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lines of his body, his abs jumping beneath my fingers as he exhaled. My hand moved lower, sliding under the sheet, a growl coming from his throat as I closed my hand around him, the thick muscle awakening underneath my touch. “Don’t start unless you want more.”
    “Of that?” I teased. “I’ll always want more.” I gave him a final squeeze and then released, dragging my hand back up to his chest, wanting a few more minutes of this. Brant was relaxed, his intensity subdued to a level that was adorable, his eyes currently closed against the pillow, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest underneath my hand.
    We lay there in silence for a bit, after-sex pleasures still shooting the occasional synapsis in my limbs. I closed my eyes and replayed the sex. I didn’t enter this relationship a virgin. I’d had my share of lovers, seven or eight if I had to guess. I’d had orgasms. A few freaky nights where I’d walked on the wilder side of the sheets. But I’d never had the sex I’d had with Brant. A full session with a man where the focus was on one thing: my pleasure. His orgasm came, it was always included, the final act, but it was a side effect, not the goal. Brant’s goal, each and every time, was to leave me sated, every possible orgasm pulled, tugged, and yanked from my body with his greedy hands, mouth, and cock.
    I wrapped my leg around him, pulled tighter. Felt his hand squeeze me in response. “Tell me about the escorts.” I didn’t know where that came from; it jumped from my lips without warning. Beneath me, I felt Brant’s body tighten a bit, his hand stopping the lazy exploration of my skin that it had started.
    “What have you heard?”
    “Hundreds. That they came here, not your home.”
    “This is closer to the office. And… I have too many valuables at home, my work, my privacy. This worked better.”
    I propped my chin on his chest and watched his face, his blue eyes coming to mine. “Hundreds?” I asked.
    He frowned. “No. Over the last twenty years…” He shrugged. “There have probably been fifteen.”
    I digested the number. On one hand, it was more than mine. On the other, it was less than I had expected. “And… why prostitutes?”
    He blushed, something I had never seen from him. “Pleasing a woman… it’s important to me. I wanted to be taught, by a professional.”
    “Taught?”
    He moved a curl of hair from my cheek. Wrapped it around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. “I was young the first time. Seventeen. Had never even kissed a girl before, my whole world pretty much confined to the basement. I wanted to date, my hormones were going nuts, but Jillian and my parents didn’t want me running around town flagging down the first girl I saw.”
    “So they ordered you a prostitute?” I pushed up off his chest, the motion causing my breasts to move, his eyes dropping to them, a deep exhale easing from his chest as he took a moment, his hands sliding up my back and curving forward, cupping my breasts with reverence. “Brant,” I said, trying to focus as he shifted total concentration to my chest. “Brant,” I repeated. “Your parents got you a prostitute?”
    “No,” he mumbled, trying to pull me higher, his mouth coming up, kissing my neck and trying to make its way lower. “Jillian got me Bridget McCullen, an eighteen-year-old girl straight off the pages of my fantasies.”
    “A prostitute,” I repeated, sliding lower, moving my breasts farther away, the new position letting me feel exactly how much my body affected him. I grinned despite myself.
    He finally looked up. “Well, I didn’t know she was a prostitute. Jillian had her knock on the door one day when I was home alone. The girl pretty much dragged me from the basement to my room. Gave me my first blow job and made me forget all about computers for a good three minutes.”
    “Isn’t that… illegal? You were seventeen. She’s your aunt! That’s creepy in so many different ways