The Sex Surrogate Read online

  “Are we on my time right now?” I blurted out, my tone still cold.

  “Your time?”

  “Yes, my time. Like... is this part of the whole... experience?”

  His eyes got darker, imperceptible if I hadn't been watching him so closely. “What? No.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn't be trying to analyze me.”

  One of his brows lifted. “I'm not trying to analyze you, Ava. I am trying to understand why you are looking at me like I am suddenly a different person,” I opened my mouth to object, but he cut me off. “A person you hate.”

  “I don't hate you,” I said immediately, and meaning it. I meant it. I didn't hate him. If anything, I liked him way too much for someone who I was paying to be nice to me. And that was the problem. I hated myself for liking him when I knew nothing he said was personal. He wasn't courting me. He was coaching me. There was such a huge difference that it made me sick that I had been confusing them for each other.

  “There. Right there,” he said, watching me. “What are you thinking to make you look at me like that?”

  “Maybe it's just my face,” I said, smirking, trying to guide the conversation away because it felt like it was heading toward a confrontation, and I did not handle those well.

  “No, your face is soft and sweet and gorgeous enough to launch a thousand god damn ships,” he objected. “Why won't you talk to me?”

  “Do you do this to everyone?” I countered, watching him, suddenly very curious.

  “Do what to everyone?”

  “Try to brow beat them into telling you what they are thinking. Not all our thoughts are meant to be shared, you know.”

  “I'm not...” he started, looking away from me and I could see the muscle in his jaw ticking in his tension. He let out a loud, long exhale, shaking his head, then turning back to me. “Okay. We are just going to let that go. All of it. Time for a subject change.”

  He left it at that, making it clear it was my job to come up with the new topic. Which I sucked at, but anything was better than trying to continue that awful discussion. “Do you have any siblings?” I went with, cursing myself.

  “Ten or fifteen close ones.”

  “Wait... what?” I blurted out, half choking on my wine.

  He offered me a humorless smile. “I was in and out of foster care most of my life. One year with my mother, then they would decide she wasn't fit again and pull me out, throw me into another home with other foster kids. You cling to them when you're young and confused. I've kept in touch with a lot of them.”

  In and out of foster care? It was hard to imagine Chase young and powerless, but he had been. And I had been in that job, watching kids get ripped away from their families and thrown into the shitholes that were foster homes (often no better than the houses they were being pulled from). I knew how awful an experience that must have been for him. What was wrong with his mother that he needed to be taken away from her so often?

  “You can ask me, Ava. I have no secrets.”

  “Why did you keep getting taken away?”

  “My mother was bi-polar. She didn't know that. I didn't know that. The social workers didn't know that. All they knew was that she would drown it in bottles or at the bottoms of pill bottles, or even, later, in needles. And because of all that, she would forget to clean my clothes or buy food for me for days or weeks at a time.”

  “Oh, Chase,” I said, my voice sad, my hand going out to rest on top of his.

  “Don't feel sorry for me, princess,” he said softly. “I wasn't abused. And the school fed me when I was there. I had it a lot better than a lot of the kids I got to know in the system.”

  He looked down at my hand, turning his underneath it and lacing my fingers in through his. I looked up at him, knowing without a doubt, that my heart was in my eyes, because all I could think about was poor little Chase hungry and dirty and in need of someone to take care of him. He looked back at me with what I could only describe as wonder...

  And then our plates were dropped down on the table, making me automatically pull my hand away... like we had been doing something obscene. I thanked the waiter, pulling my bowl toward me and focusing on it like my life depended on doing so.

  “Are you going to eat or just keep pushing the lettuce around?” Chase asked, sounding amused.

  I stabbed an enormous fork full and shoved the contents into my mouth, licking my lips slightly. “Happy?” I asked, trying to chew and struggling with how much I had jammed in my yap.

  But it was worth it to watch Chase throw his head back and laugh like a little kid. The sound so happy and amused that it made my belly flip flip again.

  He reached out with his thumb, brushing my lips. I imagined, wiping some stray dressing. Then he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it off and I mean...

  Panties. Soaked.

  Then a slow, knowing smirk toyed at his lips. “Having some dirty thoughts, huh?” he asked.

  My eyes flew down to my food. “You wish,” I tried, knowing it was juvenile, but not caring.

  “Damn straight I do.”

  I let that one slide, focusing on my salad which was great, but it wasn't what I really wanted. My eyes kept drifting over to his plate, cheesy and saucy and so good smelling it was practically orgasmic.

  The next thing I knew, there was his fork in front of my face. My eyes went to his and he was smiling. “Go on. I know you want to.”

  And I did.

  So I did.

  We ended up sharing both plates, me eating more of his ziti than he did, but he didn't complain. We talked casually about his college years, skirting around the topic of sexual surrogacy. We talked about my family. Safe, tame topics.

  Then, too soon, he was driving his car and parking it next to mine, getting out and opening my door for me.

  There was silence, words needing to be said, but both of us reluctant to say them for our own reasons.

  Chase's hand reached for my face then let his hand fall, sighing hard. “Monday. Seven,” he told me, getting into his car and, once I got in my car, he pulled quickly away.

