Chapter 13

chapter 13

ANTHONY

Fuck me.

Fuck me hard. No lube.

I’m an idiot, and idiots don’t deserve lube.

What the hell was I thinking? I should have seen this coming. Maya’s a small-town girl from rural Maine; Weaver’s also originally from rural Maine and is now dating a woman from his hometown. Hell, I sent a friend of mine up there to help him troubleshoot issues with his family business almost two months ago.

I should have remembered the place was called Sea Breeze. If I had, the second Maya told me where she was from that night at the club, I could have ended things right then and there.

And I would have. At that point, Maya was an intriguing possibility, but one I would have been able to resist in the name of not royally fucking up my life. Getting caught pretending to be a prostitute by a friend and former employee—the same man who’s on my shortlist of people to take over for me at Baxter and Holloway—isn’t on my holiday wish list.

But now…

Now, the thought of letting Maya walk out of my life makes me physically ill. And angry. I want to fight the person threatening to ruin things with this woman with my bare hands, but that person is…myself.

Fuck me.

The mantra pounds through my head as our cab winds through the darkening streets of Lower Manhattan. I squeeze Maya’s thigh and her head rests trustingly on my shoulder in the cozy back seat, but all I can think about is how quickly this perfect thing is going to implode.

How quickly she’s going to learn to hate me…

Or at least think I’m one twisted son of a bitch.

She and Sully aren’t just acquaintances; they’re best friends from childhood. If we were to try to make a go of this in the real world, there’s literally no way we could avoid running into Weaver and his soon-to-be fiancé. He told me he plans to pop the question at Sully’s friend’s New Year’s Eve party, right before they head back to the city. No matter how hard I might try to keep my relationship and friendships separate, it would only be a matter of time before fantasy and reality collided with disastrous results.

My house of cards is about to come crashing down, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Nothing, except for ending things with Maya on New Year’s Day, the way we originally planned, and I can’t do that. After just twenty-four hours, I’m pretty sure Maya’s the person I’ve been waiting for, the one I was beginning to doubt was out there. Her sweetness, her humor, her good heart and passion and big dreams—it’s like she was made for me.

And I was made for her.

The only thing I’ve lied about is my job. Everything else I’ve shared with her has been the real deal. The feelings growing between us are, too.

But do I have a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing her of that?

I don’t know. I need advice, perspective, and there’s only one person I can contact about a problem with my fake escort client.

My phone burns in my pocket, but I can’t text Twyla with Maya pressed against me, asking if there’s anything I want to add to the grocery delivery she’s assembling. She wants to cook for me tonight, to thank me for the perfect day.

She’s so good, so trusting.

And I’m starting to feel like the villain in a gothic novel, taking advantage of the innocent young woman entrusted into his care.

Thanks to a traffic jam in the Flatiron District, by the time we reach the apartment, our groceries are already waiting in the lobby. I gather the larger bag, while Maya takes the smaller one, and we trudge up the five floors to the apartment. Which is, of course, another lie. I don’t live in a fifth-story walk-up. I live in a luxury building, with a doorman and staff who deliver my groceries to my penthouse and put them neatly away before I get home from work.

Inside, Maya heads straight for the kitchen, pushing up the sleeves on her sweater. “Prepare yourself for greatness,” she announces. “My grandmother’s shepherd’s pie is the stuff of legend. She has a top-secret blend of seasonings she uses on the lamb that she only shares with immediate family members. And you have to memorize the recipe. She refuses to write it down. I think she seriously believes someone might break into her house to steal it.”

“Sounds like I’d better make myself scarce,” I say, with what I hope passes for a normal smile. “To preserve the family secret.”

She winks. “Nah, you can watch if you want. You’ll just have to close your eyes when I apply the rub.”

“I never want to close my eyes when you’re applying a rub,” I quip, making her laugh and a fresh wave of self-loathing rush through my chest. But I couldn’t stop flirting with her if I tried.

Which means I have to figure a way out of this mess.

Stat.

“And I have a few emails I need to handle,” I add, nodding toward the stairs. “Mind if I grab my laptop and head upstairs? I can come help set the table and make salads in a bit.”

