrip. Zippers were an amazing invention and so were buttons. Underneath the button and the zipper there was no underwear, only springy black hair and a big hard cock.

“You don’t have underwear,” she informed him gravely. “Just a cock.” She wrapped her hand around it and began to pull. The shaft was smooth and warm and very hard in her hand and she suddenly, desperately needed to taste it.

She slithered off his lap to kneel between his legs and take that smooth, warm and very hard cock in her mouth. It tasted salty and felt absolutely amazing against her tongue. She rolled her tongue over the head and poked the tip into the small slit on the crown.

Travis groaned.

She licked up and down the length of his shaft pretending it was a Popsicle that was warm and never melted. Up and down she licked, amusing herself with her Popsicle analogy. Travis watched her through heavy-lidded eyes.

She pulled away long enough to ask, “Do you ever melt?”

He frowned in confusion then laughed. “Girl, you are wrecked.” He grasped her arms and pulled. “Come up here and let me tend to you.”

Travis pulled Monica onto his lap and began sucking one of her nipples while plucking at the other. Her breasts felt like they were made of nerve endings, billions and billions of fireflies clicking on and off, signaling messages to the rest of her body. She’d never felt anything as intense as Travis’s mouth sucking and nipping. She cried out and tilted her head back.

The doorbell rang.

“My bell! Ryan’s here. I have to get the door.” She started to rise but Travis laid her back on the couch.

“You don’t have your shirt on. I’ll get it.”

She giggled softly to herself as the room pulsed and glowed around her. Technicolor world, all bright and beautiful. Then she opened her eyes and caught sight of Ryan. He was upside down. She lifted her head off the couch cushion and swiveled around to face him. It seemed to take a moment for her eyes to catch up with her head and focus.

“You came! Come here. You have to taste my margarita. Could you hand me my margarita?” she asked Travis and he obligingly gave it to her. Monica took the glass then looked at Ryan again. He was frowning. He didn’t look happy and that made her sad.

“Taste this. You’ll feel better.” She would dip her tit in the margarita and offer it to him, she decided. But the drink was too far down in the glass so instead she drizzled the icy concoction over her breasts. “Taste it,” she said again.

“Whoa!” Travis rescued the glass from her hand as he sat on the couch beside her.

“Jesus, man, what’d you give her?” Ryan asked.

Travis leaned forward and sucked the sweet, stickiness off of Monica’s chest before replying. “Just one tab of E to help her relax. She was a little nervous, but it did the trick. She’s not nervous now.”

“Damn it, she suffers from panic attacks. She could be on medication. You can’t give people stuff like that.” Ryan took off the flannel shirt he wore over his sleeveless T-shirt.

Monica thought she might cry Ryan looked so unhappy. “Don’t be upset. Come here. I don’t want you to be upset. I’m good. We’re all good. Everything’s good.”

“I’m good over here,” Travis agreed, grinning. “Are you good, Ryan?”

Monica surged upright and threw her arms around Ryan’s neck. She hugged him tight and inhaled his scent. He smelled like sweat and sawdust, not cologne like Travis. She loved that he smelled like a man.

“I love that you smell like a man. Please don’t frown anymore.” She licked at his salty neck and felt his muscles stiff and hard against her. She wondered if he liked the licking because he wasn’t making any of those nice noises he usually made. No contented groans today.

She tilted her head to look up into his eyes and they were so sad. But at least he wasn’t frowning anymore. He leaned down to kiss her. His mouth was warm and his lips were soft, not as full and cushiony as Travis’s but Ryan-shaped and so she loved them more.

“You need a margarita,” she said. “And one of those pills. You’ll feel really good then. Travis will get you a margarita and a pill.”

Travis moved to obey, patting Ryan’s shoulder as he passed. “Hey, it’s cool, man. She’s all right and we’re going to make her even better.” He winked at Monica. “Aren’t we, sweetness? We’re going to give you everything you want.”

Monica tugged on Ryan’s hand, leading him to the couch. She sat down and grasped his hips to move him in front of her.

“Take off your undershirt,” she said as she worked the buttons on the fly of his jeans. “You have buttons all the way down and no zipper.” She splayed the front of his jeans wide. “But you have on underwear and Travis doesn’t.”

She tugged on the waistband and pulled both briefs and jeans over his hips. His cock bobbed free and she abandoned his pants halfway down his thighs to grasp it in her hand.

“These things are hilarious,” she said waving his dick around. “Little one-eyed bandit. I think everyone should have one.” She looked up and Ryan was grinning. Exhilaration coursed through her and she had to tell him how she felt. “I love you.”

His smile disappeared.

“Here we go.” Travis returned with more drinks. “One for you.” He handed it to Ryan. “And a refill for you.”

Monica took the margarita and drank deeply.

“Careful now,” Travis warned. “You don’t want to give yourself another headache.”

When Monica looked up again, Ryan was out of his jeans and Travis had lost his pants. They stood beside each other talking and Monica was on eye level with their groins. Travis told Ryan to take a pill and chill because he was wound way too tight for what was going down and Ryan snapped that he didn’t need it. But mostly Monica tuned out their voices and concentrated on their penises, both hard and thrusting into the air.

Ryan’s pubic hair was light brown and his penis was pale, thick and long and curved a little upward. Travis’s tight dark curls framed a cock that was even thicker and very straight. Monica was entranced by the palette of colors ranging from dark purplish red at the heads to shades of tan and brown.

“Your cocks are really quite beautiful.” She reached out to stroke them both and feel the satiny skin. Both men laughed at her drunken pronouncement. “I mean it. They should be photographed and framed.”

