The Sex Surrogate (6 page)

“Yes.”

“What
do you want now?” he asked.

I
felt my eyes go wide. Because, honestly, I didn't know. I wanted
whatever he wanted to give me. I couldn't just name any particular...

“Let's
try this again,” he said and I heard a humor in his voice. “Do
you want me to keep kissing your neck?” he asked, leaning down
and planting a whisper-light kiss. “Or do you want to try
something else for a while?”

Choices,
choices.

Both.
Everything.

“Something
else,” I decided, knowing he said the most we would do in the
first session would be kissing. There wasn't a huge chance of
anything to fully and completely freak me out.

“Mmm,”
his lips vibrated on my neck and I swear I felt it... vibrate...
somewhere else. “Okay,” he said, slowly lifting his head.
He sat back, the space between us seeming wider than before. “How
about you turn around?” he suggested.

“Why?”
I asked, straightening. His hands and lips off of me, my mind was
free to race again. And I couldn't think of any good reason why he
needed me to turn away.

“Because,”
he said, his hand moving to my arm, rubbing absentmindedly, “I
am going to give you a massage.”

“Oh,”
I breathed out, glancing at the bed, grateful he hadn't suggested we
move there to do that.

“Do
you think you would like that?” I looked at him, feeling my
shoulder shrug. “Okay,” he said, “let's find out
then,” he said, moving back further, giving me space to move.

As
soon as my back was to him, his hands went to my shoulders, close to
my neck, pressing into the knots that had become so much a part of
me. Jake had offered more than a hundred times to work them out,
saying how unhealthy it was to walk around all tense and in pain, but
I couldn't even begin to consider undressing and letting him touch
me.

“Where
are you?” he asked, his thumbs pressing up the back of my neck,
“You're not with me.”

“Sorry,”
I mumbled, shaking my head slightly.

“Don't
be sorry. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“My
roommate,” I admitted.

“Why?”

“He's
a massage therapist.”

“Ah.
I see. Have you ever let him give you a massage?”

“What
do you think?” I half-laughed.

He
chuckled slightly, his hands moving down toward the center of my
back. “Why don't you tell me more about him?”

“Why?”

“Because
you are having communication issues. I figured your roommate is a
safe topic to get started.” At my silence, he added, “Tell
me about him.”

“He's
an asshole,” I said, and he laughed.

“Why
is he an asshole?”

“He
teases me all the time,” I admitted, feeling a little bit of
resentment rise up.

“What
does he tease you about?”

“The
way I dress. How I am uptight and a little OCD about things being
clean. About my needing to get laid.”

“He
sounds like a good guy,” Chase said dryly, making me giggle
slightly.

“He's
actually not a bad guy all in all. It's just like... living with a
teenage boy. He's a slob and has wild parties all the time. Oh, and
then there's the ear-piercing screams all night.”

“Screams?”
Chase asked, his hands stilling around my hips.

I
bit my lip, smiling slightly. “Yes... from... women.”

“Ah,”
he said, his hands moving again. “Does that make you
uncomfortable?”

“Only
when I have to wake up in the morning and explain to said women that
Jake is gone, he won't call, and they'll never see him again.”

“Do
you think that has had any effect on how you view sex?”

“Not
really. Except knowing with absolutely certainty that I don't want to
do it with him.”

“Does
this feel good?” he asked, running his hands back up toward my
shoulders.

Back
into the current moment, I felt my head lull toward the side. It did
feel good. And that was really weird. “Yeah.”

“Good,”
he said, one hand reaching up to brush my hair to the side, his mouth
lowering toward my neck and running his lips across it again. “Why
don't you turn back around?” he suggested, his teeth nipping
ever so slightly into my earlobe.

“Okay,”
I breathed, pulling forward and turning.

Knowing
what was going to happen.

He
was absolutely going to kiss me.

Jesus
Christ.

I
wasn't ready for that. It had been so long. The last time someone
kissed me... it was one of Jake's party goers: tall, brown haired,
attractive, with a tattoo of a raven on the side of his neck. He had
been laying it on thick to a very reluctant me for hours and he
finally made a move. And I managed to yield for a total ten seconds
before I was starting to hyperventilate and shoved hard at his chest.
Then I ran, humiliated, into my room, locking the door, and crying
bitter, angry, self-hate filled tears.

“Come
back to me,” Chase's voice said, soft and deep. He offered me a
small smile when my eyes landing on his again. “What were you
just thinking about?”

I
let my eyes drop, making contact with his collar. “The last
time someone kissed me.”

His
hand moved toward me, stroking across my cheek. “Tell me about
it.” No. Nope. Can't do that. “You have to put the work
in, sweetheart.”

He
was right. “Jake was having a party. There was a guy who...
took interest in me...”

“Just
one?” he asked, smiling a little.

“Yes.
Just one. And he just... didn't seem deterred by my lack of
enthusiasm. Then, hours later, he finally leaned in and...”

“And
what happened?”

“I
handled it for a few seconds, then freaked and ran.”

“Hmm,”
he said, his other hand moving out toward my other cheek, cradling my
face. “What did he say?”

