Chapter Five
Ravi
“Do you think I need to tell Brennan? About all of Liam’s questions?”
My fellow escort, Dean, is behind me, pretending to grind while I lean my head back against his chest. Or sort of more like his stomach? He’s at least a foot taller than me. It’s awkward.
The party we’re performing at tonight is quiet enough for us to talk. Unlike some of the parties rich college kids and twenty-somethings throw, there’s no pounding music or flashing lights.
It’s strange. Gleaming hardwood floors and a baby grand piano. Lots of drinks and cigars and low lighting. It’s what I imagine a stuffy cocktail party would be like, only someone decided to toss in some go-go dancers.
Oh, and the attendees are all men. So are all the catering staff, as far as I can tell.
Dean chews his lip as he considers my question. “When in doubt, always talk to Brennan. If you even think a little bit that something might be an issue, it’s better if he knows first. Trust me.”
“Got it. You’re right. That makes sense.” The thing is, I don’t want to start a fight. Brennan Doyle is a criminal, and Liam hunts criminals. That could be bad.
Dean makes a good point, though, and I trust his opinion. A lot of the other escorts think he’s not the brightest star in the sky, but he’s wise in a way a lot of people aren’t. Probably because he’s got a kid, so all of his decisions are based on what’s safest or most practical.
Liam would probably disagree, but I’m actually good with doing the safe thing so long as it’s practical. Liam, on the other hand, likes safe and impractical.
Speaking of impractical… Usually these parties have some kind of a stage or something.
A platform for us to dance on. This one is different.
We’re in some rich guy’s condo; the music is sensual and drum-based but fairly quiet.
Reminds me of the “chill-out room” they had once when I went to a rave.
But the lack of a designated space for us means sometimes the customers creep in a little too close.
Adam and Troy are a few feet away, dancing on the other side of the piano. They move almost like they’re one person.
It’s a small crowd, with all the attendees in business attire. Which makes it feel weirder that I’m over here dancing in nothing but a pair of skintight shorts.
In front of us is a cluster of older, wealthy men drinking cocktails and studying us all with naked interest in their eyes. They all speak too quietly for me to hear what they’re saying, but I know it’s about us based on the way they nod and stare.
They’re sizing us up. Appraising.
“Try not to think too hard about it,” Dean murmurs from behind me. “We’re basically here to be art. Furniture. Like that weird carved table over in the corner.”
Occasionally the group of men will edge closer, one at a time or gathered in clusters.
Brennan made it clear to the party host that there’s no touching allowed, but occasionally one will stuff some cash into our shorts and use that as an opportunity to cop a feel.
So far tonight I’ve had five guys “accidentally” brush their hands against my dick while they were tipping me.
The good news? I haven’t seen anything smaller than a fifty. It’s all going into my travel fund.
“What lovely specimens,” one guy says as he comes forward. At first I assume he’s talking to himself. Most of the guys don’t address us directly. We’re performance art, as Dean said.
Then he says, “I’d love to see the two of you kiss.” He holds up some cash. “A hundred for each of you.”
At first, the idea feels weird. Dean’s kind of a friend. Sort of older-brother-ish. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about this group, it’s that the boundaries can get sort of incestuous, especially if we’re getting paid for stuff.
So, I glance up at Dean to see what he thinks. He shrugs and leans down, pressing his lips against mine. At first it’s really chaste. No different from the time Penny Mackenzie kissed me at my old school’s fall festival during freshman year of high school.
Still, it feels good. Makes my lips tingle.
Then the guy with the cash goes “Come on, boys, you can do better than that” so Dean slips his tongue into my mouth, stroking it against mine. He slides his hands under my ass, lifting me off the ground some.
With a yelp, I wrap my legs around his waist. More to steady myself than anything. But even though Dean is supposedly straight, I guess the friction of me rubbing against him has an effect, because we’re both getting hard. For a while I close my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me.
This is officially the furthest I’ve gone with a guy.
It’s pretty good, too. Dean’s body is big and solid, which I like, and with my eyes closed I can pretend he’s someone I’d be more attracted to.