“Yeah, no worries. Take your time. I’ve got this.” She’s already pulling ingredients from the bags and laying them out on the island. “Pudge will keep me company. He loves to help cook.”

Summoned by the sound of his name, her massive orange baby emerges from under the desk in the office nook under the stairs with a meow that seems to say, “You called?” that makes us both smile.

“There he is,” Maya coos. “How was your day, buddy? Ours was great.”

Pudge meows again, pausing to headbutt my leg as I pass and purring as I reach down to rub his scruff. Guilt twists my stomach all over again.

Now I’m starting to feel like shit for deceiving a cat.

“I’ll be back down in few,” I say, practically bolting for the stairs.

Once I’m safe in the bedroom with the door closed behind me, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot a text to Twyla— THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN. I just found out that Maya is friends with Sully. WEAVER’S Sully. As in my friend and former VP of Acquisitions, who knows that I am not now, and have never been, a male prostitute.

Thankfully, Twyla responds immediately.

But her response leaves a fuck ton to be desired.

Twyla: Shit! That’s right. You’re the one who gave Weaver a member reference, aren’t you? Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Anthony, I completely forgot about that.

Anthony How could you forget? That’s how he was able to skip the waiting list!

Twyla: Yes, I know! Or, I remember that now, anyway. But you’ve never come into the club with him, Anthony! So, the two of you were never connected in my mind. Honestly, I’ve seen more of Weaver in the past few years than I have of you. We developed our own relationship and I just… I guess I started to think of him as MY friend and forgot that he was your friend first. So, when he asked me to do him a favor and give his girlfriend’s bestie a discount and a hook-up with the safest escort I could find, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Anthony: Fuck, Twyla. Just…fuck.

Twyla: I’m sorry! I know this is bad, but we can figure it out. Just give me a second to think.

I curse, passing faster in front of the windows, where the last of the sunset light is fading to a deep purple bruise above the snow-covered city.

This is bad. So fucking bad.

Even worse than I thought.

Twyla: You gave her a fake last name, right? When you two met in the suite? The way I told you to?

Anthony: Yes. She thinks I’m Anthony Clark not Anthony Pissarro.

Twyla: Okay, great! Then, why are you stressing? There’s nothing to worry about, my friend. Weaver is out of town and isn’t getting back until January 2nd. That’s why he asked me to take special care of Maya. He knew he would be away from the city for her entire visit! Your contract with Maya ends the morning of New Year’s Day so you you’ll be fine.

Anthony: And if I don’t want it to end?

Twyla: Oh no. You didn’t…

Anthony: Didn’t what? Start to have feelings for her? This amazing woman you practically thrust into my lap? What did you think was going to happen? I’m not a professional, Twyla. I don’t know how to hold someone like Maya at a distance.

Twyla: It’s only been a day!

Anthony: I know! She’s really fucking amazing, all right?

Twyla: And you’ve been lonely for a long time, haven’t you? I’m sorry, Anthony. I should have seen this coming. I should have realized you’d be vulnerable to the Pretending Trap. I don’t hire emotionally fragile escorts for this exact reason. They get sucked into the pretend and start thinking it’s real, which only leads to hurt on both sides.

Anthony: I’m not emotionally fragile.

Twyla: You walked out on your job in the middle of a board meeting. The job that was basically your entire life. You’re not just fragile; you’re probably in the middle of a mental breakdown. And instead of helping you find a therapist or a life coach, I put you in a situation where you’re going to get your heart broken.

Anthony: I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Maya. And you should be, too. She’s the innocent party, here. She’s the one we both lied to.

From downstairs, I hear Maya singing along to something playing on her phone. The scent of garlic and herbs wafts up the stairs, homey and inviting. My chest aches with the domesticity of it all.

With how right it feels to have her in my kitchen, in my life.

This isn’t the result of emotional fragility or a midlife crisis. This is real, and I’m pretty sure it’s real on both sides.

The way Maya looks at me…

Well, if that isn’t the look of a woman with feelings, I don’t know what is.

Twyla: I didn’t lie. I told her you were a relatively new hire. And I do fully intend to pay you your cut of the fee if you’ll let me.

Anthony: Try it and see how fast I rip that check to shreds.

