Riot (Bad Boy Escorts #1) Read online

“Do you want me to undress you before I tie you up? Do you…” He gestures at me. “Do you feel attached to that dress?”

  “What?”

  “Is it okay if I rip it?”

  Rip it. I draw a breath and almost choke on it. “Don’t.” I turn my face away. “Don’t rip anything.”

  “Okay. No ripping. Good to know.” He steps closer, his bare feet making no sound on the carpet, and reaches for me. “Come.”

  “Wait.” I take a step back. Distance is definitely needed if I’m going to be able to use my brain. “One more thing.”

  “I have condoms,” he says easily. “They’re covered in the price.”

  “Oh.” Crap, I hadn’t even thought about condoms. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Okay.” He folds his arms again over his chest—his bare, muscular, tattooed chest, and really, I should stop staring—and waits.

  The bulge in his briefs has gotten bigger. Much, much bigger. I can see the outline of his hard cock, caught sideways in the elastic cloth, and his balls...Oh God.

  Need to think. Remember what I was going to say.

  “A safe word,” I blurt, before I forget, before my brain does that blackout thing again. “We need a safe word.”

  His eyes narrow, his dark brows draw together. “What for? I told you, I don’t do hardcore BDSM. There’s no—”

  “I need one. I need…” I fist my hands at my sides, struggle to breathe. “Need to know you will stop.”

  His frown deepens. “What do you mean? Of course I’ll stop if you want me to.”

  “At any moment. No questions asked, no delay.” My fists are shaking badly now. Is it a solution? Will it work? Will I need it?

  “Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he says slowly, still frowning. “I swear I will. No delays. No questions asked. Paxtyn…” He closes the distance between us, lifts a hand to my cheek. “I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

  I jerk away before he touches my face. “The agency would fire you if you did, right?” I need that reassurance that he can’t do anything he likes to me, that there’s a leash on him, ready to jerk him back.

  His hand drops, and his jaw clenches. “You really think that’s why I wouldn’t hurt you? Because I fear for my job? Do you think I wouldn’t stop otherwise?”

  “Will they fire you?”

  He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, they will. Happy now?”

  I don’t know if happiness has anything to do with what I’m feeling. “Good. Then if I say stop, you stop. If you don’t stop immediately, I will call the agency and complain.”

  “You won’t need to do that.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, grimaces. “Listen...how about going slow? Talk first, take half an hour to relax. I won’t charge you for it. First half hour is on me. We could—”

  “No need.” I have to do this fast, before I lose my nerve. Get it over with. “Seriously.”

  He watches me for a long moment, his mouth downturned. He doesn’t like this. Maybe he has a feeling this isn’t all what it seems.

  But in the end, he shrugs, a light roll of his big shoulders. He even manages a tiny smile.

  “Fine by me.” He gestures at the bed and takes a funny little bow. “After you, miss. Let the games begin.”

  Chapter Two

  Riot

  Games.

  That’s how I try to picture my profession in my head, how I frame it so I don’t react when clients ask about my price and what I can or can’t do, when they look me over like I’m a racehorse they wanna buy, or when they act like I’m gonna grab their money and run.

  I’m a professional. I take this seriously. Not exactly what I imagined myself doing when I grew up, but what the hell. Not like I had any big dreams when I was a kid, and besides. Payments are due, the pay is good, and it’s an honest gig, at least.

  And she’s pretty. Not so common in my line of work. I mean, sure, sometimes I get attractive women, but young and pretty like this one? Not in a million years.

  She’s unzipping her dress. It has one of those funny zippers on the side, and I can’t help but stare at the lush curve of her ass as she turns away from me. The material of the dress is soft and it slides off her body like water, pooling around her ankles. She steps clear of the black material, the high heels she’s wearing making her long legs look endless. Her underwear is black lace with red bows at her hips. It’s not a thong, but it hugs her ass cheeks in a very distracting way.

  She is very distracting. I lick my lips, waiting for her to turn around, and I can’t remember the last time I was so damn excited.

  First she reaches up, pulls a pin and lets her dark hair cascade over her back. Then she turns around, and my breath hitches.