“Come on. Let’s take you to bed,” Travis grasped her hand and pulled her to his feet. He wrapped an arm around her, but Monica wanted Ryan. She turned to face him and held out her arms. He moved into them and his body felt so familiar and solid. She rested her head on his chest and breathed him in.

Travis moved in behind her, sheltering her back while Ryan pressed against her front. Their arms were clasped around her and each other in one big embrace. She’d never been so warm nor felt so protected. Ryan’s erection pressed against her groin, Travis’s slid along her rear.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Ryan murmured against the top of her head.

She nodded.

After another moment, Travis broke free from their group hug and led the way down the hall to the bedroom.

“To the right,” Ryan directed him.

Monica held his calloused hand as they walked together. She brought it to her mouth and kissed it. He smiled down at her and guided her with into the bedroom. She’d set the mood before Travis had arrived by lighting candles and putting on quiet music.

Ryan lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and sat beside her. Travis moved to the other side, the weight of his hip settling on the mattress pulling her toward him. He placed a fistful of condom packets and a tube of lubricant on the nightstand.

She looked from one man to the other, a part of her still marveling that she dared to do this. But between the margarita and the Ecstasy, the rest of her was floating in a lovely haze. Her flesh felt supple and sensitive. Every touch was a pleasure from the smooth sheet beneath her body to the warm hands stroking her arms on either side. She was not afraid and had no reservations, but Ryan and Travis waited for some sign from her to move forward.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, not certain which one she was asking.

Travis grinned, teeth flashing white against his brown skin. He leaned down and covered her mouth in a light, caressing kiss, which quickly deepened as he slid his tongue into her mouth.

Monica curled a hand around his neck and opened her mouth, welcoming his exploring. At the same time she was aware of Ryan’s mouth suckling her breast and his hand sliding between her thighs to rub her clit. Then very quickly she lost track of whose hands were doing what. There seemed to be so more than two men stroking her, touching her, teasing her body until every cell was open and yearning. A hand twisted in her hair and another rubbed up and down her back. Still another was kneading her breast and tweaking her nipple. Monica felt like she was glowing like the candles, lit up inside and shining through each pore.

The man kissing her switched from Travis to Ryan. She opened her eyes to see him, the quizzical arch of his brow, the curve of his eyelashes against his cheek. She wanted to tell him his eyes stole her heart every time she looked into them, but her mouth was busy with his tongue.

Then Travis’s tongue probed deep inside her pussy and licked her clit. She groaned into Ryan’s mouth. Monica closed her eyes once more and surrendered to the feeling of hands, mouths, bodies surrounding her, touching her, holding her, kissing, licking, sucking everywhere. The experience was so intense she was about to come already. She freed her mouth from Ryan’s and gasped, “Not yet.”

“Hm, baby? What do you want?” Travis’s bass voice reverberated near her ear and she wondered when they’d switched position. Ryan was now the one between her legs and Travis beside her.

“Inside me. Both at once.”

Monica had never had anal sex, but tonight she was ready to try anything. Ryan moved behind her and caressed her buttocks. He traced a lubricated finger between her cheeks and around her rear opening then slowly slipped it inside.

“Nice and easy,” Travis murmured, stroking Monica’s clit and driving a finger into her pussy.

Monica’s ass clenched at the feeling of Ryan’s entry. She squeezed hard around his fingers but rocked back onto them, wanting more. He applied more of the cool jelly to her rear until he could slide several fingers in and out, stretching her more with each plunge.

Meanwhile, Travis stroked her face, kissed her jaw and told her she was a sweet, beautiful girl. He moved in close, his broad chest against her face and his cock probing her pussy. She was so wet and ready that his generous girth slid in easily.

She moaned at the sensation of being filled so completely.

Then behind her something much wider than Ryan’s fingers pushed into her other entrance and drove inside in slow increments. She gasped at the stretching, burning sensation as she stretched around him.

“Fuck, this is so tight. So tight,” Ryan grunted.

Travis stayed embedded inside her, unmoving, while Ryan pushed into her ass. Their hot bodies cradled her and she whimpered at the extreme feeling of being utterly filled. She felt like the intense blue glow in the very heart of a flame.

“I’m afraid to hurt her,” Ryan murmured to Travis. “I haven’t done this before.”

“Go slow and she’ll be fine.”

Monica gripped Travis’s shoulders as Ryan withdrew from inside her. Then he entered her again, pushing even deeper and she cried out. He stopped moving immediately.

“You want me to quit?”

“God, no! Keep going. Fuck me.”

He gave a hungry groan at her command and began to move in and out of her.

Travis moved too, very slowly pumping in and out of her pussy, timing his thrusts to Ryan’s. When one invaded, the other receded. She was never completely empty as one man or the other possessed her. Her whole body tingled as she was surrounded by male flesh. Hands caressing her, lips on her face and neck, two swollen cocks pumping into her.

Their grunts and groans grew in intensity as both Travis and Ryan began to lose themselves, plunging into her with less care and more abandon. Monica wouldn’t deny it hurt a little, especially the burning in her rear, but the discomfort became pleasure, mingling and balancing until pain was pleasure.

“Oh, baby. Damn. Fuck!” Travis began to move faster as he approached climax. The men were out of sync now and sometimes plunged simultaneously, their cocks nearly touching inside her, only a thin wall of tissue separating them. Her body throbbed with the intensity of the dual penetration and her own orgasm began to swell. So much intensity, such a deep and satisfying feeling of being filled. She moaned and bit into Travis’s sweat-slicked chest as their three bodies tangled together, flesh slapping flesh.

Ryan’s body stilled and he murmured her name as he released. Sandwiched between the two men Monica trembled on the brink of the precipice. And then she fell over the edge, crying out her release into Travis’s chest. She had never been rocked so hard in her life or so completely fulfilled.

