9. Ethan
NINE
ETHAN
So that happened.
And I can’t find it in myself to regret it. Maybe that makes me a terrible person, but my marriage was dead years ago.
This isn’t some revenge plot. I never expected this, nor did I plan to screw around while in LA.
Aurora is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The woman of all my desires rests on my chest, soft and affectionate, and a part of me wants this moment to last forever—although I know it can’t.
I’m still trying to catch my breath and recover from the most incredible post-sex high I can remember. My mind is spinning, blown away by how beautifully she responds to me. Few women truly crave dominance the way she does.
My wife doesn’t. She views my behavior as chauvinistic and abhors anything outside of vanilla sex. To put it bluntly, she lacks any enthusiasm for sex. At least with me. Who knows what shit she’s into with the prick she fucks behind my back.
I can’t deny I want to experience this with Aurora again, particularly the part where I’m inside her. She reignited a flame I extinguished long ago.
My thoughts stray to the different ways we could have fun together, and not only in the bedroom. It’s not solely about sex—though that was fucking phenomenal. It’s about being wanted and desired.
Needed.
I brush her cheek with the back of my knuckles. She’s still flushed, her eyes half-lidded, her lips swollen and red.
My dick takes notice, ready for another round. “Where do we go from here, pretty girl?”
She stiffens in my arms before sitting up on my lap. “What do you mean?”
My greedy gaze lowers to her perfect tits, down to her tight stomach, and further to her smooth pussy. I twitch inside her. Yeah, I want more of this. Fuck, I wish I didn’t have a meeting early in the morning.
I struggle to brush aside my lust-fueled thoughts and focus on the question at hand. Where do I go from here? Not returning to my estranged wife, that’s for damn sure. But how do I tell a twenty-something-year-old escort I met merely hours ago that I want more?
She’ll think I’m crazy.
I am crazy for thinking this.
“How does this work? To see you, do I schedule with your agency?” I pinch her nipple, and her walls squeeze around my already thickening length. “Fuck, you’re unreal.”
She whimpers, feminine and erotic. “Yes, you book through the website.”
I can’t stop from touching her, palming her breasts, grinding against her. I’m hooked. “Okay. And someday, will I have the opportunity to take you on a proper date?”
I don’t mind covering the expenses or having my agent cover them. I know Aurora needs the money. But I also know I’ll resent her being with other men. Ironic, considering I’m married…for now.
She’s silent, perhaps thinking the same thing. Without uttering a word, she rises to her knees, releasing me from her warmth, and slips from my lap. She sits across from me and reaches for her thong, and I stare at her in confusion.
I rake my fingers through my hair. “What is happening? Am I overstepping? Do you only see me as a client?”
She doesn’t answer me, snatches her dress off the floor, and drags it over her head. I clench my jaw. I hate being ignored.
Taking her lead, I go to fix my pants, and the sight of my exposed cock has me freezing in place. My heart stops dead, and the blood drains from my face.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She shakes her head but doesn’t make eye contact. “That’s not it. I recently ended a terrible relationship. I can’t?—”
Panicking, I interrupt her. “Please tell me you’re on birth control.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “What?”
I remove the condom. It’s torn. Ice runs through my veins. The gravity of the situation slams into me harder than any hit in the NHL, harder than catching my wife with another man. I’ve never wanted kids. I don’t want kids.
I shove the condom in my pocket and tuck my dick away. “The condom broke. Are you on birth control?” I demand, my voice full of fear and irritation.
The last fucking thing I need is for my wife to discover I knocked up an escort while I’m divorcing her.
Aurora lifts her chin. “Yes, I’m on birth control, and before you ask, I got tested before I returned to the agency. I assure you, I’m clean.”
“As did I, after I caught my wife cheating. But listen, you’re a nice girl?—”
She tilts her head back and laughs incredulously. “Ethan, stop.” She glances at the map on her phone. Her expression is stern, her shoulders tense. “We’re almost at my place. You don’t owe me any explanation, and to be honest, I highly doubt we’ll see each other again. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Why are you mad?” I throw my arms up in frustration. “I’m married!”
Her eyes, glassy with emotion, narrow into a sharp glare. “Are we back to that? If the ring on your finger wasn’t obvious enough, you’ve made it well known on multiple occasions.” The limo comes to a halt, and she shoves her bra into her purse. Rechecking her phone, she mutters, “Yet it didn’t stop you from fucking me.”
My palms burn with the urge to correct her bratty attitude. “You’re an escort. Isn’t that what you’re paid to do?” My voice escalates in anger, driven by the irrational need to justify myself.
And great, now I’m no better than her ex.
She leans in, meeting my anger head-on. “You’re right. I am an escort. Which you were aware of when you picked me up, married or not. What does that make you? A married man openly out with an escort, who, let me remind you, you asked out on a date. ‘A proper date,’ as you put it.”
I’m stunned, speechless. The mouth on this fucking girl. And here I thought she was submissive.
Grasping the door handle, she pauses. “Just so you know, not all escorts fuck their clients. That’s a personal choice made at their discretion. Maybe read your contract more thoroughly next time.”
With that final nail in my coffin, she slams the door, leaving me astonished, ashamed, and surprisingly invigorated. I haven’t felt this alive in years.
I throw my head back and burst into laughter.