The Sex Surrogate Read online

  He shifted slightly, giving him a little more access, then his fingers traced lightly up and down my spine. “Like this?”

  “Yes,” I murmured, turning my face in toward his chest, breathing in his scent. The hint of cologne, but mostly, just... him.

  I had no idea how long we sat like that, my anxiety inching backward slowly, freeing up my lungs, slowing my heartbeat. It could have been hours for all I knew. But it worked. It was working. I was still naked, but I wasn't freaking out about it anymore.

  “Okay,” he said, stopping his stroking. One of his hands slid underneath my knees, the other across my back. “I am going to take you to the bed. No, don't tense up,” he said, lifting my weight and getting to his feet. “I told you, there isn't going to be any sexual contact today. Okay? Do you trust me?”

  For the first time in my life, yes.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” he said, starting to walk. “I am going to let you get under the covers so we can do this slowly. So we don't cause another panic attack. That was my fault.”

  “It wasn't...”

  “Yes, it was,” he said, bringing up a leg to balance my body on as he reached for the comforter and sheets and pulled them back. “I shouldn't have sat back like you were about to put on a show for me. That wasn't a good move. I should have known better.”

  He lowered my onto the mattress, still holding me, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up my body. As soon as the material was up by my shoulders, he let me go and I scooted to the center of the bed so he had room to climb in.

  “I'm going to take my boxers off,” he told me, reaching for the band.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want to watch?”

  I felt that tightening again, pressing my thighs together against it. Because I did. I wanted to watch. I felt myself nod tightly.

  “That's so hot babe,” he said, putting his hands in the waistband and pulling the material down.

  And

  Oh,

  my.

  I should have known. I mean the rest of him was tall and wide and strong. I should have guessed.

  Because there was his cock straining out. Big. Thick. Promising to fill me more than anyone else ever had. And... I wanted to know what that felt like.

  I felt a hot blush rise up on my cheeks at that thought.

  “What are you thinking?” Chase asked, scooting on the bed, slipping under the blanket with me, turning on the side to watch me.

  I turned too, bringing my knees up almost as a barrier. I shook my head. No way I could say it. No fucking way.

  “Ava, tell me baby. You can trust me, remember?” he asked, his hand going to the side of my face. “Please.”

  I took a breath. He was right. I needed to work on the communication thing. “I was thinking about you...” oh, god. This was excruciating. “... inside me,” I finally admitted.

  His eyes closed for a second, a muscle ticking in his jaw. When they opened again, heavy, he shook his head. “God, babe, that makes me happy. You have no idea how badly I want to be inside you.”

  “I have some idea,” I mumbled, thinking of his hard cock only a few inches away from me.

  Chase made a weird choked sound, then broke out laughing, a deep rolling sound that was causing all kinds of problems between my thighs. “You're pretty amazing, do you know that?” he asked, shaking his head, still smiling.

  And I was right. On my introductory session, when I thought I couldn't handle him smiling. I couldn't fucking take it. It was too perfect.

  “Okay,” I said, looking away, “what now?” I asked.

  “Touch me.”

  My eyes shot up, finding a lifted brow. “You want to, don't you?” he asked, knowing I did. “Here,” he said, rolling onto his back, the blanket slipping down to his waist, “I'll give you more access.”

  “Are you like... being playful?” I asked, my brows drawing together.

  “I'm not always serious, you know,” he said, turning his head on the pillow to look at me.

  “Good to know,” I said, pushing myself up slightly, bringing my hand out from under the blanket, hovering over his skin for a long minute, then slowly lowering down between his pecs. His breath hissed out of his mouth, his eyes watching my face intently. Emboldened, I ran my greedy fingers down his abs, up his sides, over his arm muscles.

  “So my nudity is okay,” Chase observed, making my hand still guiltily.

  “I guess,” I shrugged.

  “Okay,” he said, reaching down and kicking his side of the blanket off his body. His hard, heavy cock was up toward his stomach, hovering slightly over his body. “Is this alright?”

  It was fucking perfect is what it was.

  “Yeah,” I said, wanting I realized with genuine shock, to touch his cock.

  “Can I see more or you now?” he asked, turning the top of his body toward me, pushing up on his elbow.

  Could he? Seeing as I suddenly had extremely sexual thoughts of him, there really was no reason not to let him. If I did, in fact, want him inside me... he was damn sure going to insist on looking at me first.

  “Okay.”

  He smiled slightly, his arm reaching out to grab the blanket, but not at the top like I had expected. Instead he was pushing the material away from my legs. His hand went to my skin as soon as it was free, stroking up and down. “These are great legs,” he said, looking at them.

  Well, that was one thing we could agree on.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice almost strong.

  His eyes went to my face, nodding. “You're getting better at that.”

  “Well, you won't stop feeding compliments to me,” I shrugged, trying to play it off a little.

  “Hey,” he said, his tone serious. “I don't want you thinking I am just saying shit to say it. When I tell you how beautiful you are, I mean it. I want you to know that. And I want you to start believing it too.”

  “I... believe you.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “I'm getting there.”

