The Escort (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

5: In Which She Gets A-Head

He walked around the car and palmed the car keys into my hand. “Wanna see a party trick?”

“To be honest, I just want to go to bed.” And probably stoop to touching myself.

Before I could so much as blink, Ashton’s hand came around the back of my neck and he pressed his lips against mine, parting them for his tongue to enter. It was déjà vu. My Beemer was going to have nightmares about her owner being violated numerous times against her. I let out an involuntary purr, my head thrown back. As quickly as he’d kissed me, he pulled away again. His hands skimmed down the front of my dress and brushed against the hem.

“I have a headache,” I blurted out, gasping for air.

“I’ll relieve it,” he said curtly, pulling my hem up. Wind beat against my suddenly exposed skin but Ashton’s hands quickly warmed it. They slid between the delicate parting of my thighs and I breathed in with a sigh.

With practiced hands, he slipped my thong aside and played with the lips of my pússy. I pushed myself against him with a need I didn’t recognise, didn’t understand. Ashton’s eyes were trained on me as he slowly pushed a finger inside my heat. He slipped another deep inside me, brushing against my clít with his knuckle. Gripping his shoulders, I rocked against him, my breathing ragged.

He was punishing me but it didn’t feel like any punishment I’d ever been subjected to. As his fingers found my secret spot and dished out their torture, I felt the intense heat inside me emanate and envelope me, searing my nerves.

Ashton’s fingers disappeared and I moaned my disappointment. He lowered himself to waist level, crouching at my feet. Tugging at my dress, he pulled it over his head and then I felt the most amazing sensation I’d ever felt in my sexually deprived life. He parted the wet, sensitive folds of my pussylips with two fingers and I cried out when the fuzz of his five-o’clock shadow burned them.

His mouth...was...down there.

The novelty of it wore off as pleasure overtook. I grabbed a clump of his hair while he flicked his tongue inside me; laving me, tasting me. Being seen by one of the many residents in the complex was the least of my worries. Shoving my twat into his face, I ground it against him, aching for him to drive his tongue even deeper, to fill it completely. Ashton’s tongue was like a whirlpool of pleasure. He sucked on my swollen clít, his teeth brushing against it, taking the ecstasy to another level.

I came all over his face almost instantaneously, panting like a dog.

Ashton raised his head, getting to his feet. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face before wordlessly cleaning up the mess between my legs.

After a long moment of silence had passed, he said gruffly: “Now that’s what I call coming quickly, Amor. Have a good night.”

Turning on his heel, he disappeared into the shadows, whistling a merry tune.

I let out an angry scream.

***

“You look like shít,” Roxanne noted, pushing past me and heading into my living room with a brown paper bag. The smell of hot croissants and coffee was going to make me hurl. My stomach, however, was rumbling incessantly.

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” I said sardonically, gently closing the door. Even the faint snap of the lock made my head throb.

Roxanne, on the other hand, looked like the poster child of Eight-Hour-Sleep-and-Lots-of-Water. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and she wore an azure tank top and black spandex running shorts. Her white Skechers told me that she’d just come from a run. Roxanne was all about running. Her sexy pins told that story.