Free Bad Behavior #1: Tales of an American Gigolo by Childers Lewis

Bastien

    THE WOMAN beneath me moans. I press deeper into her soft, wet heat. Her hips jerk upward, wanting more, needing more, and I aim to give it to her. With three thrusts, I take her to the edge and hold her there. She’s close, so close, and so am I. The bite of her fingernails stings down my back. I hiss as my balls tighten and try to think about something other than the burning need to climax.
    “Harder, Bastien.” My real name is Jamie, and for a second, I think she’s talking to someone else. The raw edge to her voice tells me everything I need to know about her state of mind.
    “Jesus, you’re tight today.” I double the pace, driving my pelvis into her like a jackhammer. Another fiery pulse of release licks up the back of my legs. I try to think about something other than coming. Baseball . In my head, I run through the names and stats of the Cubs starting lineup. The fire recedes to a simmer. My thoughts drift from baseball to cars, and now I’m hot again. She tightens slender thighs around my waist. Damn. If she doesn’t get off soon, I’m going to bust a nut before she does, and that just can’t happen. This isn’t about my pleasure. This is about her, her needs, her desires, her fantasies.
    “I’m almost there,” she warns. Her tits bounce with every slam of my body against hers.
    “I know you are, baby. So am I.” With a huge amount of effort, I withdraw. We both groan in frustration. I flip her over, onto her knees in front of me, fist a hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, and shove into her hard enough to make her grunt. A shudder ripples through her body and clutches around my cock. I ride out her orgasm, waiting until her cries die away, then spill into the condom between us. The relief is immediate and welcome.
    After a few seconds, we break apart and roll onto our backs, chests heaving, covered in sweat. I remove the condom, tie it off, and drop it onto the floor next to my shoes to take care of later. Blood is still thundering through my veins. I close my eyes and try to regulate my breathing. Beside me, a lighter flicks. The flame sizzles against the tip of a cigarette. Ms. D inhales, holds it for a second then exhales slowly.
    “I’m getting married next week,” she says.
    "Oh?" My eyes snap open. Geneva Danvers is my oldest and best client. She's the reason I got into this business, to begin with.  
    "Yes." She sits up in bed, holding the sheet over her breasts. Her shoulder length, silver hair stands out around her head from my clutching fingers. Intelligent blue eyes meet mine. She hands me her cigarette. I take a long drag and hand it back. “But nothing is going to change with us.” She draws an invisible circle in the space between us. “He lives on the west coast. I’ll be here. We can continue like usual.”
    “A long distance marriage? Really?” A smile tugs my lips. This is so typical, so Geneva. “How’s that going to work? You’re in Chicago. He’s there. Sounds difficult.”
    “It’s going to work great.” She smiles back, and I’m struck by her beauty. Even though she’s a good thirty years older than me, she’s one hell of a woman. Fine-boned, long-limbed, graceful. “He has a corporation in San Francisco and comes here on business a couple of times a month. This way, we enjoy the tax and social benefits of marriage, while maintaining our individual lives.”
    “Nice.” I sit up and let my toes curl into the sheepskin rug beside the bed. The room is monochromatic, minimalist, with a few luxurious touches here and there. A wall of windows displays a panoramic view of Chicago from the sixtieth floor of the luxury skyscraper. This is just one of her many homes. I’ve been to most of them, but this is my personal favorite. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”
    “No. Go ahead. I’ve got a few things to take care of.” She stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray on the nightstand and grabs her laptop.  
    When I come out of the