Page 122 of Filthy Hot Escort

At her bed, she turned him around and gave him a gentle push. He laid himself down on her bed, a muscular body dark against the white linen duvet cover. She followed him, climbing up to straddle his hips, resting on her knees. She looked down into his eyes and suddenly was overcome with emotion.

What was it, she wondered? What was she feeling?

Love. I feel love.

“Give me your hands.” Her voice was a wisp on the wind.

Julian lifted his bound hands. She gently undid the silk scarf, letting it fall away to slip noiselessly off her bed. She didn’t need him to be bound to be in control. She didn’t need anything but herself and her body.

And Julian.

With a quivering breath, she reached down between her legs and positioned Julian’s cock at the entrance to her wet pussy. His hands skimmed tenderly up and down her thighs as she paused over him.

Power is love.

And as she looked down into Julian’s eyes, she felt nothing but power.

She felt nothing but love.

“Give me your hands,” she said.

They entwined their fingers as she lowered herself onto him, all her muscles clenching. When she was fully seated on his cock, she sucked in a few deep breaths and slowly opened her eyes. Julian held her hands in his and waited patiently despite the quickened rise and fall of his chest.

She didn’t need to be the president of Embrette. She didn’t need an office on the highest floor. She didn’t need more money or status or control. She was enough. Her happiness was enough. Her pleasure and desire and love were enough.

She rolled her hips and gave into the sensation of Julian’s throbbing cock inside her. She fell into a steady pace as she rode him. With Julian’s thumb tracing circles along the side of her hand, she was soon at the edge. Julian had pushed her over it and into orgasm twice before, despite how he’d called her first orgasm a mini orgasm, which totally counted— this time, she was jumping off it.

Her moans quickened and grew louder and louder as her tits bounced and her thighs tightened. She was almost there, aroused so intensely she squeezed Julian’s hands tighter. Her body was covered in sweat, and the muscles along her legs ached, but she pushed harder and rode Julian rougher and faster.

He slid one hand from hers as she bit her lower lip. He caressed her cheek with such softness that goosebumps covered her from head to toe. That’s all it took to give her the courage to jump . . . and fly.

Her climax thundered through her, and best of all, he jumped with her, their bodies shaking in identical spasms of pleasure, their breaths hitched in the same rhythm, and their moans, his low and growly, and hers higher and frantic, harmonized so beautifully that she not only felt like she’d been propelled into heaven but as if she was being serenaded by the angels, as well.

* * *

For over an hour,they lay in each other’s arms, simply being present. Finally, Julian rose and went into the kitchen for water for them both. When he came back, he handed her a water bottle, but rather than getting back into bed with her, he sat on the window seat, one arm dangling off a raised knee, and looked out over the city.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

He turned around, leaning forward, his hands between his splayed knees. “When I was in foster care, going from house to house, the only time I had a room of my own was a back room that once had been an office. No window. Dank and dark and full of mildew.”

Skylar winced. “Sounds awful. I hope your foster family made up for it. Were they nice?”

A hooded expression crossed his face. “The first family I was with was terrible. The second was pretty good. I was with them the longest. That’s where I met Norah, my foster sister. But when Debbie, her mom, got pregnant with triplets, the system made me move.”

She sat upright. “Why was the first one so terrible?”

He stared at her for a moment, then lowered his head, staring at his hands.

When he didn’t answer, she struggled with whether to leave it alone. Instead, she got out of bed, walked up to him, and sank onto the floor at his feet. She took one of his hands in hers.

“Julian?”

56

Julian wouldn’t meet her eyes even when he started to speak.

“When I was fourteen years old, a friend of my foster parents snuck into my room at night. I’d been sleeping. She woke me up. I was disoriented. Confused. And the next thing I knew, my pants were down, and she was sucking my cock.”

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