  Holy fucking shit. What a girl.

  Her black lacy bra cups her perfect tits, lifting them just enough so I can imagine how they’ll spill into my hands if I tug down the flimsy lace. Her nipples show through, dark areolae, winking at me. Asking me to touch them, lick them.

  My gaze follows her curves, and damn, I’m so out of my depth here. I should pinch myself to check that I’m not dreaming. She’s gorgeous. With her dark chocolate eyes and that full mouth, that shiny black hair falling past her shoulders, she’s a wet dream.

  Hell, I’m so hard it actually fucking hurts.

  Normally at this stage, I’m not even hard. I’d have to concentrate to get into a sexy mindset, picture myself with a girl I want, picture her going on her knees for me, sucking my dick, before I can even get it up.

  Well, not this time, junior.

  I shove my hand into my briefs and straighten my dick before it breaks, as it’s caught sideways under the elastic. Her eyes dip down, following my movement, and something dark flares in them.

  Jesus, this girl.

  Then she’s climbing on the bed, and I follow as if pulled by a thread, a goddamn rope, after her.

  “Do it,” she says, leaning back against the iron headboard, her chest heaving, her tits threatening to spill over the bra.

  “What?” Can’t think. All the blood’s rushed south. My dick throbs.

  “Tie me up.” She lifts her hands, grips the bars of the headboard. Stretches those long legs in front of her, still with the black high heels on.

  Black seems to be the theme of the evening. Dark. Lace. Ropes.

  Okay, focus, Riot.

  I reach for my jacket. From the pockets I pull out two small cases I carry with me whenever I’m out on a job. One contains condoms, lube and a vibrator. The other contains some bondage rope, soft cuffs, a foldable suede flogger, and a blindfold.

  You’d be surprised how much use these items have seen. I’ve been told I should add a paddle to the set, but that’s not my scene.

  “Hey, baby,” I whisper as I unroll the Japanese bondage rope and wrap it around my hands. Need to get her more relaxed, she’s vibrating like a taut string right now. “You dressed for the occasion, or do you always dress like this? Don’t get me wrong, I like it.” I wink at her, and she looks away.

  That’s fine. Not all women are comfortable at first in such a situation.

  “I’ll pretend you dressed up for me,” I tell her. “That you went and bought that sexy black lace and those shoes to show off your body to me. Fuck, that’s hot.”

  She makes a small mewling sound that has me looking up from where I’ve been choosing the condom and lube. Was that arousal? Not sure.

  It sounded more like distress.

  I scan her face, searching for clues, but she’s hiding it in the crook of her elbow. Hiding it from me.

  Narrowing my eyes, I walk around the bed, perch on the edge and lay everything in front of me—the condom, the rope, the lube. “Paxtyn. Are you sure you want this?”

  Need to be sure. You never force a client to do anything, even if they originally thought they did. You don’t force a person, ever. Period.

  I can see her wavering. There’s a shine in her bright eyes that looks like tears. That happens sometimes, too, but I ha
ve to be sure.

  “It’s okay to be nervous,” I tell her, keeping my voice soft. “Our fantasies are a private thing. It’s not always easy to share them with someone. I swear nothing that takes place between us, nothing we do, nothing you say will ever make it past these walls.” I gesture at the elegant room with its framed mirrors and vases with fresh flowers, the king-sized bed with its white pristine covers and the heavy burgundy drapes. “Just you and me. So relax and tell me what you really want.”

  She’s observing me under her lashes, still gripping the headboard. Her chest heaves, pushing up those round tits, pulling my gaze to them.

  Shit. Never been so out of balance in my life.

  Goddammit, Riot, get your shit together.

  I lift the bondage rope in my hands, cock my head at her. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  She nods.

  “I need to hear it, Paxtyn. Say it out loud. Tell me you want it, or I won’t go through with it.”

  Her lips part on a sigh. “I want it. Do it. Tie me up.”

  Nodding, I gather each slender wrist in my hands and tie her against the headboard. Very practical, these old-fashioned beds. Made for bondage. Makes you wonder what our ancestors got up to every night.