“I
never saw him again.”

His
head shook slightly, his eyes raking over me, “A face like
this, baby, he should have been bringing you flowers and jewelry and
chocolate until you got comfortable with him and let him try again.”

A
face like mine?

I
felt that strange fluttering in my belly again.

He
needed to stop saying sweet things. I wasn't prepared for it.

“Do
you have any idea what men would do to possess beauty like this?”
he asked, shaking his head. “And, here I am, holding it.”

Holy
lord.

I
just... couldn't take this.

“Tell
me you want me to kiss you,” he urged, his words sounding
almost desperate, like the suspense was too much. “Ava, tell me
baby.”

I
licked my lips and his eyes went to watch intently. Did I want him to
kiss me? I was pretty freaking sure I did. “I want you to kiss
me,” I said, barely audibly, but he heard.

“Thank
god,” he groaned, leaning in, pulling my face toward his at the
same time.

Then
his lips met mine, firm yet gentle, sending a unexpected current
through my body, a soft moan escaping me. There was a second of
shocked stillness before my lips started responding, pressing into
his, begging for more. His head tilted slightly, taking the kiss
deeper. One of his hands stayed at the side of my face, the other
slid over my shoulder, down my arm, my side, sneaking around my back,
pulling me close.

And
then it finally started to happen.

The
expected throat-constricting panic. I felt myself stiffen, my heart
slamming hard like it was trying desperately to escape my rib cage.
But I tried to fight it. In our intro session, he told me it was
important to not push him away unless it was too much, unless I
couldn't take it anymore. I could take it for a few more minutes. I
could hold on. I could...

“Ava,”
his voice broke in, and I hadn't even realized he had stopped kissing
me. He moved back, looking at my face. “On a scale of one to
ten, how bad is the anxiety?”

“Six
or seven,” I admitted, bringing a hand to my throat like I
could work out the strangled feeling.

“Okay,”
he said, moving slightly back, then turning and sitting with his back
to the cushions. “Come here.”

“What?”
I asked, trying to take deep breaths and failing.

“It
hasn't exactly escaped my notice, babe, that I have been touching you
and you have yet to put a finger on me. Come over here,” he
said, holding an arm out wide. “Put your head head on my
chest.”

Oh,
god.

Shit.

No.

“At
least try, Ava,” he coaxed, patient.

And
that's what did it. The willingness to let me pull away, to be
rejected, without being offended. It was so new and unexpected. He
was right. I needed to try.

I
scooted closer, bringing my legs up at an angle behind me, and slowly
lowering the side of my face to his chest. I closed my eyes, taking a
deep breath, taking in the slightest hint of a spicy cologne.
Underneath my cheek, his shirt was warm from his skin, his chest
hard. Which I found somehow comforting.

I
moved closer, my torso leaning into his side, my knees pressing into
his thigh. My hand came out and landed on the other side of his
chest, in a fist, but still... touching. Willingly. Happily.

There
was a long pause before his arm went around me, heavy, settling on my
waist. “You okay?” he asked, his face sounding close to
my hair.

“Yeah.”

“What's
the level?”

“Four?”
I guessed, not entirely sure. Definitely better than before, but
still on edge.

“Be
proud of the little victories, Ava,” he said, and his other
hand came up, taking my hand, opening it, slipping his fingers
between mine, and squeezing closed against his chest.

Holding
his hand. I was holding sexy Dr. Chase Hudson's hand. I felt a
strange, strangled laugh catch in the back of my throat at the idea.

His
hand went from my waist, moving slowly up the center of my back. A
slow, lazy exploration up my spine. I felt myself melt into the
sensation. God, who knew it felt so good just to be touched?

I
closed my eyes, feeling the anxiety slowly start to settle back down,
taking grateful, greedy deep breaths.

“Ava...
baby,” Chase's voice called, low, gentle, like he was trying to
wake someone without startling them.

Which,
was exactly what happened I realized, my eyes flying open. Oh, my
god. I fell asleep on him! How the hell did that happen?

“Relax,”
he said, his arm wrapping around my back and squeezing slightly.

“How
long was I asleep?” I asked, blinking the sleep out of my eyes.

“Maybe
half an hour,” he said casually, like it was totally normal for
it to happen. “Ava, do you have any idea how comfortable you
need to be to fall asleep with another person?”

I
knew. Oh, I knew. I had never been able to sleep when another person
was even in the same room. Which made for god-awful sleepovers with
friends and nights over the holidays when my family would come from
out of town and people would need to be crammed into all available
places... like my bedroom.

“This
is good, sweetheart,” he said, and I could almost swear I felt
his lips kiss the top of my head, but brushed that idea away. That
wasn't possible.

I
slowly pushed myself up, moving off of his chest, feeling
unreasonably sad to do so. His hand slipped from mine and I put my
feet back on the ground.

Behind
me, he let out a sound that was almost a sigh, but not quite. Then he
sat up next to me, his knee brushing against mine, turning his head
to me. “I think this was a successful session. How do you feel
about it?”