Escorted (20 page)

But Ander had
heaved her up, sprawled her back onto the table, pushed her chemise up and her
legs apart, and brought her to climax twice with his hand.

Then, erect
again, he’d rolled on another condom and entered her, lifting her legs up so
her ankles were propped on his shoulders as he started to thrust. It was an
entirely undignified position, her legs in the air and her hands fumbling
around on the smooth table for something to clutch. Her spine was sore from
being pushed back and forth on the hard surface by Ander’s forceful motion. The
sound of slapping flesh and wet suction was vaguely embarrassing, as were the
soft grunts she made to the tempo of his rutting.

She really
shouldn’t be enjoying it so much.

She was,
though, and she bit her lip hard as her muscles tensed up and the tremors of
her seventh orgasm that evening started to rip through her body. She stifled
her cry of release, and it came out as a high-pitched keening sound.

She gasped for Ander
to come too as the waves of satisfaction washed over her. She gazed up at him
breathlessly as his flushed face twisted on his last few pushes inside her. His
fingers tightened bruisingly in the flesh of her ass, and he choked out a
guttural word as he rolled his hips slowly, as if he were savoring his release.

Lori had to
stifle a giggle as he pulled out and helped her off the table. She clung to the
edge for support, her legs barely able to hold her weight. She couldn’t believe
they’d just done that. After Ander had already showered and packed up his case.

As he went to
the bathroom to take care of the condom, she glanced at the clock and blinked
at the time.

“I went twenty
minutes over,” she said when he returned to the room. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry
about it.” Ander’s eyes scanned her from her messy hair to her bare feet, and
she saw his lips give a little twitch.

Knowing exactly
what that expression meant, she narrowed her eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“I wasn’t
laughing.”

“Yes, you
were.”

His mouth
softened as he closed up his case again. “I really wasn’t laughing. I was just
thinking you look a little worse for wear.”

With a huff, Lori
peered in a mirror. She was sorer than she’d expected to be, so she kept one
hand on the table for support. She had another bruise on her neck, and she was
pretty sure she’d have marks from his fingers on her bottom and thighs. Her
cheeks were flushed, and she was covered with a sheen of perspiration. Plus, her
hair was slightly damp from all the effort she’d put into sex tonight, sticking
out in crazy, messy flips.

With a scowl
for Ander, she said, “It’s your fault, so you have no reason to laugh. If you
had hair, you’d look messy too.”

The smile that
had been twitching on the edges of his mouth emerged completely. “No argument
here.”

Glancing again
at the clock, Lori felt a little pang of worry. “I’m sorry we went overtime.
Should I give you—”

“No,” Ander
interrupted, a little sharply. “Don’t worry about it.”

She swallowed,
afraid she’d offended him. He was generally pretty good natured, but she was
learning more and more that he had a sensitive psyche he hid beneath all the
layers of cool sophistication. And she didn’t always know when or how she might
accidentally bruise it.

She took a step
away from the table to go pick up her robe, feeling overly exposed all of a
sudden in her skimpy satin chemise. But she winced on the first step as a jolt
of soreness caught her between the legs.

“Sore?” Ander
asked, stepping over to put a hand around her waist and then help her into a
chair. “Was I too rough?”

“Oh, no. I
would have stopped you if it wasn’t good.” Reassured at his considerate manner,
she grinned up at him. “It was good.”

Ander pulled
out his smartphone and started clicking. “Next time?”

“Yeah. We’re on
for a week from Monday, right?”

“You don’t want
anything earlier?”

She was really
curious about how much he’d managed to free up his schedule recently, but she’d
been too hesitant to pry into exactly why he was cutting back on clients. Every
time she’d tried to hint at the subject, he’d closed down like a portcullis.
“I’ve got that trip to Québec.”

He looked at
her blandly, and she felt a little tremor of nerves as she considered a
possibility. Then she decided she had nothing to lose. So she said casually,
“Have you ever been to Québec?”

