Escorted by Claire Kent Page A

felt so much thicker and harder inside her. He slowed his thrusting
until he was just making little pushes into her tightened channel. And he
stopped moving completely when Lori’s body began to relax.
    A little giggle
escaped her.
    Astonished, she
tried to bite her lip over the silly sound, but another one rippled out without
warning. She released Ander’s shoulder so she could clamp her hand over her
mouth as she kept giggling.
    It was an absolutely
absurd thing to do. But she was overcome with dizzying relief, pride and
accomplishment. She’d had sex at last. And it had been good. And she’d even
managed to come.
    Ander’s
eyebrows went sky-high.
    “Sorry,” she
choked out, managing to get herself under control. There was more discomfort
between her legs now—since the rising pleasure had faded and his cock was still
stretching and filling her.
    “Is this a good
thing?” Ander asked, his eyes scanning her face.
    “Yes,” she
admitted. “It’s good. It was good. Thank you.” Before Ander could reply, she
added, “Aren’t you going to come?”
    “Only if you
want me to.”
    “Oh. Why
wouldn’t I want you to come?”
    “Some of my
clients don’t. And some of them want to delay it for as long as possible. Women
are often able to climax more than once. If you want, we can try…”
    Lori made a
face. “I think I’m going to be sore already. No need to push my luck. Why don’t
you come now?”
    “It might take
a few minutes,” he said, his eyes oddly searching.
    She shrugged.
“That’s fine. I can practice some more.”
    “Tell me if I’m
too hard,” Ander shifted his position, bringing both of his arms down to brace
himself. “Or if you change your mind.”
    As Ander built
up a new rhythm, fast and just a little harder than he’d been thrusting into
her before, Lori tried to imagine what kind of selfish, heartless bitch would
expect a man to fuck her to orgasm and then pull out without coming himself.
Like he was nothing but a tool, nothing but a dildo.
    Then she
realized that was exactly how a lot of men had been using women for
centuries—as objects designed only for male pleasure. Lori knew why most women
ended up in prostitution. Odds were the woman had suffered some sort of abuse
or victimization.
    Lori wondered
with a weird little clench if men were different. Or if Ander had been
victimized in some way, physically or emotionally, in the past.
    “Everything all
right?” Ander asked thickly, mid-thrust.
    Realizing she’d
let her mind wander at an inopportune time, she blinked up at him. “Yeah.
Sorry. Everything’s good. Keep going.”
    He hesitated,
so she began to pump up her hips, trying to match his earlier tempo. This
appeared to convince him, so he began to thrust again. This time, she watched
him, fascinated by the tension on his face and the focused look in his blue-gray
eyes as he stared down at her.
    They moved together
well, she thought, and she did her best to synchronize the rocking of her
pelvis with his. She could already feel a soreness in her channel, but it
wasn’t bad. Ander was taking it pretty easy on her.
    “Should I do
anything else?” she asked, feeling a little breathless again. She knew she
wasn’t going to come, but there was something exciting about watching the tension
coil tighter and tighter in Ander’s face and body.
    “You’re good,”
he muttered. “You’re good.”
    She was clinging
to his shoulders, and she acutely felt something tickling her wrist. Shifting
her eyes, she saw one of her brown hairs tangled in her hand. She clenched
unconsciously in response to the tickling and wriggled her fingers, trying to
brush the hair away.
    “That’s good,”
he grunted, jerking his head to the side abruptly. “You can keep doing that.”
    Lori blinked
once, keeping her expression blank. She couldn’t imagine how her little hand
jiggle on his shoulder had pleased him. Maybe men really were different
than women. He’d done a remarkable job of