Chapter 19 Scarlett
NINETEEN
SCARLETT
The walk back to the hotel is a quiet one. I take Nico’s hand as soon as we leave the axe-throwing place, comforted by his presence in New York’s streets. And when he sees me shiver, he doesn’t say a single word; he just pulls off his zip-up hoodie and settles it over my shoulders.
I give him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” I say softly, tangling our hands again.
I don’t quite understand why he seems on edge, or why he’s not hustling me back to the room, but we’re so close to the hotel that I don’t bother asking. I’ll just seduce it out of him.
Sure enough, when we reach the room and he closes the door behind us, he practically melts into the wall to get past me without us touching.
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, everything in his body screaming with tension. “I figured we could watch the newest Dancing With The Stars episode if you haven’t already seen it, but if you want to watch something else—”
His words cut off with a sip of air when I move behind him and place my hands on his shoulders. “Why are you so tense all of a sudden?” I ask, massaging his muscles. “You know you can talk to me.”
The only answer I get from him is a humorless laugh as he slips away.
Still not understanding, I sidle closer. Now that he’s facing me, I can approach him with more intent, a sultry smile on my lips as my hands go to his belt buckle.
“I can help with that tension,” I purr only centimeters from his lips.
But when his hands still mine, I look into his eyes with a confused frown.
“I don’t want to have sex,” he says in a rough voice.
I quirk an eyebrow as I look down at the giant bulge in his jeans.
I want to lick his blush away as he covers it with his hands.
“Okay, fine, you make me hard,” he admits, taking another step back. “Constantly, insanely hard,” he adds in a mutter. I try not to preen under the compliment. “But that’s not the point here.”
Since this is clearly about to be a conversation, I back against the counter so I can plant my hands behind me and lift myself up onto it. Crossing one leg over the other, I ask, “What’s the point then?”
He rips his gaze from my legs with a head shake and focuses on my face. “The point,” he stresses, “is that I told you we’re not having sex. That’s not why I want to spend time with you.”
My brow furrows. “You can’t be serious.”
He doesn’t look away from me. “I meant it, Scarlett. I do mean it. I’m not hiring you for sex.”
I blink at him in confusion. It’s not that I don’t believe Nico when he says he wants to do non-sex things on our dates; it’s just hard to believe that he doesn’t want sex during this part of the date. When we’re alone in a hotel room and he’s so attractive I want to rip his clothes off.
Why doesn’t he want it to involve sex?
Suddenly, a memory flashes through my brain. I can still feel my ex-husband’s touch on my skin, can still see the sneer that flashed at me when I said no. Can still feel the crippling weight of worthlessness that came with the silent treatment in the weeks after that.
My resolve hardens, if for no other reason than to never feel that way again. I might not fully understand why Nico enjoys spending time with me, but I do know why he enjoys me physically. With sex, I have something to offer.
“I know how to be worth your time,” I say as I uncross my legs. My dress naturally sits mid-thigh, so I place my hands on my thighs and slowly brush the fabric up higher.
Nico freezes in place, his eyes going to my legs. “Scarlett…” he warns.
“We don’t need to argue, baby,” I purr, leaning back against the cabinets behind me. “Wouldn’t it be so much better if we just made each other feel good?”
His chest starts to heave with his breaths. “Scarlett, don’t do this,” he begs.
“Do what?” I ask innocently. I keep pulling up my dress, finally exposing the simple white thong I wore for Nico tonight. “I’m just trying to help.”
“This isn’t—”
But his words cut off, because I’m reaching for the sides of my thong so I can pull it off under my dress.
And then I spread my legs.
“Christ,” Nico bites out, pressing his thumbs to his eyes. But he can’t look away for very long. In an instant, his gaze is back on my cunt.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, arching my back and sliding one hand between my legs. “You could’ve just told me if you preferred to watch.”
Holding my dress out of the way, I touch myself.
I’m already wet. Being around Nico basically guarantees that. It makes it easy to swirl the pad of my finger around my clit, slower than I need it to come, but that’s not the point of this, anyway. I know how to put on a good show.
“Did you know that I think about you all week?” I moan without thinking.
But despite that being a truth I shouldn’t have admitted out loud, I can still use it in the fantasy I’m weaving. I say it to every other client, anyway.
I’ve just never meant it before.