  Monday. Three and a half days away. Which was good. Or, at least, I tried to convince myself of that. I needed space. I needed to get a hold of myself.

  As I drove home, stopping at a red light, I had a realization that felt like a kick to the gut.

  I didn't ask him before he left so I didn't know what the hell the next session was.

  No fucking idea.

  Which was just wonderful. I could spend the entire weekend freaking out about that. Now that naked was the thing, I was sure it would be the thing again. And with naked... came other things. But what other things? I had no idea. So there was no way to prepare. There was nothing I could except but work myself into knots about it. Which was just lovely.

  Third Session

  Alright. Monday was a bitch. There's really no other way to put it. After a weekend of Jake telling me to chill the fuck out, I was no more... chilled out. Actually, I was just frazzled nerve endings and sleeplessness, walking around my office jumping when anyone brushed against me, but at the same time...in a weird sleep-deprived fog.

  “Yo,” Shay said, snapping in my face. “What the fuck girl?” she asked, lifting up the edge of her lips in... disgust, that was really the only way to put it. Shay was a lot of things, not the least of which is blunt. She's six feet of gorgeous, flawless dark skin, her crazy long hair twisted into dreadlocks and pulled back into a huge ponytail at the base of her neck. Shay's father was a veteran. And her uncle. One of her brothers. Seven of her cousins.

  “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head at her.

  Her head tilted, watching me with her bright brown eyes, way too keen for my liking. “You got a man,” she accused.

  “What? No! Don't be ridiculous.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, moving to come behind my desk. Shay was the epitome of modern beauty standards. Thin waist, thick hips and thigh
s, a ample enough natural bust and seen-from-the-front buttage. Even in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, she was stunning. Not pretty. Or even beautiful, but stunning. That was the only correct word to use when describing her.

  “I swear, Shay. I'm single as a twenty-nine year old gamer living in his mother's basement.”

  She snorted, shaking her head. “Fine, don't tell me,” she huffed, getting up and moving to storm away. “I tell you about all my men,” she said, turning back.

  Of that, I was all too aware.

  “Shay, I swear... when I have a man to talk about, I will tell you anything you want to know.”

  “Including dick size,” she said, firmly.

  I laughed. “Yeah, Shay. Even that.”

  “Fine,” she said, going back to her own desk.

  I forced down half a pot of coffee (which I generally hate) which gave me the energy I wanted, with a heavy punch of, you guessed it, more nervousness. By the time I got home, I was just a mess. And with only two hours until I had my session, there was no hope of getting it together.

  “Jesus,” Jake hissed as I walked through the door.

  “What now?”

  “You look like you haven't slept in a week.”

  Four days. But he was close.

  “Yeah, I know. I've been anxious.”

  “Isn't the doctor supposed to be, like, helping with that?”

  “Yup,” I said, slamming the bathroom door behind me and stripping, getting under the blessedly hot water and trying to let it run over me, smooth the frayed nerves. The water ran cold before I reluctantly stepped out, brushing my teeth, towel drying my hair, and taking a look in the mirror. I could put some effort into makeup, but honestly, I was so pale and tired-eyed that it wouldn't do any good. I traveled back to my room, digging out plain black panties and a matching bra. There was no use going all out when I was sure I would be out of them quickly. I slid into a pair of black leggings and a huge sand-colored sweater that I positively swam in and came down to about mid-thigh. I slipped into a pair of tan flats, grabbed my keys, and made my way out.

  “Wow, seriously?” Jake asked, eyeing me over a Chinese take-away carton.

  “Yup. Fuck off,” I growled, closing the door behind me.

  I wasn't angry. Jake just brought that out of me.

  I was worried. Freaked. Anxious. Beside myself.

  And on top of all that, bone deep freaking exhausted.

  I walked from the garage to the office with what felt like weighted feet. Each step closer felt harder, made my chest feel tighter. I grabbed the handle, going inside, and slamming back against it.

  Chase's head shot up, surprised, looking way too rested and put together in a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt. “Ava...”

  “Please, please,” I said, holding up one hand. “Please just tell me what this session is.”

  His shoulders dropped, his head tilting to the side. “Oh, baby...” he murmured, closing the distance between us and quickly pulling me off the door, enclosing me in his arms. I heard the lock click and then his lips come down on the top of my head.

  “Next time you're this anxious about needing to know something, you call me. I don't want you stressing over something I can easily fix. Actually,” he said, reaching for my hand and pulling out my cell, “I will give you my cell so that, no matter what time it is, you can call and I can talk you down. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, numbly, closing my eyes and listening to his heartbeat, breathing in his scent. “You still haven't answered me.”

  “I know,” he said, moving away and slipping his arm around me, guiding me through the waiting room, his office and into his other room. The door closed. I went to the stereo. He offered drinks, which I refused. The last thing I needed was alcohol to make me even more tired. I selected the same music as the night before and turned to him, and he was watching me. “Babe, how long has it been since you've slept?”

  “For how long?”

  He rolled his eyes slightly. “For more than an hour at a time.”

  “Wednesday.”