“Québec City?” At her nod in affirmation, he continued, “No, I haven’t.”

“Oh. I’ve got
to go up there for a conference. I’m giving a lecture on Friday night and then
have to attend a banquet on Saturday night. But I have all day Saturday and
most of Sunday to hang out and do some sightseeing.” She almost made the
suggestion but then she chickened out. So she concluded lamely, “I was
wondering if you had any ideas about what I should see, if you’d been there
before.”

“I haven’t been
there,” Ander repeated. He was still playing with his smartphone. Not really
looking at her. “I’ve heard it’s a great city. It’s on my list of places to
go.”

He appeared to
be speaking absently, as if he weren’t really absorbed in the conversation. But
he’d given her a great lead-in, so she steeled her courage up again. “I don’t
suppose you want to—” The words stuck in her throat as a wave of anxious
self-consciousness washed over her.

She had no idea
why she was nervous about asking him. She’d paid for him to fuck her many times
over the last six months. But something about this possibility made her feel
more vulnerable than her requests for the normal sessions with Ander.

Ander’s eyes
shot up to her face. “You don’t suppose I would want to what?”

She gulped.
“Come with me.” Now that she’d gotten it said, she hurried on in a rush, “I
mean, I know you do weekends. It was on your list of services. But this is
probably too short notice. I should have planned earlier, but I was just
thinking it might be fun. I mean, if you’re available. You’re probably not.
It’s no big deal. Forget I said anything.”

“Which weekend
is it again?” Ander asked. He was clicking on his smartphone again. His
distraction with it was getting a little annoying—she could only imagine the
kinds of appointments he had scheduled in it—but at least he seemed to be
taking her suggestion seriously. “I have plans the tenth and eleventh.”

“No,” she said,
feeling a little hopeful. “It’s next weekend. I know it’s short notice, so it’s
really fine if you—”

“I don’t have
any engagements scheduled then,” Ander said, lowering his smartphone. “I think
I could do it.”

Lori felt a
ridiculous rush of pleasure. “Really? Are you sure? I’d pay for airfare and the
hotel and everything, like you have on your list of prices. And I know you have
the base rate for a weekend, and then I guess we could add up all the sex—”

“Lori,” Ander
interrupted again. “We’ll figure it out later.”

His lips were
pressed together tightly. She must have offended him again. It was a little
awkward—having his company be a monetary commodity—but this was his business
and she wasn’t sure how else to address it. It was always better when they
could just leave it unspoken. Just pass the envelope at the end of the night. She
didn't know how they could make plans for the weekend trip without working the money
out first, though.

She shrugged,
however, and left the topic alone. Just said she’d email him with more details.

Despite the
slight awkwardness, she was really excited about his joining her on the trip.
He would be such good company. They could look around the city together. Ander
was so intelligent, informed, and witty that she knew he’d be the best kind of
sightseeing companion.

Plus, they
could have a whole weekend of sex.

***

Terrasse Dufferin
was
crowded late on Saturday morning, and Lori and Ander milled through tourists,
street performers, and vendors as they made their way along the promenade.

They’d gotten
up early that morning to hit some of the most popular sites before the crowds,
but now they were just leisurely wandering through
Vieux Québec
, the old
city, without a particular plan or destination.

The sky was
blue and cloudless, the sunshine warm, and the breeze off the river brisk and
fresh. Lori loved the feel of cobblestone under her shoes from the old streets
and the historic architecture of the buildings surrounding her. And she even
enjoyed some of the tacky tourist entertainment. She and Ander paused for a
full ten minutes to watch two performers dressed as Wolfe and Montcalm fight a
mock duel in an amusing reflection on their historic battle.

As she’d
expected, Ander was both informed and witty. He told her details about military
confrontations along the St. Lawrence at various points in history, and he
didn’t hesitate to wryly point out inaccuracies in the various recreations of
history designed for gullible tourists.

She enjoyed his
irony immensely, but she couldn’t feel particularly ironic herself. She was
having too good a time. When they finished strolling along
Terrasse Dufferin
,
they started down the stairs that led to the Lower Town and the river.