  I lean back, survey my work. Fuck, she looks amazing like this, the black rope tied around her wrists, her head thrown back, her gaze meeting mine from hooded eyes. I take my time and look, follow the contours of her body from the creamy tits to her flat belly and lower, her pussy barely covered in thin black lace, and her legs.

  Perfect.

  Small, thin scars at her hips catch my attention, but then she shifts on the mattress, her legs parting a little, distracting me.

  I slowly lift my hand, place it over her heart. It’s racing. Fuck, her nipples are hardening, standing to attention.

  She’s ready. And hell, I’m more than ready. I count backward from twenty inside my head, struggling to get my body under control, to rein in a hard-on that’s trying to burst through my briefs.

  Slow. This is about her, not me.

  Let’s do it.

  ***

  I take my time with her. Women may think they want a guy to fuck them fast and hard, but usually they need foreplay, especially when they are nervous, and especially when they guy is well hung.

  Yeah, I’m well-hung. Why be coy about it? It is what it is, and with enough foreplay, women enjoy my cock a lot.

  I don’t kiss her. I rarely kiss the women who rent me, unless they initiate it. Some of them want to keep it impersonal, and I understand that.

  Instead, I focus on the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, trailing my lips over her collarbone, licking and nipping.

  She smells delicious, like coconut and cream. Tastes even better, sweet and salty running from my tongue straight to my cock, making it swell and jerk.

  This girl’s dangerous.

  And oddly quiet as I touch her with my mouth. Still nervous, I guess. I clasp her ribcage in my hands, glance up at her face. Her eyes are open to thin slits, but at least she’s looking at me.

  I hide a grin against her skin, trailing my mouth lower, and slide my hands up to cup her tits. A tremor shakes her when I tease her nipples through the lace with my mouth and thumbs, and fuck, that’s so hot.

  Swear to God, I will wrench sounds and moans out of her if it takes me goddamn hours. I’ll make sure she has a good time with me.

  Tugging down the lace, I clamp my hands on her waist and suck on her pretty nipples, teasing them to hard nubs, cursing silently when my dick throbs more urgently between us.

  Shit. Down, boy.

  Again I start counting inside my head, trying every trick I’ve learned over these past two years to keep myself under control.

  Trouble is, I’ve rarely had this problem. Never so bad. Dammit, she’s too damn sexy.

  Which begs the question what a beautiful, rich girl like her is doing in a hotel room with a paid rent boy like me, and—

  “Stop,” she whispers, and it takes me a moment to process the word. “Stop!”

  Still holding on to her waist, I release her nipple and lick her sweet taste from my lips as I rock back on my heels. I don’t ask if she’s okay. That never tells you much.

  I learned that in the ring, in my old life. Words don’t mean much.

  Instead I study her flushed face, her dilated pupils, her parted lips. I study the way her body is straining toward me even as she arches her back.

  Excited. Aroused. Damn beautiful.

  So I wait for her move. I stopped like she commanded. Maybe this is what this is about—a game of power. It’s okay with me. Whatever she needs.

  She swallows hard, her gaze moving over my body, making me groan. I know the moment it lands on my crotch because of her sudden intake of breath, and I force myself not to blink, not to move.

  Letting her get used to the fact I’m aroused, and yeah, pretty big, and right here, in front of her, close enough to touch.

  Close enough to fuck.

  “I want…” She bites her lip, and damn, it’s distracting. Love how her small teeth sink into the plump flesh. “I want you to rip my panties off.”

  Okay. A thrill goes through my body, because damn, that’s what I want, too. But somehow I hesitate, something on her face keeping me still.

  Maybe it’s because she’s not looking at my face, into my eyes, when she speaks the words, her voice flat and a little empty.

  Like she doesn’t really mean it. Like she practiced what to say before we even met.

  But that’s crazy thinking, and she just said she wants it. Who am I to argue?

  Slipping my hands down to her hips, I grab the tiny bows, the thin lace, and rip it at the seams, then toss the ruined panties aside.

