Bad Behavior #1: Tales of an American Gigolo Read Online Free
Author: Childers Lewis
her face. Anticipation is a huge part of the process. She needs to want me. Taking a woman to ecstasy is as much mental as it is physical.
“Oh God,” she whispers. A flush creeps up her neck. Beneath her robe, her nipples poke against the fabric, tight and hard.
“If I see you out in public, I won’t acknowledge you unless you speak to me first and never when I’m with another client. I get tested regularly for STD’s. Here’s a copy of the results from the last test. I don’t ever have sex without a condom. It’s non-negotiable.” I hand the paper to her and wait as she scans through the results. When she’s done, I shove the paper back into a pocket of the backpack. “Everything we do is completely confidential. And I expect the same courtesy in return. As far as my services go, I’ll fuck you however you want. Anything outside of straight sex is an upcharge. Once we get started, you’re in control of the situation. If you want to stop, just the say the word, and we're done. This is your experience, and I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand.” She licks her lips like she’s parched and I’m a cold drink of water.
With slow movements, I cup one of her breasts in my hand, lift it, and flick the nipple with my thumb. She hisses out a sigh. The satin is soft in my palm. Her head falls back against the sofa. I pinch her nipple between my fingers. A shudder ripples down her body, and her eyelids lower. Fine lines bracket her eyes, spider webs of pain and experience. I lean forward and touch my lips to hers then slide my tongue into her mouth. The taste of bourbon burns my tongue.
When I pull back, she says, “I think I’m ready to go upstairs,” in a voice thick with desire. I smile at her, because I’m ready too.
Chapter 2
Mrs. Smith
BASTIEN TAKES my hand and leads me up the sweeping staircase. I've been up these stairs hundreds of times, but never once did I feel the way I feel now. Nervous. Excited. Naughty. My gaze takes in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and tight ass as he climbs the steps. The ends of his hair curl above the leather thong around his neck. Glimpses of bare skin peek through the rips in his faded jeans. He's taut, lean, and moves with the grace of an athlete. The callouses of his palm abrade my smooth one, and I can't wait to feel those rough hands on my body.
Inside my bedroom, his tall form fills the space. He sits on the edge of the bed, tugs me to him. My pulse jumps. I step inside the V of his thighs. His hands run up my arms, over my shoulders, and linger on my breasts. With agonizing slowness, he pulls the loose ends of my belt, and the robe falls open to reveal the lace teddy underneath. Was it silly—wearing my best lingerie for a stranger, something I’ve never worn for my husband? Not that Norman would ever notice. He’s always too busy with work, traveling, entertaining his secretary—the one he’s been fucking for the last six months.
I should feel guilty for breaking my marriage vows, something I’ve never done before. But I haven’t seen my husband in almost two months. We’ve spoken twice in that time—once about our daughter’s college graduation and once about the broken landscape sprinklers in the back yard. This doesn’t feel like cheating, though. It’s more like a spa treatment, or that’s what I tell myself. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had sex. It’s been over a year, and I’m ready. So, so ready.
“Take off your shirt.” My voice is husky, unfamiliar. The bulge behind the fly of his genes buoys my confidence. “Let me see you.”
Bastien doesn't hesitate. He reaches behind him and draws his shirt over his head. His chest is utter perfection, hard pecs, rippling abs, a trail of dark hair leading into his waistband. I take a step back to let him stand and watch as he unzips his jeans then pushes them down. His erection falls forward, long and heavy. The tip bobs between us.
“Oh God,” she whispers. A flush creeps up her neck. Beneath her robe, her nipples poke against the fabric, tight and hard.
“If I see you out in public, I won’t acknowledge you unless you speak to me first and never when I’m with another client. I get tested regularly for STD’s. Here’s a copy of the results from the last test. I don’t ever have sex without a condom. It’s non-negotiable.” I hand the paper to her and wait as she scans through the results. When she’s done, I shove the paper back into a pocket of the backpack. “Everything we do is completely confidential. And I expect the same courtesy in return. As far as my services go, I’ll fuck you however you want. Anything outside of straight sex is an upcharge. Once we get started, you’re in control of the situation. If you want to stop, just the say the word, and we're done. This is your experience, and I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand.” She licks her lips like she’s parched and I’m a cold drink of water.
With slow movements, I cup one of her breasts in my hand, lift it, and flick the nipple with my thumb. She hisses out a sigh. The satin is soft in my palm. Her head falls back against the sofa. I pinch her nipple between my fingers. A shudder ripples down her body, and her eyelids lower. Fine lines bracket her eyes, spider webs of pain and experience. I lean forward and touch my lips to hers then slide my tongue into her mouth. The taste of bourbon burns my tongue.
When I pull back, she says, “I think I’m ready to go upstairs,” in a voice thick with desire. I smile at her, because I’m ready too.
Chapter 2
Mrs. Smith
BASTIEN TAKES my hand and leads me up the sweeping staircase. I've been up these stairs hundreds of times, but never once did I feel the way I feel now. Nervous. Excited. Naughty. My gaze takes in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and tight ass as he climbs the steps. The ends of his hair curl above the leather thong around his neck. Glimpses of bare skin peek through the rips in his faded jeans. He's taut, lean, and moves with the grace of an athlete. The callouses of his palm abrade my smooth one, and I can't wait to feel those rough hands on my body.
Inside my bedroom, his tall form fills the space. He sits on the edge of the bed, tugs me to him. My pulse jumps. I step inside the V of his thighs. His hands run up my arms, over my shoulders, and linger on my breasts. With agonizing slowness, he pulls the loose ends of my belt, and the robe falls open to reveal the lace teddy underneath. Was it silly—wearing my best lingerie for a stranger, something I’ve never worn for my husband? Not that Norman would ever notice. He’s always too busy with work, traveling, entertaining his secretary—the one he’s been fucking for the last six months.
I should feel guilty for breaking my marriage vows, something I’ve never done before. But I haven’t seen my husband in almost two months. We’ve spoken twice in that time—once about our daughter’s college graduation and once about the broken landscape sprinklers in the back yard. This doesn’t feel like cheating, though. It’s more like a spa treatment, or that’s what I tell myself. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had sex. It’s been over a year, and I’m ready. So, so ready.
“Take off your shirt.” My voice is husky, unfamiliar. The bulge behind the fly of his genes buoys my confidence. “Let me see you.”
Bastien doesn't hesitate. He reaches behind him and draws his shirt over his head. His chest is utter perfection, hard pecs, rippling abs, a trail of dark hair leading into his waistband. I take a step back to let him stand and watch as he unzips his jeans then pushes them down. His erection falls forward, long and heavy. The tip bobs between us.
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