Release Your Inner Vixen: Male Escorts for Hire - RP

I glare up at him, even though my body is anything but angry when he's this close to me. Traitor hormones.

"To the contrary, Mr. Tanner," I snap. "Men piss me off on a regular basis. It just astounds me that I'm actually paying you to."

He looks at her, "And what would you do to me, to punish me? Give me a detention?" stroking her hair and too her cheek.

My heart rate picks up speed and the room is ten degrees warmer the moment Christian's hand meets my skin. But he knows I won't cave. I can't cave. I won't pay a man for sex. Especially not one I hardly know and one that tends to piss me off more than turn me on. Or so I'd like to tell myself.

"I'd give you a swift kick in the ass, for starters," I retort, and then I back away. "This is getting ridiculous. The jig is up. You're a freaking gigolo. This isn't working out, so how about I stop lying to everyone I know and we stop doing... whatever it is this is? You're you and I'm me, and we obviously don't freaking mesh."

Before he can say a word more, I hold up my hand for silence. "I'm getting you the money and then you can be on your merry way. Or did you want to poke fun some more?"

He looks at her and backs off, thinks about everything "I didn't mean to offend you, I thought you..."

She walks off and tells him to follow, he does so and walks up to her, "Elissa...I really want to--" He stops talking, when they go into her bedroom and their is the painting he liked.

He looks at it and to her. Silent for a few minutes, "Great, now I really feel like an ass...you can't give me this."

Crap. Forgotten I'd left the painting on display. The one I'd intended to give to him. Now that I'm pissed off, there's no way I'm admitting that to the man who made me this way.

I spin around to face him, my cheeks red hot. From anger or from the blush that always seems to rise when he's around, I'm not sure.

"You're really fucking full of yourself, Casey," I spit. "What on God's green earth makes you think I'd give it to you?"

He looks at it and then to her, "I know it's for me" says all cocky and keeps his focus on her.

How does this one man put such homicidal rage in me? I clench and unclench my fists and imagine them wrapped around his throat. Me on top of him, squeezing the life out of that brawny neck. Then, unbidden, come the thoughts of me on top that lead to less murderous thoughts. Pleasant thoughts.

Now I'm even more pissed.

"Know what? I don't know what I was thinking, to be honest with you. I think I'll take it outside and burn it."

I rifle through my dresser drawers, throwing out pieces of clothing without thought, until I find the wad of cash I'd prepared for this evening. I shove the stack in his hand.

"It's been the very opposite of pleasure working with you, Mr. Tanner," I seethe. "You're free to go."

He looks at her and the money, looking at the painting and to her "I stopped everything I was doing and came here tonight." He looks at the drawer,"However, I would say...it was worth it, learning that you keep my payment in your panty drawer."

He can't help but lift one up, "I am a fan of these in particular..."

I don't think it all. I don't, or I wouldn't do it, but I do. My hand has a mind of its own. The moment he says that snarky little comment, I slap him across the face. Hard.

Two nanoseconds later, I'm filled with absolute terror. Did I really just hit him?

My eyes wide and brimming with the threat of tears as if I'm the one hurt, I step toward him. "Oh, god. Christian?" Shit, shit, shit. His cheek is turning red. I definitely hit him hard. He doesn't even turn his head. I'm in hysterics.

"Oh, Jesus, I swear I've never done that. I'm so sorry!" I make a grab for his shoulder, to pull him closer to me so that I can examine the damage done, but then think better of it. I wouldn't exactly want to be touched by the person who just slapped me.

"I don't know what I was thinking," I sputter, my hand over my mouth. "I was just so mad and, Christ, now I feel terrible. I'll get you some ice. I'll pay you extra. And you can have the painting. You can have whatever you want."

He looks at her, putting the money on a table and looks back, "That is exactly what I wanted..." suddenly he kisses her, no hesitation.

She breaks off and looks at him, "Fuck it..." and tackles him down. They kiss more as she moves him to her bed and pulling his jacket off incredibly fast, as he works his hands to the zipper on her dress.

She pushes him to the mattress and starts to straddles him. She undoes the buttons on his shirt.

"Not dating huh?" comes a voice from behind them.

Christian's erection digs into the soft, aching spot between my thighs, and I quiver from the sensation. The last thing I want to do is get up. But this is my mother. My eyes wide and cheeks flushed, I reach for the pillow beneath Christian's head and sit up, conveniently dropping it down on his lap to hide the evidence that's damn near ready to burst from his pants. I can't help but look. It's impressive, to say the least. But the man is an escort. He'd have to be.

I spring up from the bed, wet and needy and flushed, and stare down at Christian, who smiles at my mother as if nothing is amiss. I cringe and turn to face her.

"Christian is a man I pay to date me, Maman," I tell her, feeling my elation and horniness evaporate into nothing the moment the words leave my mouth. The truth shouldn't hurt this much, but it does. "I think this concludes our evening."

I gather up the money Christian set aside and place it next to him on the bed. "I'm sorry about tonight. And that I hit you. And about, well, this. Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it."

Leaving my mother to her shock and Christian to whatever he's supposed to be feeling, I spin on my heel and leave the room.

Casey looks at her leave and to her mother, who looks back. He stands up and grabs his jacket, money and makes his way to leave.