  And stifle a groan, because now she’s fully exposed, her shaved pussy open to me—rosy, flushed, wet—and it’s the most erotic thing ever.

  Jesus. I love my job tonight.

  I reach for her, stroke my thumb over her swollen clit, and she whimpers.

  Ah. A sound. Yeah, baby. Grinning, I stroke her again, sliding my thumb down her seam, pushing a little inside, feeling her ripple.

  Fuck. God.

  She presses her legs together, trapping my hand for a second, gasping. Then she parts them again. “Put your hand on my breast,” she says, her voice breathless.

  I’m breathing hard, too, my body aching with need.

  “Whatever you want, babe,” I mutter, stroking my hand upward, brushing over her clit, making her flinch and tremble, over her belly, leaving a shiny trail of her essence, all the way up to her tits. I cup one in my hand. “Like this? Tell me what you want.”

  “Yeah, like that.” Her voice hitches. “Now slap me. Slap my face.”

  What the fuck? “Paxtyn…”

  “Do it.” She turns her face away, bites her lip again. “Hard.”

  Yeah, no fucking way am I hitting her hard. I know some women like to be overpowered, maybe even hurt a little, but breaking her jaw probably isn’t what she has in mind.

  And I hesitate because she didn’t strike me like the kind to like pain.

  As if I can tell by looking. Her gaze flicks to me when I don’t move, and her brows draw together.

  Breathing out, I lift my hand and slap her face.

  She shudders. “Harder.”

  I lean closer, my hand on her breast clenching. “What are you trying to do, dammit?”

  And then she starts to scream.

  Startled, I jerk back, releasing her. “Paxtyn?”

  “Stop!” she’s screaming. “Stop!”

  “The fuck? I’m not doing anything.” My hands shaking, I reach for her wrists, to untie them, and she kicks at me. She knees me in the groin, and I roll back with a gasp.

  Fucking ow. Thank God she didn’t break my dick. My balls, though, are another matter.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I hiss. “Let me untie you.”

  “Stop!” she’s still screaming.r />
  Fuck.

  Careful of her legs, I scoot to the side and untie one wrist. I expect her to punch me, or slap me, but she only curls her arm over her belly. Tears are running down her cheeks, her mascara leaving black tracks. I untie her other wrist, lower her hand into her lap.

  “Paxtyn…” The urge to protect her from whatever is hurting her is overwhelming. I put an arm around her. “What is it?”

  “Stop,” she says, her voice low and hard. “Damn you. Stop.”

  I release her. “What have I—?”

  “I told you to stop. Get out.”

  Jesus Christ on a stick. This girl’s nuts. Fucking lunatic. “Come on. I didn’t do anything you didn’t tell me to. And I stopped every time you asked me to.”

  “Get out!”

  Goddammit. I swear, if she calls the agency and complains about me…

  I jump off the bed and gather up the bondage rope and the condoms, stuff everything back into the boxes, then grab my clothes and pull them on, so pissed off I almost rip my shirt.

  Yeah, then what? What will you do, huh? Say she’s lying? Why should they believe you? So you’ve worked with them for two years, and that should count for something, but not with the new boss of the agency who doesn’t know you and doesn’t much like you, either.

  And what about payment? What the hell...I doubt I’ll see a single cent.

  Just your rotten luck this should happen now. With payments due. With ghosts from your past waiting right around the corner to have your ass.

  Christ. What a clusterfuck.

  I shove the boxes into my pockets and try one last time. “Paxtyn…”

  She’s hunched over on the bed, her shoulders shaking. Jesus. I take a step toward her. “Hey, let me try again, okay? I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, I swear. I’ll stop whenever you want.”

  She says nothing, so I forge on. “You know, maybe we could start slow, like I told you. Slower. Go out, have a drink, hang out at the movies or something. So you can relax. So you can see I won’t hurt you.”

  This time she shakes her head, her long hair dancing on her back. “I said get out. Leave me alone.”

  “Fine.” I clench my teeth against the string of curses that want out. “Goodbye then.”

  With one last look at her tear-streaked face, I zip up my jacket and go. Nothing else left to do.