“Most nights, I dream about you,” I say, eyes closing as I move my finger down to my opening.
Another truth. “Then when I wake up in the morning, I swear I can still feel your hands on my body.” Slowly, I slide one finger inside, then another.
“And every morning, I have to touch myself just so I can hold on to the memory for a little while longer.”
“Scarlett…”
I open my eyes at his pained plea. He’s collapsed against the counter across from me, his eyes wide and crazed and locked on the space between my legs.
It’s all the confirmation I need to continue, to pull him into this vortex of desire where we belong.
“I wish you’d touch me,” I whisper, sliding my fingers back to my clit. I’m so turned on that even a slight brush sends sparks along my nerves, the urge to come growing.
“Don’t you want to touch me?” I ask. It sounds too much like begging to my ears, but I can’t stop. My fingers swirl faster and faster, my body arching into my own touch.
Suddenly, Nico’s hand stills my own. I open my eyes to see his forehead pressed against the cabinet beside my head, taking one heavy breath after another.
“Scarlett,” he croaks out. “Please, don’t. Not like this.”
And that’s when everything comes crashing down.
My entire body freezes. My breaths start to come quicker, my lungs desperately trying to suck in oxygen and stop my head from spinning.
He doesn’t want to fuck me.
He doesn’t want me.
Nico must notice my panic because he pulls back to look at me. He looks wrecked. Why does he look wrecked if he doesn’t want me?
“Scarlett.” I wish he’d stop saying my name like that. “We need to talk about this.”
I hurriedly pull my dress down, avoiding all eye contact. Mortified at being rejected like this. “We do not. If you weren’t interested in me, I have no idea why you’d keep booking me through the agency.”
“If I’m not… What? Scarlett, I just said I am interested in you.”
My laugh sounds self-deprecating. “Clearly, you’re not.”
I try to jump off the counter, but Nico locks me in place with his hips. He’s still hard, which just makes this embarrassment even more confusing.
“Jesus, just…give me a minute.” His hands plant beside my hips without touching me, his head dropping between his shoulders. “Just let me think.”
I stare at him. “What on earth do you need to think about? You just clarified things perfectly.”
“I need to figure out how to explain this in a way you’ll understand,” he says. After a moment, he straightens with a deep breath. “Okay. Can you promise me something?”
The escort in me knows to make any promise he wants.
But that’s not why I nod.
He looks relieved. “Okay. I want you to promise that you’ll hear me out. That you won’t try to leave before we talk through this.”
That sounds awful, but…
I nod again.
Another relieved exhale, but then he tenses up as he straightens. “That wasn’t a rejection,” he starts. “Even if it felt like it. I need you to understand that.”
I don’t answer. It did feel like it.
He sighs, seeing that on my face. “I’ll tell you the truth.
Even at the risk of it biting me in the ass at the end of this.
” When that piques my curiosity, he admits, “I don’t just dream of you, Red.
I daydream of you. I’m constantly thinking about you.
Whether I’m training, sleeping, resting, anything, you’re on my mind. In every sense of the word.”
My eyes widen. And maybe it’s because it’s not my usual reaction of freezing in fear, but Nico latches onto it. It amps him up.
“Of course I think about fucking you. I’d have to be dead to not think you’re the sexiest goddamn woman in the world.
But it’s more than that. I think about your lips, about kissing them, not just because I want to know what you taste like, but also because I’m dying to have the touch of your lips imprinted on mine. ”
His vulnerability has my stomach fluttering in a way that feels foreign. With my eyes on his, he continues.
“I think about calling you, just to see what you’re doing.
To ask your opinion about little things, like what movie I should watch when I get home.
To watch a movie together, on the phone, like we’re high schoolers or something.
” When that startles a laugh out of me, he smiles and brushes my hair back.
“I think about seeing you more than once a week, more than twice a week, just so I can hear you laugh and find all the things that make it happen.” He pauses, his hand brushing over my hair again, his eyes searching mine with a soft smile. “That’s what I think about.”
I soak up his touch, his words. I want so badly to believe him.
I want to believe that I’m more than just my body.
I spent my teenage years being conditioned to think my only worth is in my ability to be a wife, and I spent my entire marriage learning that my “wifely duties” were centered around my ability—and availability—in the bedroom.
Hearing Nico say he likes me for other much more meaningful reasons is… everything I’ve ever wanted.