Twyla: I would send you a direct transfer through the company payroll not a check, psycho, but okay. I hear you. You don’t want to be paid; you want to play house with this woman. Why not just tell her the truth, then? I obviously don’t know her well, but she seemed like an empathetic person. And you’re a gorgeous, successful, self-made man who can buy her a condo and a multi-national corporation for her birthday. What’s not to like about a secret like that?

Anthony: She isn’t that kind of person. I honestly don’t think she’d care about the money. She’d care that I lied to her and deceived her and took her virginity under false pretenses.

Twyla: So, you’ve already sealed the deal, huh? Good job, Pissarro! I wasn’t sure you had it in you. I’m assuming it was lovely for you both?

Anthony: That’s private. Between the two of us.

Twyla: Oh wow, you ARE falling hard, aren’t you? Have you stopped to think this might just be lust at first sight? Not true love? Maybe you should enjoy the week and see how things go. By day five, you might have fucked this out of your system, and the problem will have solved itself.

Anthony: That’s not going to happen. I know myself, Twyla. I know this is fast, but it’s real. I thought love at first sight was bullshit, too. My aunt and uncle swear they were in love halfway through their first trip to Coney Island when they were teenagers, but I never believed them. I figured they were seeing the past through rose-colored glasses. That years of being happily married had altered their perspective. But now…

Twyla: Now you’re having feelings for a girl you barely know.

Anthony: But I feel like I do know her. I feel like I’ve known her for a long time, and like I’ve been waiting for a woman like her for even longer. She’s just…special. Beautiful and kind and funny and someone I already admire so much. And I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.

Twyla: Aw, well shit. Now I’m getting choked up. You just warmed my jaded heart. For real. I hate that!

Anthony: I’m sorry.

Twyla: No, I’m sorry. I feel terrible about putting you in this position. Both of you. Let me see what solutions I can come up with. I’ll chew on it and get back to you as soon as I can.

But in the meantime, just try to enjoy yourself, okay? You deserve some fun in your life and so does she. You don’t save up the kind of cash this woman has saved working at a rental management company without busting your ass and cutting back on everything but the bare necessities.

She sacrificed for this experience and she deserves a beautiful one, whether it ends with the two of you giving a relationship a try or not. So, don’t ruin it by running away tonight, okay? Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Just hang tight, have an amazing time, and I will do my best to come up with a seamless transition strategy by New Year’s Eve.

You’re coming to the party at the club, right?

I told Maya I included a ticket for both of you with her fee.

Anthony: We haven’t discussed it.

Twyla: Discuss it. And make plans to be here. That way I can help massage the situation in person, and you’ll both be guaranteed a fabulous New Year’s experience! Not to brag, but my parties are pretty epic.

Anthony: No offense, but I don’t like the idea of sharing Maya like that. I like to keep my sex life behind closed doors.

Twyla: Then you guys can stay upstairs, Mr. Prude. Or book a private room. People make sacrifices to the dark lord for these tickets, Anthony, and you’re getting one for free. Don’t look a fairy godmother gift horse in the mouth. And don’t make it harder for me to help you solve this problem.

Anthony: Fine. I’ll discuss it with her.

Twyla: Good. Now, go have fun. I’ll reach out soon, but right now I have to tell the king of some country I’ve never heard of that he can’t bring armed guards into my establishment tomorrow night. No guns allowed. Not even for royalty.

Anthony: Good luck. And thanks. I appreciate the help, even if you are the one who got me into this mess in the first place.

Twyla: I also apparently introduced you to the love of your life, so…I’m still the best. Later, friend!

The love of my life…

I don’t know if that’s true, but I can’t deny that I can’t wait to get back downstairs. Even ten minutes away from Maya feels like an intolerable depravation.

The thought of never seeing her again because she’s decided to hate me for being a dirty, rotten liar is deeply disturbing.

I sink onto the bed, running a hand through my hair. Through the tinted glass windows, I see snow starting to fall again. We haven’t gotten this much snow in December in years. The city has grown so warm over the past decade that there have been times when the parks couldn’t keep the outdoor ice rinks frozen.

But all of a sudden, it’s like climate change decided to take a year off and give us all that white holiday season we remember from when we were kids.