Travis cursed as he rammed her violently. “Christ. Fuck. Jesus,” he groaned as his cock pulsed inside her.

And then it was over, all three of them shuddering and gasping for breath as they recovered.

After a moment Travis started to laugh. “Whoo-ee! That was something.” He withdrew from inside Monica and lay back on the bed.

“Sorry. I got carried away,” she said, gazing at the ring of teeth marks marring his chest. Behind her, Ryan slowly disengaged and almost immediately she missed his warmth at her back.

After drawing a few more deep breaths, Travis rose and went to her bathroom to discard the used condom. “I’m gonna get something from the kitchen. You want anything? Water?”

“There’s bottled water in the fridge,” Monica said. “Thanks.”

After he’d left, Ryan drew Monica against him once more, spooning her back and kissing her neck. “Was that okay for you? Not too intense?”

“Unbelievable. I’ve never felt anything so... It was everything I imagined only more real.”

“Good. That’s what we’re here for, to make you happy.”

“Happy,” she repeated sleepily, trailing her fingers up and down his forearm.

“You like Travis?” he asked.

“I like everybody. I’m flying so high.”

Ryan chuckled.

Travis returned with water and Monica chugged an entire bottle. She lay back down with the two men stretched out on either side of her. Her body felt bruised and used, but in a good way, as if she’d had a strenuous workout. Cocooned between two hot bodies, Monica drifted into sleep.

*

An hour later Travis’s voice jerked her awake. “Well, Ms. Monica. I’m afraid I have to be going. I’ve got some things to do.”

“You don’t want a slumber party?” she mumbled.

“I’d love to, but I can’t stay.” Travis kissed her mouth. “I had a wonderful time. Don’t worry about getting up. I’ll let myself out.”

“Later, man,” Travis said to Ryan and left the bedroom. After she heard the front door close, Monica gave a small sigh of relief. She was kind of glad he was gone. She felt a little headache coming on and her mouth was cottony. It had been a wild and wonderful experience, but now that it was over she wanted to lie peacefully with Ryan. She turned to face him and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“You were late tonight,” she said. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I got caught up in some stuff.” He was silent a moment. “So you like Travis okay?”

“He’s very nice.”

He rubbed circles with his palm on her lower back. “Maybe you’ll want to ask for him next time.”

She looked up at him sharply. “Why?”

“I’m getting kind of busy and won’t be able to come any more.”

“Oh.” Monica’s heart plummeted. Just as she’d thought, Ryan could tell she was getting too attached to him. He was cutting her off, and it didn’t matter that she’d intended this to be her last time anyway. It still hurt. “Travis is, uh, good at what he does.”

“You know, maybe you should think about trying to meet someone who ... you’re not paying. You’re an amazing woman and you sell yourself short.”

“Thanks. I’ll take that into consideration.” Monica’s warm, fuzzy haze was dissipating rapidly. Her nerve endings were still in overdrive, but her ‘I love the world’ vibe was quickly dying at Ryan’s reserved tone.

“You deserve more,” he continued. “You need to get back into the world and develop a real relationship with someone.”

She thought of her losing it at the shower today and realized Ryan had no clue what life was like for her. Besides, who was he to be giving her love advice?

“Look, I didn’t hire you to be my therapist. I already have one.” She pulled away from him and sat up, dragging the sheet up to cover her breasts. “I’m well aware that hiring a date is severely fucked up. I don’t need advice from a... From you.” The words trembled in the air between them and although Monica hadn’t said “whore” the implication was there.

She glanced at Ryan. His always transparent expression flashed anger and hurt. Then, like someone drawing a drape across a window, his eyes grew shuttered, his face as blank as a clean sheet of paper.

“You’re right,” he said evenly. “How you conduct your affairs is not my business. I’m sorry.”

She reached out to touch his arm. “Ryan, I didn’t mean—”

“No. You’re right,” he repeated. “I don’t know anything about what your condition is like. It’s not my place to offer my opinion.” He threw the covers back and got out of bed.

“If we’re finished here, I’d like to go.” His voice had never sounded so cold, not even when playacting her rape fantasy.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave angry.” She didn’t want her time with him to end this way, with harsh words and hard feelings.

“I’m not angry, just clear on some things. Goodbye, Monica.”

For a moment she thought he was going to shake her hand, business concluded. Then he stalked out the door.

“Wait.” She scrambled out of bed to follow him, but before she could disentangle herself from the sheet, the front door closed. He must have fled the house half dressed. She hurried to the living room where discarded margarita glasses were the only sign of the night’s activities.

Head pounding, Monica sat on the couch and began to cry. An empty, hollow feeling swept through her. It was worse than the dull numbness she’d been living with before Ryan. Whoever said “Better to have loved and lost” didn’t know shit. Her heart was breaking even though Ryan had never technically been hers to love. In their brief times together she’d begun to feel deeply connected with him, but it had all been her imagination. Now she must suffer the consequence of believing in her own fantasy--loneliness.

Amber, who had been hiding all evening, jumped onto the couch and sniffed her teary cheek. Monica gathered the cat into her arms and hugged her, burying her face in soft fur and crying until Amber wiggled out of her arms and ran away.

She didn’t know if she could bear returning to her solitary life. Even if she began leaving the house again and trying to rejoin the world, without Ryan she would still be alone in her heart.

*

A block away from Monica’s house, Ryan pulled over and sat with the engine idling feeling like a shirtless, shoeless ass. He’d fled from Monica’s house like a little boy who’d been scolded and had run away from home, barely taking the time to pull on jeans before bolting through the front door.

Her unspoken word had cut deep. Whore. Of course that’s all he was to her and she was right, he had no business offering advice about her life or how she dealt with her agoraphobia.

