The Sex Surrogate (16 page)

“Talk
about what?” I asked, shamelessly taking a huge sip of my
drink.

“About
whatever is making you tense and play sad music.”

“I
knew the music thing was some kind of test,” I said, squinting
my eyes at him. “Sneaky.”

He
smiled, shrugging. “It's a good way to get an idea what kind of
mental state a pat...
someone
is in.”

A
patient.

A
patient.

He
had a slip that revealed exactly what I needed to hear. That I was a
patient. Nothing more.

“Clever,”
I said, finishing my drink and putting it down next to the decanters.
“I'm assuming this is a clothes-off session again,” I
said, watching him watch me, his eyes dark as he considered me.

“Yes.”

“Okay,”
I said, my strong sense of self-preservation letting me push past my
normal insecurities as I reached for my jeans and slipped out of
them. Then my shirt. My hands were at my bra before he spoke.

“Ava...
what's going on?”

“What
do you mean? I asked, shrugging, but not finishing unclasping my bra.
“This is what I am supposed to be doing, right?”

“Maybe
if you communicated with me instead of assuming things, you would
already know the answer to that.” He sighed, putting his drink
down. “Talk to me.”

“It's
nothing. Jake said something that put me in a bad mood.”
And
then you almost said something that confirmed the stupidity of my
one-sided crush.

“Come
here,” he said, holding out his arms.

And,
helpless to do anything but, I walked into them. He held me,
silently, for a long time before finally speaking. “Tonight, I
wanted to undress you.”

Oh.

Well.

I
fucked that up for myself, didn't I?

“Sorry,”
I mumbled against his shirt.

“It's
okay. I still have some things to remove,” he said, his hands
moving up my back to where my bra still had two clasps holding it
closed.

“Am
I going to undress you?”

“Yeah,
baby,” he murmured against my hair.

My
hands moved up between us, grabbing his shirt and pulling it up out
of his pants, then moving my fingers to work on the buttons. Against
me, Chase went still. Surprised, I was sure, that I was willing to
take the lead without encouragement. So was I to an extent. And the
motives were mixed. On one hand, I was trying to move things along.
Keep things on schedule. Try not to drag it out and make myself
suffer or let myself think there was more to it than there was. On
the other hand, I just needed to feel him against me. His warm skin,
the evidence of his strength in his muscles.

My
hands at the top, I slipped my hands under, pushing his shirt and his
jacket back and he released me so the material could slide from his
arms. One of his hands rested lightly on my hip, the other going to
the side of my neck.

“Ava...”

I
shook my head, looking down and watching as I unbuckled his belt,
removed it, and started to the fly of his slacks. My hands paused,
and I took a deep breath and quickly pushed them off. Then, before I
could let myself think about it, I grabbed the waistband of his boxer
briefs and pulled down.

He
was already hard.

He
really did have a perfect cock. Shay would love to hear about it. I
felt a laugh rise in my throat and fought to keep it in, because,
well, it would be pretty awful to laugh when you're looking at
someone's junk.

“Ava,”
he said in
that
tone. That tone that said
look at me
.
My eyes drifted slowly upward, taking in his abs then the chest I
liked to rest on, then finally to his gorgeous scruffy face. “While
I'm glad you're taking the lead, babe,” he started, his hand
going to the side of my face, “I want to make sure it's for the
right reasons.”

“Are
there wrong reasons to undress you?” I countered, running my
hands down his stomach.

He
made a growling noise, taking a deep breath. “Fine. I'll let it
go for now. But I will get to the bottom of it eventually. Go get on
the bed.”

It
occurred to me as I laid down, watching him walk toward me,
gloriously naked, that I still didn't know what we would be doing.

But
then he was in the bed, looming slightly over me as he reached behind
my back and unclasped my bra. He left the cups to cover me as he slid
the straps down my arms. Then, very slowly, he inched the black
material away, revealing me. Then his hand reached out, ever so
slightly brushing over my breast.

So
that was what we were doing.

And,
also, oh my god.

There
was an instant shiver, and a slow awakening of desire between my
thighs. His eyes lifted to mine, heavy-lidded and beautiful, then his
hand did another brush, this time he was watching my face for my
reaction. I felt my lips part, my back arching into his hand. His
fingers moved to my nipple, gently rolling it between them, making me
suck in a shaky breath. “You okay?” he asked, looking as
turned on as I suddenly felt.

“Yeah,”
I said, my voice sounding foreign: airy, needy.

“Thank
god,” I said, taking my other nipple in his other hand and
continuing his slow, sweet torment. “You have no idea how hard
it has been not to touch you.” Under his inspection, my breasts
felt heavy, my nipples more sensitive than I knew they were capable
of being and it felt like there was a connection from his hands to my
sex which felt tight and desperate for relief. “This is what we
are doing this session,” he said, watching his hands. “I
am going to touch you here,” he said, then one of his hands
moved slowly down the center of my belly and rested the palm against
the juncture of my thighs, “and here.”

Oh,
my.

Yes.
Yes. Yes.

But
at the same time, I wasn't sure how that would go.

