Page 7 of The Alpha Escort Agency
She chews on the inside of her cheek, thinking. Yes, there are definitely things she would like to tell him to do, things she'd like himnotto do, but is she brave enough to say that? She considers and swallows.
“Well,” she says, “I guess,” she pauses, “I don't like it when the Alpha gets too rough.”
His face remains passive, he is studying her, showing no signs of judgement or unease, so she continues.
“And I guess that … Okay, I don't like it rough, but I do like it when the Alpha is in control, you know, so I don't have to think about things, just do it.” She raises her drink and wets her mouth with the liquid. “It's also important that I get my water and my food. Oh my God, so many Alphas forget to do that.”
He nods, face still neutral. “I promise you,” he says, “that I will make sure you always have enough to drink and eat.”
“Yes, well, that would be a pretty basic requirement.”
“Perhaps, but I am a very good cook.”
“Really?” she says, lifting her eyebrows.
“Yes. Is there anything you like to eat?”
She pauses. “No,” she answers, noting the way the gin in her bloodstream is beginning to relax her. “I like surprises.”
“Are we still talking about food here?” he asks, his face serious.
“Yes, definitely food." She giggles, although it comes out as a hiccup. "I don't like other surprises — romantic surprises, maybe. I mean, I wouldn't ever say no to a bunch of flowers. But no surprises in the bedroom. No stuffing your dick in my ear when I'm not expecting it or, even worse, shoving it you-know-where.”
The steely look of professionalism remains fixed across his face but he blinks once, twice, when she says this. Flattening out the creases of his jeans with the palms of his hands, he says, “noted and understood. Anything else, Alice? Anything you do like?”
She peers down into her drink, three ice cubes and a slice of lemon floating on the surface. Pondering that question, she pokes at the fruit with the butt of the straw, forcing it to the base of the glass. What she likes is tenderness, gentle sweeps of fingers down her body, feverish kisses across her skin, sex that feels … special. Those don't seem like things you can pay for.
“No,” she says, lifting her eyes back to him.
“That's fine, that's enough for me. If you think of anything else, you can contact the agency. We still have, what, a week so go home and think about it some more and if something else comes to mind, you just tell them. You can always tell me at the time as well, obviously. Just tell me: I don't like this or I do like that. I'm there foryou.”
She bites down harder on her cheek. God, this is excruciating, she thinks. It's like going to the doctor and having to explain your bowel movements. Is it going to be like this when he's in the bedroom? She hopes not; she doesn't think it will be judging by how he looks and how he smells. Oh my goodness, how he smells — the scent growing more delicious by the minute, his chocolate aroma melting onto her tongue and slithering down her throat, as if he's entering her very bloodstream and rushing round her body. Yes, it's going to be just fine in the bedroom.
His hands reach his knees and then he shuffles forward.
“Alice,” he says, “it was nice to meet you.”
“Oh,” she says, glancing at her watch.
“Yes, that's our half an hour. I will see you in a week's time.” Standing, he offers her his hand, and she realises for the second time just how large he is: six foot three, she guesses, and broad, dressed in dark jeans and a dark shirt, buttons straining across his muscular chest. She stands too, the tip of her head barely reaching his shoulder, and offers her hand. As he takes her palm, he pulls her a little towards him and she gets another waft of that amazing smell and the feeling of his powerful hand gripping hers. Then he lifts a stray strand of her hair away from her face, the graze of his fingers against her skin electrifying and she sighs. “Take care now,” he says, giving her a small wink, and he turns to leave. She watches him go, transfixed by his vast figure disappearing, meandering past the other patrons and the chairs and the tables and out the door.
She shakes herself, feeling slightly ridiculous, and thinking that she's acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Is it okay to have a crush on the man you're hiring as an escort? Better, she guesses, than not having a crush on the guy you're hiring as an escort. She should be attracted to him, there's nothing wrong with that.
Now he's gone, her surroundings seem to become unmuted. A jazzy tune floats across from speakers in the corner, just audible above the buzz of other people's conversations. A variety of scents mixes in the air; Omegas, Alphas, but mostly the dull musks of Betas and the tang of alcohol.
Sinking back into the chair, she hooks out her mobile from her jacket pocket and calls Maria. The number rings and then switches to the answerphone.
“I want to tell you about this meeting — hurry up and call me back,” she says into the machine and hangs up, only for the phone to vibrate in her hand. She slams her thumb on the accept call button.
“Is he there?” Maria asks.
“No, of course not, he's gone. It was only half an hour.”
“And? Was he as good as the picture?”
“Oh my God,” says Alice, sliding further into the chair and covering her mouth with her hand so that she can talk more discreetly to Maria. “He was seriously … like, I can't even describe!”
“Well try,” says Maria. “What did he look like in the flesh?”