The city looks magical, the way it did last night when everything still seemed possible.

The sound of Maya’s laughter drifts up the stairs—she must be playing with Pudge. It’s a sweet sound, genuine, just like everything else about her. Maya is just Maya, boldly, bravely herself in a way so few people are. In a way I appreciate so fucking much. I don’t want to play any part in teaching this kind, genuine woman that it isn’t safe to be open and trusting.

She deserves the truth from me and one hell of an apology.

But she also deserves that stress-free, sexy good time she paid for.

I’ll have to find a way to walk the line between truth and fiction, and hope she’ll forgive me when I finally come clean.

“Or I could ask her to run away to an island off the coast of Greece with her male escort and never come home,” I murmur, the thought more than a little tempting.

But I’ve learned my lesson from my impulsive break from my company. Running away has only created more problems. And I don’t really want to run away with Maya. I want to welcome her into my life and maybe even…build a life together.

It’s crazy, but I’m already there, already dreaming about a future with this woman.

But when I get downstairs to find Maya lounging on the couch in the living room in a silky jade robe that hugs her curves, it feels less crazy.

I mean…fuck. She’s stunning, from the tips of her toes to the mischievous smile curving her lips as she looks up from the copy of Sense and Sensibility she’s pulled off the shelf.

“Pie’s in the oven, but it takes seventy-five minutes to cook. So, I slipped into something a little more comfortable.” She rolls a shoulder, causing the robe to slide farther down one shoulder, revealing the interior curve of her breast, making my mouth go dry. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I mind,” I say, my voice low and rough as I start across the room, stripping my sweater off and tossing it to the ground as I go. “I mind very much.”

“Oh no, I hope I’m not in trouble,” she says, her eyes dancing as she tosses the book onto the cushion, her gaze still locked on mine.

“Never. But you’d better get your ass up those stairs if you don’t want to be fucked on that couch where anyone looking in might see us.” My t-shirt goes next before I stop in front of her, reaching for the close of my pants.

She bites her bottom lip, the hunger in her expression making me harder. “If a person were worried about things like that, seems like they should have invested in drapes.”

“Are you criticizing my décor, Ms. Swallows?” I ask, drawing my zipper slowly down, the sight of her nipples tight against the satin of her robe nearly enough to undo me.

She shakes her head as she reaches up, guiding the fabric slowly off her creamy white shoulders, then the tops of her breasts, then those pale peach nipples I can’t wait to feel hard against my tongue. “Never, Mr. Clark. I kind of like the idea that someone might see. Is that wrong?” She reaches for the close of my pants, her hands brushing mine as she curls her fingers around the top of my boxer briefs, adding in a whisper that destroys the last of my control, “And I also want to learn how to give an incredible blow job. Do you think there’s time before dinner?”

“Dinner can wait,” I say, threading my fingers into the hair at the back of her neck and fisting the silky strands. “And so can blow jobs. I need to be inside you, right fucking now.”

I pull her up by the back of her neck while fisting her hair, her moan of desire as her lips crash into mine assuring me it was the right thing to do. Her arms tremble as they go around my neck, her entire body joining in the vibration as I cup her breast in my free hand, squeezing her fullness as I circle her nipple with my thumb. “God, yes. I’ve been dying for you to touch me. All day, it’s all I could think about.”

“All day,” I agree, kissing her harder, the need for her building even faster than it did in the shower this morning.

She sucks in another sharp breath as I lift her into my arms, guiding her legs around my hips as I carry her over to the chair in the corner, the one with its broad back to the window.

I don’t mind the thought of some stranger seeing what we’re up to—I find it as hot as she does, in fact—but no one is going to see Maya’s face when she comes except me.

I guide her down onto the ottoman lounge, loosening the tie at her waist and spreading the robe open before quickly disposing of the rest of my clothes. The happy sigh that escapes her lips as I lengthen myself on top of her, nudging her thighs wider so I can press the hot length of my cock against where she’s already so hot and wet goes straight to my chest.

“How do you do this?” she asks, whimpering as I roll her nipple tighter between my finger and thumb as she writhes beneath me.