  He smiled slightly, bringing a hand up to my face. “Progress,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  Then his hand moved the material of the blanket again, and I felt the air hit a very sensitive part of me. Instinctively, I closed my thighs tight, knowing he wouldn't really be able to see anything that way. His eyes left mine, looking at the skin he had exposed. His hand pushed the blanket up further, exposing my belly. “Your choice? Or what you thought I wanted?” he asked, his hand coming down on my skin, barely touching the bare triangle above my sex.

  “What?”

  “Completely shaving,” he supplied.

  “What?” I asked again, smiling, “Did you expect everything to be all...unruly?”

  “Yes, actually,” he said, shrugging. “I figured you would find any way you could to hide.”

  “Just a personal preference,” I said, watching as his hand reached for the edge of the blanket that was just barely on me then, covering only my breasts. He paused for a second, then flicked the material away.

  “Fuck me,” he murmured again, his hand landing hard on my ribs. “Ava,” he said, his voice firm again as his eyes drifted to my face, “breathe.” I took a slow breath and his eyes slid downward again, coming to rest on my breasts. His hand slid upward, stopping high on my ribs, his thumb barely brushing the sensitive underside of my breast. “Babe, you're perfect. I can't wait to touch these,” he said, his thumb stroking across the bottom, sending a shiver through my whole body. “Mmm,” he growled. “So sensitive.”

  His hand drifted quickly away then, almost like he couldn't trust himself not to cross that line if he didn't force himself to focus on something else. He ran his fingers across my belly, making me arch slightly off the bed. His eyes drifted to my face, my eyes half closed in my desire.

  “Okay,” he said, almost like a sigh, like he was disappointed. “Why don't you roll onto your b
elly, sweetheart?”

  “Why?”

  “Please.”

  My eyes opened wider, taking in the pleading in his eyes. I glanced downward as I started to move, seeing his cock, seeing the wetness at the tip. He was just as far gone as I was with need. I somehow found that all the more hot.

  His hand moved to the side of my hip as I started to turn, grabbing hard, before letting me finish moving. I brought my arms up, resting my head on them, facing him. His arm reached out, starting at the base of my neck and moving down my spine in a way that was becoming comfortably familiar. But it kept moving downward, up and over the roundness of my ass, resting on it.

  I felt my brow raise at him and he shook his head, looking guilty. But that didn't stop him, his hand slipped lower, touching the underside of my ass and if he shifted his fingers even slightly inward, he would be touching my heat. As if sensing the thought, his hand paused there, watching me.

  “Are you wet for me, Ava?”

  Oh

  my

  gosh.

  And, oh my god, yes I was.

  I felt myself swallow and nod.

  He drew in a slow breath. “I can't wait to touch and taste and feel that,” he said with feeling. His hand moved to the backs of my thighs then pulled suddenly away. “Okay,” he said, “come over here,” he added, rolling onto his back and patting his chest. I moved to him like it was the only place in the world I wanted to be.

  And I had a sneaking, nagging suspicion that that was all too true.

  A while later. A long while later, he chuckled beneath me. “Your belly is growling,” he said, moving to sit up. “Let's go get you some food.”

  After the Session

  Okay. I was sure I misheard him. But then he was sliding out from underneath me and moving bare-ass naked over toward our clothes, his underwear in his hand for a long time before he finally slipped into them. Then on went his pants, socks, shoes, shirt. But he left his shirt open, bending down and retrieving the pile of my clothes and walking back toward the bed with them.

  And it was then I realized I hadn't even bothered to cover up. And I certainly couldn't do so now with him looking at me like he was looking at me. Hungry. Like he was going to devour me.

  But then he walked around to the foot of the bed, setting all my clothes neatly down, then getting on the bed on his knees, moving closer to me. He reached for the swatch of fabric that was my panties, opening them and reaching for my feet. He lifted one, slipping my foot into the hole, then went to the other.

  Holy fucking hell.

  He was dressing me.

  And it wasn't weird.

  It was sexy as all get out.

  The material slipped up my thighs and his hands paused, waiting for me to lift my hips, then settling into place. Next went the garter belt. Then the stockings, his hands expertly sliding them up then clasping them. He bent forward, reaching for my hands and pulling me upward into a seated position. Then he slipped my bra onto my arms, settling the cups around my breasts without actually really touching them, then sliding around my back to clasp the hooks. He reached back, grabbing my dress, rouching it up in his hands, then slipped it over my head. My arms went into the sleeves.

  He sat back on his heels, running a hand down my leg before it disappeared.

  And then I was moving, pushing myself up on my knees to get closer to him. My hands went out, grabbing the sides of his shirt and, from the bottom, starting to carefully close him up. Damn if it didn't feel like the most natural thing in the world. Once my hands were at the top button (which I decided to leave open), my eyes rose to meet his, watching me, yet again, so intensely it was hard to witness.

  He took a slow breath then bounced off the back of the bed. “Alright, shoes,” he instructed me, tucking his shirt and slipping on his belt. I was all shoe-d up and ready when he put his jacket on and started toward the door. “Any preference on food?” he asked, going through his office into the waiting room.