“Look
at me, Ava,” he said, one of his hands still cupping my breast,
the other covering my heat. “I am going to touch you. And you
are going to touch me.”

Okay.

I
was pretty sure I could do that.

Maybe.

“Do
you think it would be better for me to touch you first or...”

“Me
touch you,” I said before he could even finish.

“You're
sure?”

Nope.
Not at all.

“Yes.”

“Okay,”
he said, removing both his hands and moving to sit next to me,
upright against the headboard. “Come here.”

Alright.
This was it. I was going to have to touch his cock. The idea settling
with both a surge of excitement and dread, making a weird wobbly
feeling swirl in my belly.

But
I pushed myself up and scooted in beside him, resting my head on my
favorite place in the damn world. He reached across his body, taking
my hand in his and holding. “You nervous?”

“
A little.”

“A
little isn't bad, right?” he asked, his other arm around me,
stroking up and down my arm. “Give me a number.”

“Four-ish,”
I said, breathing him in.

“I
can work with four-ish,” he said, sounding lazy. Like there was
no rush. “How about the idea of me touching you?”

“Seven?”

“I
can work with that too,” he said, slowly unfolding my hand and
flattening it against his chest, his resting on top of mine. “But
let's not think about that yet, alright?”

“Alright.”

Then
his hand was pressing mine slowly down his body. I watched, my hand
all but swallowed up by his as it slid down his chest, over his abs,
down the small line of dark hair leading toward his cock. I felt my
hand tense, digging into his skin as if I could hold on and he
quickly picked it up, turning it, bringing it up and kissing the
palm.

But
then he was pulling it back down, much more quickly, and my hand
wrapped around the base of his cock. Chase exhaled loudly and I felt
my hand instinctively tighten around him, holding him “That's
it, touch me baby,” he said, his hand moving from mine,
settling on his thigh, I guessed, in case I needed help.

Though
right in that moment, I didn't. Because I wanted to make him feel
good. I wanted to hear his breath whoosh out of his mouth, curse,
groan.

My
hand stroked upward, my thumb brushing over the head, stroking his
wet desire, and drawing my much wanted groan from his lips.
Emboldened, I started stroking quickly. Up and down. Then twisting
slightly with each stroke. Chase's hand on my arm was digging in
painfully, his body stiff underneath me.

“That
feels good, baby,” he praised me and it set off a flurry of
fluttering in my chest. His hand went over mine for a second,
squeezing. “Just a little harder,” he instructed and I
did as he said. “Yeah, just like that.”

I
lifted my head, sitting up a little straighter so I could watch his
face. His head was titled up toward the ceiling, eyes closed. Then,
as if sensing me, he looked down and his eyes found mine and stayed
there.

“Fuck,
baby,” he hissed, his eyes getting heavier. “I'm gonna
come,” he told me, the words falling with a small thrill.
Because I had never been able to make that happen before. Then his
hand positively crushed into my shoulder, his other hand grabbing my
wrist hard as he cursed, his body jerking. “Fuck,
Ava
...”
he ground out as he came.

He
leaned down a moment later and kissed my forehead, and I smiled up at
him with my own internal, victory. Maybe to most, it was small. But
to me, it was huge.

He
smiled back down at me, knowing, sharing it with me.

“I
made you feel good,” I said, a little shyly, knowing it was an
immature way to put it, but it was the best I could bring myself to
say.

“Yeah,
you did,” he smiled wider. Then his face came toward me,
pressing his lips into mine, kissing me until my entire body felt
like it was starting to tingle. “Okay,” he said, pulling
away, “I'll be right back,” he said, taking off toward
the bathroom. He came back a moment later, a washcloth in his hand,
taking my hand and rubbing gently over it. Finished, he pulled it up
toward him, kissing my knuckles and letting it drop.

He
came back a few seconds later, slipping in beside me, laying on his
side.

“Are
the nerves better?” he asked, pulling me on my side to face
him.

“A
little,” I admitted. Because they had been. Though they were
quickly coming back.

He
was going to touch me.

Soon.

“Good,”
he said, leaning closer and brushing the hair off my neck a second
before his lips went down there, making me sigh at the contact,
“Because I really want to make you feel good. I want to watch
you as I make you come. And just when you start to come down, I am
going to drive you back up and make it happen again. Until your body
can't take anymore.”

Oh

my

god.

Where
did he learn to talk like that?

“Does
that sound good?”

I
swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Good,”
he said, his hand sliding to my breast, taking the nipple and working
it into a painfully tight point. His hand went up to my shoulder,
pressing until I laid flat, then went to the other nipple until I was
squirming, pressing my thighs so hard together that the muscles were
aching.

His
hand moved between my breasts, slowly moving a straight line down my
belly, pausing, then stroking down my thigh, then back up the other
one. His hand rested at the triangle above my sex. “Let me in,
baby,” he murmured and my legs just... spread for him. Then his
hand slipped between them, quickly stroking up my cleft, making me
gasp and jump at the unfamiliar contact. “You're so wet for
me,” he groaned, his fingers stroking my folds. “Is this
okay?”

Okay?
No.

No
it wasn't okay.