Chapter 2 | Mr. Kilborne, I presume?-2
765 Words
The girl will be there at 10.
That was what Michael's text had said. Only he didn't say if it was 10 in the morning or evening, and of course, any reasonable person had to assume he'd meant evening.
Who the hell sends over an escort this early in the day?
Mason was caught off-guard, and nothing angered him more than being put in a spot like that.
Nevertheless, he felt a twinge of guilt at the rather crude way with which he'd thrown the girl out of his apartment. She was only doing her job, after all. It wasn't her fault Michael had her do this despite Mason's refusal to accept his... gift.
“Edgar,” he said, speaking to the intercom. His voice betrayed his annoyance. “That young woman who was just here — why did you let her up?”
“Mr. Kilborne, I thought she was your cousin. Is there...” Mason could almost hear the man swallow hard on the other end of the line. “Is there a problem?”
Bloody hell. “My cousin is a man, Edgar. Do ask to see some identification next time, will you?”
“Y-y-yes, sir. I'm sorry sir. Uhm, should I ring you when he comes?”
“No. Just send him straight up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“After you ask to see his ID.”
“Yes, Mr. Kilborne, sir.”
Mason shook his head. It was unbelievable how inept the new reception man was. Granted, he'd only been on the job three weeks, but one should at the very least expect him to not get conned into letting a w**********l into Mason's apartment without warning.
He looked down at himself, realizing he looked utterly looked unprepared for female company, paid or otherwise. But she made no secret of how intensely she had been staring at him. He suppressed a smirk, remembering how long she must have been watching him on those pull-up bars. At least she'd gotten a good show, even if she hadn't made any money off him today.
As he walked into his bedroom, he recalled her face. Physically, the girl herself was nothing like he expected. Not that he'd eagerly actually put any thought into what she might look like. But she was rather... healthy for someone in her line of work. A size four, at least. And she'd clearly not had any work done to fill out what looked like a size B cup. Most of the escorts he'd seen some of his colleagues and business acquaintances parade around were usually stick-thin, with alarmingly hefty chests.
He dropped his gym shorts and boxers and tossed them into a hamper in his closet. As he stepped n***d into the bathroom, he tried to put the incident out of his mind. The girl was no great beauty, after all. He would describe her facial features as plain. Except there was something oddly attractive about her eyes when you saw them up close. And the way her lips parted just before she spoke...
Why the b****y hell was he still thinking about the girl?
Mason shook his head as he turned on the steam shower. He sure as hell wasn't planning to avail of her services. Ideally, it was best if they never saw each other again.
Of course, he couldn't help being curious about the plain-faced woman who was supposed to be Michael Sorensen's favorite escort. If one made a living from s*x, one is expected to at least be reasonably attractive.
Then the thought hit him as he stood in the shower, under the spray of hot water: Perhaps the unassuming Ms. Andrada was simply mind-blowingly good in bed.
That, he could easily imagine.
She was a little too young for his taste — perhaps nineteen. Except there was a certain intelligence in her eyes that one does not see too often in the very young. Twenty-one, twenty-two maybe? It was doubtful she was anywhere older than twenty-five. Her skin was clear and fresh. Her breasts — the outline of which was enticingly visible under her white dress — looked quite firm and rose proudly every time she breathed.
Mason grinned to himself as he rubbed shampoo into his hair. Yes, he could easily believe the girl could be a pleasure in bed.
The image of her and Michael together came to mind, unbidden.
You'll like her, I promise.
Mason's nostrils flared with annoyance. Mikey, she called him. Mason couldn't quite picture her calling Michael that name in bed.
Mason. Oh, Mason.
The image in Mason's head changed, and it was now him and the girl. n***d in bed. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist.
She cried out his name softly as he filled her with his—
He looked down to find he had unconsciously taken his stiff and turgid c**k in his hand.
- Writer