  “I'll eat anything,” I admitted and he nodded, leading me outside.

  Once on the street, his hand went to my lower back. And, for once, it almost seemed possessive. But that was ridiculous. That was just my mind spinning it's usual tall tales. He was not, in any way, feeling possessive of me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as he just kept pushing me down the street.

  As an answer, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his key and making the car a few feet from us beep and light up. “My car,” he said, bringing me up to the passenger side and opening the door for me.

  His car looked like it cost more than my childhood home. Sleek, a deep charcoal color, soft curves. The inside was black, pristine, still smelling new as I lowered myself in and he closed the door.

  He got into the driver's side, turning the car over with a barely audible hum, then started driving.

  We ended up out front of a small Italian restaurant, the deep brown walls and private black booths visible from the street. He was out and around the car before I could even reach for the door handle. “Come on,” he said as I paused, looking at his extended hand, “get your pretty little ass out here.”

  “Well, if you're going to put it that way,” I said, laughing, taking his hand and stepping out. He didn't let go of my hand, instead, interlocking our fingers as he led me to the door.

  What was that? I mean, seriously. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. He was supposed to be my doctor, my surrogate. That was it, right? That was what I remembered from my research. No where had I read that a surrogate takes you out to eat after a session. That seemed to blur the lines of professionalism. So what was going on?

  “Ava,” Chase's voice cut in, and I realized we were standing next to the table, the hostess already having placed down the menus and left. “Where are you?”

  I shook my head to clear it. “No where important,” I said, sliding into the booth behind the table, the walls of it coming up high and closing in on the sides by several inches, like each booth was its own private little room. There were no chairs on the outside of the table, so Chase scooted in beside me.

  Uncomfortable with the whole same-side sitting concept, I pivoted my hips away so I could look him in the face. He noticed, a brow raising slightly, but he didn't say anything, handing me my menu. “Doesn't matter what you order, I guarantee it will be the best Italian you've ever had.”

  “Oh, I don't know,” I said, looking down at the options, “I have a strong preference to this little rinky dink place around the corner from my apartment. The owner came over from Italy just four years ago. His accent is too thick to understand and the only English word he knows is 'eat'. So when you go there, he just makes you whatever the hell he wants. And it is always exactly what you needed.”

  “That's a tall order. I'll have to try it out sometime.”

  The waiter came over, black slacks, white shirt, neat, already with a bottle in his hands, “The usual,” he said, showing the label to Chase who nodded.

  When he walked away, I took my glass, smiling over the rim at him.

  “What?” he asked, a matching smile creeping up on his face.

  I shook my head. “Not the adventurous type, huh?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You're a regular at the bar, you're a regular here...”

  He put down his glass, leaning in slightly. “Maybe I am just very particular about my... pleasures.”

  So, he said that.

  Who says stuff like that?

  Apparently, Dr. Chase Hudson did.

  “Oh,” I said, taking a sip of the red wine, feeling the taste explode in my mouth.

  “Good?” he asked, watching me.

  I nodded, averting my eyes from his because we were getting way too intimate in a private place.

  Besides, he was a regular. To a restaurant that was obviously meant for couples and lovers. Private. Upscale. Which meant he visited often... with women. With dates
. Or clients. Or lovers.

  The thought settled like lead in my belly, making the constant, gnawing hunger suddenly vanish.

  I wasn't special. Where the hell had I gotten the vanity to think I was? That was what men like Chase Hudson did – rich men, powerful men, flirtatious men... they wined and dined and bedded women.

  “What's the matter?” he asked, moving like he was going to put his hand on my thigh.

  I scooted away, noticing his severe frown and completely disregarding it. I needed to get my shit together. I was acting like some middle school girl with a crush on the boy a grade higher because he smiled at her once. I wasn't that girl. I needed to get some space between us to remember that.

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling my guards slip back up. My back straightened, my nerves surfaced, not strong, just powerful enough to keep reminding me that I needed to keep my wits about me. At least if I was ever with him outside of his office.

  “Don't lie, Ava,” he scolded, but it was soft, almost sad. “If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But don't lie.”

  “Fine,” I said, snapping my menu, and turning my head to him. “I don't want to talk about it.” But my sharp tone and glare didn't have the effect it usually did, and he was chuckling slightly, shaking his head. “What?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  “Kitty has claws,” he murmured as the waiter came back to take our order.

  Where I had originally had my eyes on the huge heaping platter of baked ziti that sounded like heaven on Earth, my little realization stole away the better part of my hunger and I just ordered a Caesar salad, knowing I was only going to pick at that too. Chase ordered my ziti and I felt unreasonably annoyed by that.

  “Alright,” he said, taking a sip of his wine, then turning his attention back toward me. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, feeling on edge. Because when he got that tone, that 'I'm a licensed psychologist and you can't bullshit me' tone, I knew I was in for it.

  “Well, each step you took from the car to the booth, you got more and more tense. And then, sitting here, staring at that menu but not actually reading it, you got positively ramrod straight. Something was going on in that head of yours.”