  He shook his head slightly, holding my phone out. “Next time, you call me,” he said, putting the phone down next to the stereo, and taking my hand. He led me over to the bed, slipping out of his shoes, discarding his jacket and belt. Then stopped. “Hop in,” he said. And I really didn't need to be told twice. I kicked off my shoes and crawled under the blankets.

  He slid in beside me. Not touching me. Not reaching for me. Not asking or telling me to do anything. Just lying there. His arm went out across the back of my pillows.

  In the end, it was me who moved.

  Shocking myself, I think, more than him.

  I scooted closer, reaching for the buttons on his shirt and opening them. Then I slid my head against his warm skin, and his arms finally went around me, holding tight.

  “Tonight's session,” he started and I felt myself stiffen against him, but he only wrapped his arms tighter, “is about masturbation.”

  Oh

  good

  god.

  Seriously?

  “What about it?” I heard myself asking, needing to know everything.

  “Everything about it. We will talk about it. Then we will undress. And then we will do it.”

  “Wait. What?” I said, my voice high and squeaky. Because... no way. No freaking way. Most women would never masturbate in front of their spouses. And neither would most men for that matter.

  “Ava, calm down. I know it's an uncomfortable topic for a lot of people. Actually, this might be one of the hardest lessons. It's understandable that you feel awkward or embarrassed. That's totally normal.”

  “Do you?”

  “No, baby.”

  Of course not. Because he had probably done it a hundred times before in front of someone. Meanwhile I rarely ever did it when I was alone. Not because I didn't like it or didn't know how, but because, inevitably, images of my failed sexual conquests would shoot into my mind and completely ruin it for me.

  “But listen,” he went on at my silence, “there is nothing at all to feel embarrassed about. A woman making herself feel good is amazing. You making yourself feel good, that is going to be fucking beautiful. And I can't wait to see it.”

  Oh, god.

  My face felt hot it was so red and I brought my hands up to cover it.

  “Are you more uncomfortable with watching me masturbate or having me watch you?”

  “You watching me,” I said, the words muffled against my hands.

  “Okay. Then I will start first,” he said easily. And then he was moving me off of him, going to the side of the bed and stripping out of his shirt. Then reaching for his zipper. “Don't be shy in front of me, baby.”

  And I knew what that meant. I knew he wanted me to start taking off my clothes too. I took a deep breath, rolling my leggings down and off before reaching to discard my sweater.

  “And the rest?” he asked, sounding husky as his pants fell to the floor.

  I looked away from him, reaching around for my bra and tossing it aside, then slipping out of my panties. “Beautiful,” he murmured, getting into bed beside me. He didn't bother to pull the blanket up. Because we were beyond that now. “Come here,” he said, patting his chest and I practically flew at him.

  His one arm went around my back, holding me with firm pressure. Then his other hand slowly moved down his body. His hands closed around his thick cock and his thumb brushed across the sensitive, wet head. Beneath me, his breath whooshed out of his mouth.

  Suddenly I wasn't sleepy anymore. I was apt. I couldn't look away if I tried. My own desire ignited, strong, almost painful between my thighs. His hand started to move slowly up and down his cock, holding tightly.

  “Are you watching?” he asked, his voice breathy.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “I want to watch you baby,” he said, his arm releasing me so I moved into the space beside him, his
arm around my shoulders. “Please.”

  Maybe it was the please.

  Or maybe it was the pulsing, urgent longing for release, but my hand started to move slowly downward, pausing briefly. My legs opened just enough to slip my hand between and my fingers slid across my heat. A small, unexpected whimper escaped my lips and Chase's hand grabbed my shoulder hard.

  “Don't stop, Ava,” he said, sounding tense. My eyes went up to his, heavy lidded and the most gorgeous shade of blue I had ever seen in my life. “Please don't stop,” he said, sending another jolt of desire. My finger moved upward, finding my clit and moving across it in slow circles. “There you go,” he praised. “Just like I said... fucking beautiful.”

  My eyes slid from his, watching his hand moving across his length, the pace, I realized, the same as mine and I wondered if he did it deliberately. If he was trying to get used to my rhythms. Cataloging them for later. So he knew how I liked it when he touched me. When he was inside of me.

  That was going to be so soon. If this was the third visit... then it went to follow that, well, he was going to be touching me at the next one. Touching me how, I wasn't sure. But touching me. And then I don't know for the next session. But the session after that... we would be having sex.

  It was going so fast. Before I knew it, it would be over.

  There was a sharp pang, quick, but there, at the idea. Because a big part of me was pretty sure the only reason things had progressed the way they had was because it was Chase. Good, understanding, patient Chase. With all of his charm. With all the right things he always said. If it was another guy... if it was someone else laying next to me stroking themselves, would I be able to touch myself too? I felt my skin turning cold at the idea. The rolling starting in my belly.

  “Ava,” Chase's voice called and I looked down to see he had stopped touching himself. My eyes went up to his, a question clear in them. “There you are,” he said. And then his lips came down on mine. Soft. Passionate. Full of some kind of deep longing. And I felt the matching longing somewhere buried inside me, and I dove into it. Into him. Into whatever it was that was between us.