From the moment he’d entered the house and seen Monica with Travis, Ryan had felt a slow burn of anger, jealousy and frustration he’d not expected. Maybe it was because of his stressful day and rushing in late, but he came into the situation unprepared for how it would make him feel. He’d had a strong urge to punch Travis in the face for touching his woman.

He’d recovered from the stab of jealousy and participated in Monica’s fantasy with admittedly a lot of enjoyment, but after the bliss of orgasm evaporated, his sour mood resumed. He didn’t want Monica to continue with Labors of Love, calling Travis or anyone besides Ryan for sex. And despite what he’d advised, he really didn’t want her meeting some nice guy and dating him either.

Ryan slammed his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. The entire experiment in prostitution had been a huge mistake and falling for Monica, the biggest error in judgment of all. Now he must gather up the shreds of his pride and his wounded heart and carry on with life. Ryan put the car in gear and with one last glance in his rearview mirror, drove away from Monica’s street for the last time.

Chapter Eleven

Over the next two weeks, Monica slowly sloughed off her depression and came back to life. She was proud of herself that she didn’t allow the loss of Ryan to drive her back into housebound mode. She went out every day to work in her garden and even attempted another foray into the larger world, going to a dress shop with Lisa to find something to wear to Barb’s wedding. They didn’t go to the mall with its teaming crowds, but to a small shop. Monica hadn’t found a dress she liked and decided to stick with the blue one she already owned, but the trip was well worth the effort for boosting her confidence.

Monica began to enjoy daily walks through her quiet neighborhood. Most of her neighbors were retirees who had tiny emerald lawns and perfectly manicured landscaping that made her bushes seem shaggy by comparison.

One day as she walked along the sidewalk toward her house, she passed her nearest neighbor, Mrs. Ridge, out pruning her hedges. The gray-haired paused in her cutting long enough to greet her. “Hello.”

“Hi, Mrs. Ridge. Your yard’s looking great.”

“Thank you. I have some gardens I need to thin. If you’d like some bulbs, let me know.”

“I will.” Monica smiled.

“It’s good to see you out and about, dear. Maybe you could stop over for tea some time.”

“I’d like that.” She walked on to her own yard, dead-heading faded spring flowers along the path and thought about how a person interacting with others was like a pebble thrown in a pond, sending ripples that went far beyond the original point of impact. Perhaps Mrs. Ridge was lonely and eager for companionship. Monica could be giving back to the world simply by sharing a cup of tea with her. She’d never thought about the fact that there was something a bit selfish about keeping aloof. Her elderly neighbor provided yet another good reason for emerging from her shell.

Monica pulled a bundle of mail from her box and began sorting it as she walked through the front door. Between the junk mail, bills and payments for some of her articles, she found her credit card statement. She dropped the rest of the mail on the hall table and opened the envelope, anxious to see the damages inflicted by Labors of Love. She’d known it was going to be bad and had avoided checking her account online.

There were charges for household supplies, restaurant take-out orders, the normal expenses of her life. And there were the charges for Labors of Love escort service. But something wasn’t right. Her first date with Ryan had been reflected on the previous month’s bill so the other times they’d met, including the double expense of the ménage encounter, should be there. Yet there was only a date corresponding to the night Ryan had enacted her rape fantasy. Where were the other charges?

Monica stared at the bill for several minutes then reached for her cell phone.

“Good afternoon. You’ve reached Labors of Love. How may we help you make your dating dream come true?”

“Hello. I recently received my statement and I’m not sure the charges from your agency are accurate.”

“Let me transfer you to billing, ma’am.”

There was a pause while canned music played then a new voice came on the line. “May I help you?”

“My statement appears to be missing several charges.” Not that I’m so anxious to pay them. She gave the dates and was told there was no record of appointments or charges incurred on those days. Her mind raced and she asked to be transferred back to the receptionist.

“May I set up an appointment with Ryan H.?” Last names weren’t used at Labors of Love and Ryan had never mentioned his.

“He is no longer available. What kind of escort do you need? I can make a recommendation based on your specific requirements,” the receptionist offered smoothly.

“No. I need Ryan. I mean, I need to know about… Are you saying he doesn’t work there any more or that he’s not available to me? And if he has quit, can you tell me how long ago?”

“I’m afraid that information is confidential.”

“Please, I’m simply trying to figure out something. Can’t you at least tell me how long he worked there?”

There was a pause before the woman replied in a more human tone, “Ryan was only employed for a little over two weeks.”

“Thank you.” Monica wanted to pester for more information, but knew she’d already pushed her luck. The receptionist would not give her a last name or an address, but at least she had Ryan’s cell phone number. She hung up and stared at her phone, thinking. Ryan had come to her two times on his own. He came because he wanted to. He came because he liked being with her. He liked her!

She bit her bottom lip and dialed the cell number Ryan had given her, the one she’d come close to calling so many times over the past days. It only rang twice before a mechanical voice came on to tell her she’d reached a number that was no longer in service.

“Damn!” Monica thought a moment then dialed Labors of Love again.

“Good afternoon. You’re reached—”

“It’s me again. Look, I know it’s against protocol and confidentiality, but you have to help me, please. I need to know Ryan’s last name. I had his personal number but I’ve lost it and I absolutely need to reach him.” She knew how desperate and stalkery she sounded. It was exactly this kind of creepy behavior from which the agency was protecting its providers.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you. There are strict policies.”

“Yes, I know, but you don’t understand. This is different.” Oh God, she must sound like a lovesick loony. “If you can’t tell me his name, could I at least email a message for him and you could forward it?” A thought suddenly struck her and she collected herself, trying to sound sane and calm. “Never mind. I wonder if I could make an appointment with Travis instead.”