Honestly, I like older guys. Daddy issues or whatever. My working theory is that every escort in our group has them.
I’m squirming around as Dean hikes my ass upward to get a better grip, my erection sliding up his and back down again a couple of times. Enough that I’m suddenly feeling an orgasm building.
Which is when Dean lets go, setting me down somewhat haphazardly on the floor.
“Sorry,” he murmurs against my ear before straightening. “Can’t risk making you come in front of everybody. Brennan would murder me. Besides, we don’t want to give the vultures an opening.”
He glances toward where the one guy was standing in front of us. Only now it’s an entire group. As in, everyone except the kitchen staff seems to be gathered around out here, watching, panting, and eyeing the two of us like a pack of hyenas ready to set into some baby zebras.
“What do you mean?” I whisper to Dean. “About giving them an opening?”
“If they see me dry humping you into an orgasm, they might think you’re on the menu. And you’re not, at least not until your auction. Plus, no offense, but you’re not a big guy. And those guys?” He nods to the crowd. “They always think the little guys are easy for them to step on.”
Oh. Yikes.
See what I mean about Dean being wise? “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
“No worries, buddy. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
Then the guy who was grinding his hard dick against mine less than a minute ago pats me on the head as if I’m a lost child who needed help finding his parents.
“That was even better than I thought it would be.” The man with the cash steps forward, shoving what appears to be more than the original hundred he promised into our hot pants.
Once again, he “accidentally” strokes my cock.
This guy’s not even subtle about it. He’s not attractive, either; at least not to me.
He’s sort of bald, with that thing where they try to comb their hair in a way that hides the baldness, but it really doesn’t.
And he’s a little paunchy, which is fine.
He just doesn’t look like someone who spent twenty years in the military and still does push-ups every morning.
He’s not Liam.
Okay, never mind. The point is that even though he’s not the sort of guy I’d choose to sleep with, I’m already hard, and I can’t help the way his touch gives me a shiver.
It’s probably a good thing for me to get used to.
As I look around the room, I realize there’s a better than average chance that anyone who has the kind of money to win an auction for my virginity is likely to look like one of these dudes.
Or even be one of them. I don’t see anyone who looks younger than fifty.
“Uh, thanks,” I say when the guy pulls away. Not that I’m thanking him for stroking my dick, but you know.
My mom would kick my ass for disrespecting my elders. She never addressed the situation of my elders groping me, but I don’t know. Habit?
Across the piano from us, Troy makes a drinking motion. It’s nice, I guess. He keeps reminding me to stay hydrated. Keeps reminding Adam to check his blood sugar. He’s awfully goofy a lot of the time but then also seems to worry about taking care of people?
“Come on.” Dean tugs on my hand. “Troy’s right. Good time for a water break.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, the way all the guys seem to be watchful of me.
At first I’d taken it to mean they thought I was too soft and too weak for the business.
Maybe it did. After I was in the hospital from a face full of some new street drug, they were even more protective.
But Simon, who recently quit the business after getting his nursing degree, told me that the escorts in Belle Argo take care of their own.
It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I fit in anywhere. I’ve even started thinking of them as friends. Whether they think the same of me, I’m not sure. I’m not sure whether friendship is the same thing as loyalty.
Hopefully I’ll find a place to fit in wherever I end up moving to.
Dean drags me to a closed bedroom where we’ve all stashed our stuff, pulls out a bottle of water from his gym bag, and hands it to me. Then he also hands over a granola bar. Must be a dad thing, because Dean’s always got snacks.
“It’s the kind that has veggies hidden in it,” he explains. “My daughter loves them.”
“Oh. Thanks. That’s nice.” It’s sweet, is what it is—the way Dean probably searched around for healthy snacks for his kid. Sweet in a way that slices into the tender skin on my stomach.
After a few sips of water and scarfing down the bar under Dean’s watchful eye, we leave the room to get back to the party.
We’re stopped in the hall by a man I haven’t seen before. Maybe he arrived late? He’s younger than some of these other ones, maybe a little older than Liam, with darker hair and a straighter nose (Liam has the look of a guy who has definitely been in some fights, including a slightly crooked nose).