“Do what, beautiful?” I ask, grinding against her clit, sweat breaking out between my shoulders despite the chill in the room. Fighting the urge to take her right now, to slam home and ride her hard and deep is taking more control than it should.

She’s still so new to all this, and probably sore from last night and this morning, but it’s hard to remember that with her slick heat all over my shaft and her nails clawing into my shoulders.

“Make me feel like I’m going to die if I don’t have you?” Her nails drag down to the base of my spine, the slight sting turning me on nearly as much as the lust drunk slur of her words as she begs, “Inside me, Anthony. Please. I want you so much. I want you so deep I can’t feel anything but you.”

Without a beat of hesitation, I give her what she’s begging for.

I enter her in one slow, unrelenting stroke, her gasp as she takes every inch making my head spin.

“Yes, yes,” she chants, lifting into my thrust, taking me just that tiny bit deeper, until my balls are cradled in the soft curves of her ass and the feel of her so hot and tight around me destroys the last of my rational mind.

I’m rougher than I was last night, less controlled, pumping into her hard and fast, until the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, punctuated by her gasps and the occasional curse ripped from my throat. But she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she’s right there with me, bucking into my cock.

I shouldn’t come inside her again, but I can’t stop myself. The feel of her pulsing around me as she cries my name calls to some primal part of me, a part that demands I empty my balls inside her.

That I mark her as mine.

That I leave her so well-loved and filled with my come that she’ll never have any reason to go looking for anyone else.

I’ve never wanted children—being abandoned by both my parents left me fairly certain I’m unprepared to care for a child—but right now, that primal instinct likes the thought of fucking a baby into the sweet woman catching her breath beneath me.

“You destroy me,” I murmur into her hair.

She wraps her arms and legs tighter around me, holding me close. “Me, too. But you also make everything better. I never imagined it would be like this. So easy and…right.”

It is right, and so fucking wrong.

I shouldn’t be fantasizing about knocking up a woman half my age who I’ve lied to since the moment we met. But images of Maya big with my baby, with her breasts and belly swollen with our child, won’t stop dancing through my head, making me so hot I’m already getting hard again.

She blinks up at me, her eyes widening slightly as I pull back before stroking slowly back inside her. “I thought you… Didn’t you?”

I nod, my lips hooking up on one-side. “Yeah, I did, but…then you whispered in my ear. Apparently, that’s all it takes.”

Her lips part as I begin to thrust into her again, slow and easy this time, taking my time. I hold her gaze and this perfect woman lets me into the depths of her soul. There are no walls, no barriers, just her hope and need bare to me as we reach the edge again.

“Oh, Anthony,” she whispers as she begins to vibrate beneath me. “Oh, Anthony, It’s almost too much. Too good. I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” I assure her, reaching down to rub her clit with my thumb as I continue to rock into her, slow and deep. “And keep your eyes on me when you do, baby. I want to memorize how fucking beautiful you look when you come for me.”

“Oh, God,” she says, trembling harder. “Oh, God, Anthony. Yes, oh God, yes.” She comes, her lashes fluttering, but her gaze still locked on mine as her orgasm takes her.

I come a beat later, feeling my face contort with bliss, but giving her the same trust she’s giving me. I don’t look away or close my eyes or bury my face in the curve of her neck. I show her what she does to me and she rewards me by coming for me again, her second, swift orgasm so intense that her slick heat grips me like a fist.

And it is by far the hottest, sweetest sex of my life.

By the time we catch our breath again, I can’t fight the urge to confess, “This isn’t pretend for me. Not even a little bit.”

“It’s not for me, either.” The relief and joy mingling in her gaze hurt as much as they comfort.

Is this going to make it harder or easier to hear my confession, when the time is right?

I don’t know. But I know now isn’t the time. I refuse to ruin this moment for her. Or for myself.

Call me a selfish bastard, but I don’t want to mar the memory of the first time we confessed we have feelings for each other with any ugliness.

I’m still pretending, I guess, but not about the things that count.

The warm, perfect feeling in my chest as Maya and I take another shower and sit down to share the amazing meal she’s made is real.

Maybe the realest thing I’ve ever felt, and I’m going to fight like hell to keep it—and Maya—close.

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