The stairs were
very long, rather uneven, and incredibly steep. And Lori was careful as she
descended, not wanting to humiliate herself by tumbling head-over-heels to the
bottom. She clapped her hands in silly delight when she made it to the bottom,
and she didn’t even care that Ander chuckled at her in dry amusement.

It was one of
those perfect days. The weather was delightful. Her surroundings were
inspiring. The wind off the St. Lawrence River was invigorating. And she had
the rest of the day, plus most of tomorrow, to look forward to.

She would have
had a good time here by herself, but it was even better with a companion like Ander.

“Oh look,” she
said, as they started along the walk by the river. She pointed to a vendor down
the way. “Ice cream.”

Ander lifted an
eyebrow. “It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

“What’s your
point?” Lori demanded, frowning up at him.

He laughed
again and shook his head. But he gestured toward an empty bench. “Grab a seat
while you can. I’ll get you one.”

With another
rush of
joie de vivre
, Lori grinned and started to pull her wallet out
of her purse. “Here. Let me—”

“Don’t,” Ander
interrupted, leaving her abruptly to walk over to the ice cream vendor.

Lori frowned as
she went to sit on the one empty bench in front of the river. He had no right
to be grumpy with her for trying to pay for the ice cream. Those had been his
terms from the very beginning. It said so on his little sheet of services. The
client pays for travel, lodging, food, and whatever else was purchased over the
course of an engagement. He’d exchanged some currency when she did at the
airport, but she assumed he’d spend his cash only on himself. His reaction made
her very uncomfortable, although she couldn’t specify exactly why.

She decided it
felt like they were friends. While their relationship had always been
professional, they’d gotten to know each other pretty well over the last
months. She genuinely liked him. And she was pretty sure he liked her.

She supposed
awkwardness was inevitable whenever the commercial aspect of their relationship
arose.

Shrugging to
herself, she pushed the concern from her mind. She was in too good a mood to
worry about it at the moment, and Ander was on his way back with two ice cream
cones.

Although she
didn’t say anything, she was ridiculously pleased that he’d gotten himself a
cone too—even if it was ten forty-five in the morning.

His terseness
had dissipated on his return, so they chatted idly about Québec and some of the
tourists around them. Then they faded off into companionable silence.

“I wish I
didn’t have that banquet tonight,” Lori said eventually, breaking the lull in
conversation as she started crunching on her cone.

“I thought you
said your lecture last night went well.”

“It did. I just
hate banquets like this. I always have to sit at the front table with all the
boring, important people. It feels like I’m just there as part of the show. You
know? It kind of makes me feel like I’m being used. Like an object or
something.” She sighed. She’d always wanted to be famous, but she’d been
learning that notoriety—even very minor notoriety like a best-selling romance
novelist—wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Ander made a
wordless hum, but it sounded affirmative.

And it made her
feel a little better. “I guess you might know what I mean,” she said
unthinkingly.

He lifted his
eyebrows quizzically.

Lori swallowed
hard, feeling a lump of anxiety at her careless turn of conversation. He’d
already shown himself to be a little sensitive today, and she really didn’t
want to insult him. “I mean...I just meant that maybe you know how icky it is
for people to just see you as an object. I didn’t mean—”

“I know what
you meant,” Ander said quietly, licking some of his melting ice cream off his
cone. “I
do
know.”

She let out a
relieved exhalation and she found the courage to ask, “How do you handle it?”

He was quiet
for a long time. So long she assumed she’d lost him. But then he finally said,
his eyes focused out on the river, “You just accept it.”

And that hurt
her. Unexpectedly. Sharply. In the middle of a fresh, delightful day. She knew
exactly what he meant. She’d always assumed he had to hide his real self
somewhere deep inside him in order to use his body the way he did.

But what he’d
said implied a lot more than that. He’d
accepted
it. That this was who
he was. This was his whole worth. Just an object to be used.