Disinherited trust fund baby becomes an escort specializing in helping older women live their wildest romantic fantasies. (MATURE)
CHASTAIN DEVILLIER, 20, is the loose cannon in a wealthy family descended from two very long and very aristocratic B...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He kissed me and kissed me and kissed me...
And I just gave in and fell back against the mirror while he did that soft, fluttery tickle over the silk down below that opened the petals and got the nectar running.
My "tunnel of love" wanted more than fingers, though. I looked him in the eyes, breathing all crazy and fast--he had about 10 seconds to shuck those jeans off. And I came the minute that joystick slid into the wet depths. Bucked 'til our legs kind of gave out--we missed crashing into the bowl and bidet by a scant inch on the way down.
And then we lay there panting a bit, before I looked over into those eyes I loved so much. "We've been spending an awful lot of time on bathroom floors lately."
"Well, it's your fault this time. All that groping..."
"All those sex scenes—who chose that movie?"
He sat up against the vanity behind us. "My mother, actually."
"Tryin'a get her some grandchildren right quick, huh?"
"Wouldn't put it past her. She's become frighteningly domestic suddenly—you've got a little necklace thing going on there, love..."
I eased myself up to peek at myself in the big mirror opposite the vanity and slapped his thigh for the "choker" of raspberry hickeys. But they really were more my fault than his.
See, they had a complete theater in that house, his parents. Just like the smaller rooms in those multiplexes. With soda, popcorn, that hot dog thing that goes around--full snack bar.
And when the lights went down and those damned sex scenes kept coming and coming, I wanted some o' that, too. So, I'd started snuggling and stroking 'til we kind of had to go relieve some of the pressure.
Found this little bathroom somewhere in the maze of big old rooms and hallways heading every which way--I'd never seen anything like that house. A three-story palace with huge windows, glistening like a tiara on top of a big old foothill.
I don't even know how many acres of pristine desert came with it. But there wasn't another manmade structure in sight for miles. It was like being on another planet, almost.
The day they invited us to do a walk-through with them, I stood there on one of the terraces, staring out at the salmon pink mountains and turquoise blue sky, trying to understand why I couldn't just relax and wish them well.
Because I loved them more and more every day, I truly did. And I knew that Papa Guy had paid some serious dues. The man even had a piece of shrapnel near his spine from a suicide bombing. Stabbed like a knife sometimes, but he never complained.