There was a very long pause and Monica thought she could hear the receptionist’s doubt in the silence. “I’ll check.” Almost immediately the woman replied, “No. It appears Travis is booked for the next several weeks. I can’t help you.” The line went dead.

Monica hung up, frustration boiling through her. There had to be a way to reach Ryan. From all the signs, it appeared he liked her and had really wanted to be with her all those times. What else could it mean? Except if he was interested, if he cared, why hadn’t he said something? And why had Travis also performed without pay?

She thought back over their time together, dissecting every moment, every gesture and nuance of Ryan’s voice, but didn’t find anything except affection and caring. He liked her. That was the only possible motivation for those uncharged assignations. And he hadn’t let her know how he felt because...?

She thought about the last time they spoke, how she’d snapped at him I don’t need advice from a... The words rang in her head and she recalled Ryan’s flinch before his expression became neutral. My God, she had hurt him. He had been trying to be nice by introducing her to Travis because he knew he wasn’t going to be available anymore and she had shamed him. Damn, why hadn’t he simply told her earlier that he was interested? It would have made everything so much easier. But then she realized it was because of how they’d met. Ryan believed she was looking for no-strings sexual entertainment so he’d tried to give her only that even as he began to feel something for her. And she’d been too insecure to imagine he might actually like her. What a blind pair of fools.

Monica laughed out loud, frightening Amber, who was digging in the soil of a house plant. The cat shot across the room and under a chair.

Her laughter died. So they both cared for each other. What good was it if she was the only one to realize it? She had no way of contacting Ryan without a last name, phone number or address. Unless he chose to come to her she might never see him again.

For a moment she felt completely hopeless and ready to cry again, and then Monica got angry. No way was she going to let the possibility of love slip through her fingers. There were clues she could use to track him down. She knew he was a student, at a community college. She knew he lived within twenty minutes of her house because he’d commented on the distance. She knew his grandmother was in a geriatric facility no more than an hour’s drive away, an upscale nursing home from what Ryan had said. Also, he had another job and he was a woodworker. She could assume that he worked construction since the last time she’d seen him he smelled like sawdust.

Sawdust and fresh sweat. Her senses instantly recalled the scent of his skin and the taste and feel of him. Focus, Monica.

She’d start by pouring over the phone book looking at local continuing care facilities. If her phone calls yielded no results, she’d storm the Labors of Love office and demand more information. Somehow she would find Ryan again even if she had to drive all over the city to do it.

*

Ryan was too busy to think about Monica often—only as he measured, cut and hammered wood or while talking dirty on the phone or during mealtimes or while he visited his grandmother or late at night when he lay in bed trying to sleep. Those were the only times he thought of her. Living without Monica was harder than he’d expected it would be.

When Ryan deposited his last Labors of Love paycheck, he thought about how he’d earned it. Overall he felt he had given appropriate service in exchange for the money, but he didn’t want to accept payment for any of his times with Monica no matter how useful the cash might be with Gram’s medical bills.

He thought about how Monica had nearly called him a whore, which shouldn’t have bothered him since that’s exactly what he was, but it had. The only way he would stop feeling bad would be if he gave her back all of her money. By now she would’ve seen from her credit card statements that he’d given her some freebies. But to clear himself completely from a sense of debt, he would return all that she’d paid for his services.

He withdrew the money from his bank account, placed it in an envelope, scrawled a quick note and drove by her house long after midnight. He jogged up the path to her house and slipped the envelope into her mailbox. Driving away, he felt better and lighter than he had in a long time.

Maybe he could finally begin to let go of his obsession with Monica.

Chapter Twelve

By early afternoon of the second day of her Ryan search, it was clear to Monica she was getting nowhere with her phone calls. She was going to need to go to some places, talk to some people personally to attempt to get information out of them. In order to do that she would need a car, which meant she would need Lisa, which meant she’d need to explain everything to Lisa, or at least parts of everything, in order to borrow her car.

Monica didn’t even stop to think about panic attacks as she planned out her mission. She called her sister at the gallery where she worked and asked her to stop by on the way home.

“Are you okay? Has something happened?”

“Yes, but nothing bad. Don’t worry. Just come.”

After the call Monica spent some time writing because no matter how obsessed she was with Ryan, she still had to pay her bills.

About an hour later she stepped out on the front porch to get her mail. She shuffled through the envelopes, separating junk mail from bills and correspondence. Suddenly she came across a thick envelope with only her name scrawled on it.

Her throat constricted and she dropped the rest of the mail on the porch floor as she opened the message. Inside was a sheaf of bills and a folded piece of paper. She opened it and read,

Monica, I’m sorry. I wish we had met under different circumstances. Here’s the rest of what you paid me. I don’t want it. You’re beautiful and sexy and I hope you find someone who appreciates you.

His signature was a capital R with squiggles after it. His awful handwriting was so endearing and annoying that Monica burst out laughing and crying at the same time. He had stood right on her porch, probably last night while she was asleep, and put this note in her box. The irony of the missed opportunity was beyond any romantic comedy farce. She sat down on her front step and shook with hysterics.

“Are you all right, honey?”

Monica dried her eyes and looked up. Mrs. Ridge was peering across the hedge. Monica’s first impulse was to politely reassure her, but instead she found herself crying “No” and bursting into fresh tears.

Mrs. Ridge came over by way of the sidewalk and sat down beside Monica. She put an arm around her shoulders and murmured soothing things, which only made Monica cry harder.

“Now tell me what’s the matter, dear. Boyfriend trouble?”

“Y-yes.” She waved the note in the air. “I don’t know how to find him and now I know he likes me too and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The old woman didn’t question the circumstances, simply asked, “What do you know about him?”