"It was nice to meet you...,I apologize for all the lying." He admits and about to leave, she pulls him back and looks at him "She has fire around you...remember that."

He looks at her and just nods, leaving without another word. He gets in his car and thinks about everything, she's right at the end of it. He looks at the money in his hands, how he's paid.

Upstairs,just now, had nothing to do with money. He drives off and is gone.

If I have to stare at this fucking painting two more seconds, I'll flip my shit. I'm just delaying the inevitable. It's been a month, and I've stubbed my toe on the damned thing at least five times. It's also an unpleasant reminder of what had happened once Christian had seen it.

One look at that painting, and I'm remembering how I'd dry humped its intended recipient within seconds of coming in my undies a mere two feet away from where it's propped. With my mother sitting downstairs, wondering what was taking us so long.

I write up another note and address it to Inner Vixen:

Okay, so I couldn't just burn it. I've been staring at this damned thing for a month. We both know I got it for you. It sucks that our evening ended on such a bad note when it was looking up to be quite a memorable one. (And yes, I'm talking about practically humping your leg while my mother sat just eight feet below our heads). Good times, huh?
P.S. - If the painting doesn't quite do it for you, I can always send you a pair of killer vomit shoes. I hear they're totally in this season.
Wishing you the best,
Elissa Artis

I seal up the envelope and lug the painting down the stairs and into the backseat of my car. Off to the post office I go.

Casey heads into work and is given his new clients, other information. Angela comes over and looks at him,"Not many of my employees get a painting as payment..."

He looks at her,"What are you talking about...?" She shows him to her office and he sees it, looks at Angela "Yeah...I'd say she likes me."

Angela looks at him,"You this isn't good, attachment...you know how badly it can lead. You are one of the best I have Casey, remember that."

He looks at her, "It's just a painting..."

"Sure it is..."Angela says, looking at him and she walks off.

He gets the painting to his place and sees a letter finally attached to it, taking it down and reads it.

The end has him laughing and suddenly he's intrigued. Fighting every instinct he has to stop and give up, she's just another client. He takes his cell and texts her, "Your mother still visiting?"

He opens a beer and starts to take his shirt off, when a text comes back and he reads it,"Unfortunately."

He smirks, "My place then" following with the address.

Oh, holy fuck. I stare down at my phone, wondering how to possibly reply. I can't just drive over there. What will happen when I do? This isn't coming across as a paid date, but what else can it be?

He doesn't do this for every client, I'm sure. And, technically, I'm no longer a client.

I sit down at the edge of my bed and fiddle with the ends of my robe. I'm fresh from the shower. I even had the good mind to shave. That must be a sign from the universe.

Still, I'm fighting the temptation. I know that if this goes too far, the way I secretly want it to, I'll get attached. There will be no coming back from something like Christian. There will only be falling, deep and neverending, until I hit what I know will be an unforgiving ground.

And, yet...

I smile and fire off a text back:

Shouldn't the client be the one sending out booty calls? ;-)

Couldn't resist. I just couldn't. Smirking, I press Send.

He reads his phone and texts back, "What client? Are you talking about some other guy? You know this is Casey right?"

I laugh so hard at Christian's reply, I snort. And then, my fingers flitting across the touch screen in a frenzy, I compose one right back:

My bad. Thought you were Channing Tatum. Please ignore previous message.

He smirks, My dance moves suck. Also, someone sent me a painting, figured I owe them some kind of thank you.

I'm a fit of giggles now. I quiet down, praying my mother doesn't rush up here asking what the big deal is.

Mr. Perfect can't dance? I'll have to see it to believe it. In regards to that special someone: I'm intrigued. This person must be twenty kinds of awesome.

After about twenty minutes, he calls her "Still waiting on that answer, I know you liked my texts...they were top A material." When he hears her voice pick up.

I giggle. "I admit I was entertained. And why do you so request my presence, hmm? Hoping to christen every piece of art you own in the same way we did mine?"

What is this, flirting? This is almost sex talk. I should stop. I probably won't, but I should. Still, like a teenaged girl on the phone after hours, I press the receiver to my ear, almost giddy to hear his response.

He almost wants to moan hearing that but keeps his voice steady, trying to control the conversation "Just get over here...."

I chuckle. "You're bossy, you know that?"

Before he can argue, I stop him. "I'm on my way."

I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. I'm actually doing this. I'm coming over to Christian's house, and I'm not forking up an ungodly amount to see him, either.

What does he hope to get from this? I'm almost scared to know. But I do know one thing: I'm tired of the fear. I want to live. For once in my life, I want to seize the day. Even if said day ends in disappointment.

I glance down at my lap and sigh. "Carpe diem, Elissa Junior."

Then, taking a deep breath, I tear my closet apart for something to wear.

Val is on her skype, "You're going over to his place? FINALLY!!"

I had to Skype my bestie. There are rules on these things. If you're about to quite possibly have sex with the man who's been consuming your every thought for two long months and you haven't gotten any in over a year, you owe it to your friend to let her know.

And she owes it to you to tell you what the hell to wear.

"I'm being bad, Val," I tell her with a nod. "I'm living. If tonight goes as planned, I'm doing the man seven ways till Sunday, and I can't leave him waiting long. Hell, I can't leave me waiting long."

I move my laptop until the camera is facing the mess what was once my orderly, perfect closet. "Tell me what I'm supposed to wear."