“Very hot out there, the two of you,” the man says. He’s nice looking but also seems a little too slick. Like the guy I bought my crappy old car from. Maybe this guy also “forgets” to tell people about previous accidents and the fact that there’s no spare tire.
For some reason Dean’s hand is clamped down on my shoulder. Painfully. It’s hard not to want to squirm away, but the tension in his body tells me something’s not quite right.
Or maybe it’s the vibe from this guy, who definitely seems shady. Maybe not in a used car salesman way, but in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Dylan Beck,” he says, holding his hand out.
“We need to get back,” Dean insists. “Mr. Oak doesn’t like it when we take long breaks.”
“Oh, of course,” this Dylan guy says. “Gotta give everyone their money’s worth. Speaking of which…” He turns to me. “You’re the one Brennan’s holding an auction for, is that correct?”
“Uh, yeah?”
I don’t know why but he seems to find that funny. “Wonderful.” He looks me up and down. God only knows what he’s thinking, but I can make some guesses. “What would you say to a preemptive bid? Two million. I’ll write you a check right now and you can skip the hassle of the auction.”
Holy shit.
I’m struck speechless. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. Two million is an awful lot of money. An awful, awful lot. More than Brennan said I might make, and enough to cover college tuition pretty much anywhere even after I gave a cut to Brennan.
It’s the kind of money I’m afraid to turn down. Looking at this guy though? The idea of saying yes makes me queasy.
Before I can formulate an answer though, Dean is hauling me away. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Beck, but any offers have to go through Brennan Doyle. I’m sure you understand.”
Usually Dean has a slight southern accent. He was born in Georgia, but I think he said his family had moved north for a while before he came to Belle Argo. All of a sudden, though, his accent’s a lot thicker and more…syrupy?
“Of course. I understand completely,” this Beck guy says with a smile that doesn’t actually look all that friendly.
He’s not moving aside so we can get back to the party though.
The weird thing is, he’s almost supernaturally pretty, if you discount his vibe.
I guess his eyes are a bit cold. Still, he doesn’t strike me as a guy who needs to pay for sex.
Maybe he’s into some of the more fringe stuff?
I shouldn’t be curious, but I kind of am.
“Dylan, there you are.” Another man comes up from behind this Mr. Beck guy, slapping a hand on his shoulder.
“We should really go and sit down with Mr. Silva. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
Sorry about my friend here; he forgets his manners sometimes.
” Whoever this new guy is, he directs the last part at me and Dean.
With a last look at me, Mr. Beck reluctantly turns away to follow his friend down the hall.
“I may not know about much,” Dean whispers as we make our way back into the main room of the party, “but almost nobody in our group has worked for Brennan longer than I have. A few years ago one of our guys had a weekend boyfriend experience with Dylan Beck and afterward turned up in a downtown alley bleeding out with a broken jaw. After he got out of the hospital, the kid went back to Ohio like his ass was on fire. There was never any proof that Beck was responsible, but if you ask me, he’s someone to stay the heck away from. ”
“Thanks,” I tell him, both grateful for the information and grateful Liam isn’t here. It’s exactly the kind of story he’d use to slap me with a giant “I told you so.”
As if thinking of Liam conjures him, there’s movement in one cluster of men over by the condo’s entrance.
I’m convinced I can see his ocean eyes through the crowd.
Then I blink again, and I realize the blue is light glinting off a wall hanging and I need to get a grip.
Liam wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.
Anyway, I left my phone at home so he couldn’t track me.
What I do see, though, is Dylan Beck glaring at me from the far wall. Yeesh.
Wait. Wasn’t he supposed to be meeting with someone?
The same old man from earlier returns, waving more money at me and Dean. “I want to see you kiss him again.”
Dean sighs quietly.
“We don’t have to do it just because they ask us to, do we?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ve done worse for less.”
My stomach drops. What does that mean?
Suddenly making out seems a lot less fun. A glance at my watch tells me it’s a little after midnight. Hopefully this thing is over soon.