“That he loves his Gram and she’s in a nursing home somewhere not more than an hour away, but I don’t know the name of it or her or anything.” She sniffled and rubbed her eyes.

“Well, a young man who wants his grandmother to receive the best care in the nicest place would most likely choose Rose Arbor, although Sunset Hills is another good possibility.”

Monica blinked and stared.

“Honey, I’ve done my research. When I can’t live in my own home anymore I want to know where I’m going.”

“Rose Arbor?”

Mrs. Ridge nodded. “Check that first.”

Monica hugged her hard. “Thank you!”

Just then Lisa pulled up in front of the house and jumped out of her car. She hurried up the path. “What’s going on? You sounded way too worked up over whatever it is so I knocked off work early.”

“Great cause I need a ride.”

“What? Where?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Let me go inside and get my purse and the address.”

Before the door closed behind her, Monica heard Mrs. Ridge explain to Lisa, “She’s in love. She has to go find her young man.”

*

The dining room at Rose Arbor was elegant with a subdued rose-patterned carpet and attractive landscapes in gilt frames on the walls. A hushed murmur of elderly voices filled the room. If half the people sitting at the tables hadn’t been in wheelchairs or wearing bibs, it would have seemed like merely a social gathering of any over-seventy crowd.

Ryan wiped Gram’s chin with a napkin then sat back in his chair. The meal was quite good, reminding him why he was paying so much to keep her at Rose Arbor. He had eaten his dinner and part of hers and now he was working on feeding her a small dish of ice cream.

One of the staff members stopped by their table. “Can I get either of you anything, Mr. Hayes?”

“No, thanks, I think we’re almost done here.” He scooped another spoonful of ice cream and offered it to Gram but she was closemouthed and staring fixedly across the cafeteria. He finished the ice cream.

Taking Gram by the arm, he led her back to her room. On the way he told her his schedule for the week. He always talked to her as he used to, acting as if she might understand him.

“I’m really busy and won’t be able to visit for a while. That’s why I’m here on a weekday. My job is going pretty good. It’s spring--everybody’s building. I might take a summer class or two.”

He chatted all the way back to her room then settled her in a chair and put on some music. When he turned from the stereo, she was standing and looking at him expectantly.

“You want to dance?” He took her in his arms. Her body felt like a dry fall leaf that might crumble and blow away at any moment. Hhe danced her slowly around the room to the Nat King Cole’s Unforgettable.

Afterward she was content to sit in her chair again. He kissed her cheek and whispered goodbye.

*

“Hello,” Monica greeted the Rose Arbor receptionist. “I’m here to visit a friend’s grandmother but… it’s kind of complicated, but I’ve forgotten her name.” She smiled brightly and tried to look trustworthy.

“I’m going to need a little more information than that.” The receptionist smiled back, ready to be helpful.

“My friend’s name is Ryan. You’ve probably seen him here visiting his Gram. He’s about this tall,” she demonstrated, “with sandy hair and very blue eyes. A beautiful smile and—”

The receptionist nodded. “Ryan Hayes, of course. He was here to take Pearl to dinner but he’s gone now. He just left as a matter of fact. But of course, you came to see Pearl. She’s in room 112. That’s down the hall to your left. And your name is...?”

“Monica Brennerman. And this is my sister, Lisa.”

Lisa held up a hand. “Hey.”

They walked down the hall with Lisa complaining all the way.

“I can’t believe you’ve been dating this guy without telling me. Honestly, Monica, meeting someone in a chat room and inviting him to come to your home? I don’t have to tell you how incredibly dangerous that is! But the weirdest thing is that you never learned the guy’s last name. How do you know he wants to see you again? This is bordering on creepy.”

Monica knocked on the open door of room 112. Inside, a slight woman with thin white hair sat in an armchair gazing out the window. Swing music played on the stereo.

“Hello, Gram?” Monica walked into the room.

The woman turned and smiled when she saw her. “Becky! I’ve been waiting for you for such a long time. How are you?”

“Fine.” Monica hugged the frail old body. “I’ve missed you too. Are you feeling all right?”

“Passable. I had ice cream for dinner.”

Monica walked around the room and looked at the framed photos lining the dresser top.

“Monica, you can’t do this!” Lisa whispered.

“This is him.” Monica held up a picture of Ryan, a few years younger but absolutely recognizable.

“He’s a baby!”

“He doesn’t look like that now. It’s an old picture, but that’s him.” She turned back to Pearl and offered her the picture. “Ryan.”

“Yes. That’s my Ryan. Emily’s son. I did a poor job raising that girl. She went wild and I never knew how to help her. But Ryan is my pride and joy. I’ve never seen a sweeter boy and I’m not just saying that because he’s my grandson.”

An attendant popped her head in the door. “Good evening, Mrs. Hayes. How are you this evening? Having guests, I see.”

“Hi. I’m Monica, a friend of Ryan’s.”

The attendant came into the room. “You just missed him. He was visiting earlier. There’s a lot who hardly ever come to see their folks once they get them settled, but Ryan, works, takes classes at Tri-Tech and still makes a visit here every couple of weeks.”

Monica smiled. Double score. She now knew his last name and which community college he attended. Now if she could just pin down his address. But she was stumped. She couldn’t think of the right question to ask.

“I went to Tri-Tech myself.” The attendant, whose name was Mariah according to the tag on her jacket, coaxed Pearl to take a pill. “I was studying to be a physician’s assistant but ended up working with geriatric patients instead.”

“It takes the right temperament to work with the aged,” Lisa said. “Speaking of Tri-Tech. I know it’s a community college, but isn’t there housing nearby for students? My friend is looking into going there but the commute from her house is too far.”

“There are some cheap apartments, but it’s not the safest area to live. I used to room with a couple of other girls on Patterson, only about a block from where Ryan lives as a matter of fact. Small world.”

“Yes, I’m always having odd coincidences like that.” Monica couldn’t stop grinning and Mariah looked at her curiously.

Monica bent and hugged Pearl once more. “Goodbye Mrs. Hayes. I’ll come again soon.”

“Bye-bye, Becky.”

Once they were outside the building, Monica whooped and put up her hand for a high-five.

Lisa tentatively slapped it. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Oh yeah! Now we drive to Patterson and cruise up and down the street until we see his Jeep.”

“I hate to be so negative, but what if you’re wrong? What if you go to all this trouble, find him, and he doesn’t want to see you?”

Despite her confidence Monica’s heart gave a lurch at the words but she replied, “Then I’ll feel like an idiot and go home again. But I have to try.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ryan closed the book resting on his chest and turned off the TV in the middle of the game. He couldn’t stay here any longer. Had to get out, go to a bar and have a beer, maybe call Tim and hang out at his house, anything but sit here alone and dreaming of Monica.

He grabbed his keys off the kitchen table and an apple, and picked up the garbage bag to take down to the dumpster. He trotted down two flights of stairs and out the front door of the building. He bit into the apple and was holding it in his teeth while struggling to jam his trash into the overflowing dumpster beside the building, when he heard his name called.

“Ryan.”

He turned and there she was, the object of his obsession, standing in the glow of a streetlight. Pretty, petite Monica on his street--at night--outdoors, while he stood with trash in one hand and his mouth stuffed full of apple.

Over her shoulder he glimpsed another dark-haired woman, similar enough for him to guess it was her sister. Then his gaze returned to Monica. Here. Now. Smiling at him and walking toward him.

He dropped the trash bag, tossed the apple aside and opened his arms for her to walk into them. He enfolded her warm, soft body in his embrace. He squeezed her almost too tight to make sure he wasn’t fantasizing and she was solid and real.

He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. “You’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Why? How?” He pulled away to look into her beautiful gray eyes.

“It wasn’t easy. I had to track you down. And I don’t think we’ve even scratched the surface of ‘why’ yet. Something happened between us. Something real… Didn’t it?”

He smiled and nodded, suddenly too choked up to speak.

“Will you do me the honor of taking me out on a date sometime, now that I’m going out again?” she asked in the grave tone of someone proposing marriage.

“I will,” he answered just as seriously.

“This is my sister, Lisa, by the way.” Monica gestured at the girl on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around her body against the chill in the air. “She helped me look for you.”

Lisa gave a little wave. “Hey.”

Ryan rested his forehead against Monica’s. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you could.”

“I guess I can do anything given the right incentive.” She rose on her toes and kissed him.

His mouth opened and claimed hers in a deep, possessive kiss.

They kissed until Lisa cleared her throat then Monica pulled back. “I have one question for you,” she whispered. “What about Travis? Why did he participate without getting paid?”

“I told him I’d help him build a deck in his backyard.”

She shook her head. “For me? I can’t believe it. Why would you do that?”

“I wanted you to have what you wanted, to make you happy.”

“This is what I want,” she said, pressing her lips to his again. “This is what makes me happy.”

“Then this is what you’ll get.” He hugged her so hard he lifted her off her feet.

“Okay, time out. I’m right here, standing like ten feet away. I can’t take much more of this,” Lisa complained. “Can I leave now? It looks like you have a ride home when you need it.”

Monica turned toward her sister without moving out of the circle of Ryan’s arms. “Sorry. Thank you so much for driving me all over today.” She glanced at Ryan. “Do I have a ride home? You look like you were about to go somewhere.”

“No place at all. I’ll be happy to stay in."

*

Monica watched the muscles in Ryan’s bare back ripple as he hammered nails into her trellis. It was barely summer but already his skin was tan and the highlights in his hair sun-brightened from hours spent outdoors every day. She sipped her lemonade and watched him lift the trellis upright and position it in place, giving it a shake to make sure it was solid. She could have gotten up to help him, but watching him work was so much more fun.

He stepped back to admire his work. “There you go. Do you want it painted or stained or leave it natural?”

“Natural is fine. I’m going to have morning glories covering it before the end of summer.”

He sauntered over to the table and picked up the other glass of lemonade. The condensation on the glass dripped onto his chest, mingling with the sheen of sweat and Monica felt a similar wetness between her thighs. She’d turned into a nympho. Her pussy did all her thinking for her these days and her brain seemed to have gone on permanent vacation.

Catching her hungry look, Ryan set down the glass and reached out for her hand. He pulled her to her feet and twirled her around the patio for a few steps then pulled her against his sweaty body and kissed her.

Her fingers tangled in the damp hair at the nape of his neck as she curved her hand around it.

“You ready for this evening?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

They planned to go to Barb’s wedding reception where Ryan had promised she wouldn’t have time to have a panic attack because she was going to be too busy dancing.

“Wedding today. Maybe Hawaii next month. Of course I’d feel better about it if you’d let me take you along.”

“You’ve done too much for me already.” His tone was tense as it always was when his lack of money came up.

“But I want you to go with me.” She tried to think of a way to convince him it wasn’t charity for him to accept a plane ticket.

“Maybe I can work overtime and scrape together the money. I’ll see what I can do.”

She dropped the subject, knowing his pride was at stake. Monica hugged him and rested her head on his hot chest. She loved listening to his heartbeat, proving he was alive and here in her life.

“Never mind. Forget Hawaii. Let’s just concentrate on getting through tonight.”

“What are we telling your relatives about how we met?” His voice rumbled against her ear.

“We met online, which is true. And you came to … fix my trellis.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“You fixed my trellis,” she drawled suggestively, “then we started talking. We hit it off and you asked me out on a date. That’s all true.”

She remembered their first dinner and a movie date and how the evening had ended with a love-in that lasted almost twenty-four hours. They simply couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“Then I moved into your house less than two weeks later. They’re going to think I’m a gold digger.”

Monica straightened and looked into his eyes. “First of all, I don’t have any gold to dig and second, if my relatives are going to think anything it’s that I’m a cradle robber. I mean, look at you.”

“Christ, Monica, I’m only six years younger. Quit harping on the age thing.”

“Are we fighting? ‘Cause this feels like a fight.”

“No. Not fighting, just expressing opinions strongly.” He pushed a stray curl from the side of her face and leaned to kiss her. “You know how much it bothers me that I’m mooching off you.”

“You’re not. You may not pay rent but you contribute to the household expenses and you fix things all the time. So right now I’m the primary wage-earner. It won’t always be like that. And even if it is, who cares?”

He stared over her shoulder, not meeting her eyes.

“We both have issues to deal with about the way we met, but I know we can move past them.”

At last he looked at her with those amazing, ice-blue eyes and nodded. “You’re right. We’ll be fine. Damn, older women are so wise.”

She slapped his chest. “Shut up, young pup, before I spank you.”

“Would you?” He kissed her so long and deep that Monica’s head was spinning by the time he pulled away and went to take care of his tools.

She watched Ryan packing up the tools for a moment then examined her newly restored trellis. She smiled, picturing him building Travis’s deck and marveling at how he’d done it for her. After he’d finished his clean up, Monica grabbed Ryan from behind, threw her arms around his waist and said, “Tell me again how you felt when you saw me with Travis.”

“I wanted to tear off his head and drop kick it down the street.” He unhooked her arms and pulled her around in front of him. “And at the same time I wanted to help him fuck you senseless. It was complicated.”

“Caveman.” She arched against him.

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her indoors. In the kitchen, he set her on the counter.

“Let me wash up first.” He quickly washed his hands and face, dried off then moved back between her legs. He swept his tongue between her parted. His mouth was hot and the sweet-sour tang of lemonade tasted like sunshine to Monica.

He pulled away. “Now your turn. Tell me again what it felt like when I ‘raped’ you.”

“Like you had all the power and control, but instead of panic I felt exhilaration and arousal.”

“Arousal, huh?” He picked her up from the counter with a growl and carried her to the bedroom. He tossed her on the bed and shimmied out of his jeans.

She loved watching him emerge from the denim, his hips and muscular legs and his cock, hard and ready for her.

She stripped off her bathing suit top and shorts and lay naked and quivering. She licked her lips and watched his muscles flow like water as he climbed onto the bed and over her. She loved his weight pinning her to the mattress. He growled in his throat like a wild animal. The primal sound raised gooseflesh on her arms. He pinned her arms on either side of her head and dove at her neck, kissing and tickling, while she twisted and giggled beneath him.

“Stop it. Stop!” She pounded his back with her fists and squirmed more than she needed to because she loved how his skin felt sliding over hers. Also she knew it aroused the hell out of him. The hard evidence pushed against her belly.

At last he ceased and looked into her eyes again.

“Now tell me what you thought when you first saw me,” she asked. “I love to hear that.”

“You know what I thought.”

“Tell me again.”

His eyes sparkled. “I thought, ‘Jackpot! This is going to be the easiest job I ever had. I can’t believe I’m going to get paid for this.’”

Monica smiled.

Ryan leaned down to kiss her once then pulled away, “But I found out it was one of the hardest jobs I’d ever had because I couldn’t control my emotions like I was supposed to.”

“Because you fell in love with me,” Monica whispered like a child reciting the end of a familiar story.

“Because I fell in love with you.”

Then they stopped talking.

Ryan made love to her, kissing her dizzy and then driving into her wetness. He moved inside her, slow and easy and Monica arched into his thrusts. She stroked her hands up his back and hooked them over his shoulders, holding on tight. Their mouths blended in a long, lingering kiss while their bodies moved in unison to unheard music, slowly rocking toward climax.

*

When Monica woke, late afternoon sunlight shone through the window bathing the room in an orange glow. They had fucked and drowsed the afternoon away and now it was time to get ready for the wedding.

She stretched until her back cracked then looked over at her boyfriend sleeping peacefully by her side. Ryan lay on his stomach with one arm draped over her body. She wanted to kiss his eyelids and feel the lashes flutter against her lips.

His hair was a tangled mop that begged for her fingers to comb through it. The naked expanse of his body was a landscape she would never tire of exploring. His skin was smooth, but she knew now where scars marred the perfection. He was no longer a flawless photograph in an online catalog, but a flesh and blood man who loved her.

Ryan was sweet, thoughtful, attentive and loving, but also hard-headed, sloppy, chronically late and so tone-deaf she had to ban singing in the shower. How devoid of color her life had been before she met him and grateful she was for the miracle that had allowed her to find him.

Ryan stirred and woke. “What time is it?” he asked through a yawn.

Monica replied, “Time to get ready to go out.”

* * * * *

About the author: Bonnie Dee began telling stories as a child. Whenever there was a sleepover, she was the designated ghost tale teller, guaranteed to frighten and thrill with macabre stories. She still has a story printed in second grade on yellow legal paper about a ghost, a witch and a talking cat. Writing childish stories later led to majoring in English at college. Like most English majors, she dreamed of writing a novel, but didn’t have the necessary focus and follow through at that time in her life. It was only in 2000 that she began writing again and became a multi-published erotic romance author. You may see her backlist of books at http://bonniedee.com. Join her Yahoo group for updates on new releases at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bonniedee/. Bonnie Dee is also on Facebook and Twitter.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen