A Model Escort Page 5

  “Yeah? I, uhh… left something out of my profile about that.”

  “Oh?” Cal raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I also like metal.”

  The shock of laughter that left Cal sounded entirely sincere. “Show tunes and jazz from Mom, metal from Dad, I take it?”

  “Actually, Mom was the Megadeth fan.” The more they laughed and talked openly, the more Owen felt at ease, even discussing his parents, which was a rare occurrence. “I listen to metal when I work, Ella for relaxing.”

  “Fair enough. I won’t consider it a deal breaker.” Cal even pulled a fork from between his lips and drank his wine with allure.

  Owen was enamored by everything about him. Even if Cal was only a fantasy, he was still tangible. “Your likes and dislikes were definitely what won me over about you. I mean, also because you’re gorgeous. Uhh….” And then he had to go and put his foot in his mouth again. Owen drank more wine to hide how mortified he was to have said that. He should probably slow down considering what a lightweight he was.

  Cal was just easy to talk to, even though Owen got flustered whenever the man’s eyes penetrated too deeply or he said something flirtatious. He was supposed to be flirting, showing interest, making Owen feel wanted. It’s what he was paid to do. But even if it was all an act, Owen felt a genuineness in Cal’s smiles.

  “You decorate this place yourself?” he asked.

  “Yep. I need some rugs and artwork I think.” Owen turned to take in what he’d done so far. He still wasn’t pulling off the hip young tech genius he was supposed to be, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t a modern or art deco type guy; he preferred plush furniture in bright colors. “Debating what to get next is a nice distraction from being alone. Wow.” He cringed after saying that. “I am super depressing, aren’t I?”

  “Not at all,” Cal said. “You’re new in town, just getting your feet. Not everyone is the easily sociable type. But I have to ask.”

  “Yeah?” He whirled to face Cal, wondering if now would be when the man asked what came after dinner, which Owen was sure he’d make a fool of himself explaining.

  “You said sci-fi movie fan. What’s your favorite?”

  “Oh!” Owen brightened. “I don’t know. Wow. I can only choose one? I guess I have a soft spot for The Fifth Element. Though Terminator 2 was the first movie that ever made me cry.”

  “Terminator 2 made you cry?”

  “At the end, you know, when Arnie’s being lowered into the molten metal and he does the thumbs-up thing—cried like a baby.” Owen was way past being embarrassed by that. “I also have deep love for The Thing and Forbidden Planet.”

  “Leslie Nielsen Forbidden Planet?” Cal’s interest couldn’t possibly be fake with the way his features smoothed out.

  “It totally holds up, don’t you think? Oh, but I hate Blade Runner.”

  “Well now,” Cal said as if scandalized, “I was all on board until that. I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

  How did this man keep making Owen laugh so easily? “It’s so overrated. And boring. Visually gorgeous, I get it, and the message is great about ‘what does it mean to be human,’ but the storytelling does not work for me.”

  “So it should have had the voiceover?”

  “God no. Have you heard some of it? It’s so much worse!”

  “That I will give you.” Cal shared Owen’s mirth with a sideways twitch to his smile. “But in general, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  Mario said the same thing. He worshipped Blade Runner.

  It surprised Owen how quickly they ate during the conversation. And went through the wine—wow. Refilling both glasses, while he didn’t want to overeat, he felt like he could use the extra liquid courage, especially when Cal took a slow sip and then left his wine on the table as he stood.

  Sammy Davis Jr.’s “Something’s Gotta Give” taunted Owen over the sound system. His breath caught, leaving him frozen in place when the wineglass was taken from him and Cal curled his fingers around the back of his chair to lean in close.

  “Dinner was lovely, Owen, but you paid for anything goes,” he said, low and lilting. “Now, I maintain the option to refuse anything I’m not up for, but I’m curious. Just what do you want from me to pay so much for a night?”

  A shiver rippled through Owen, but it was pleasant, not something to make him lean away, he just didn’t know where else to move. “It’s nothing weird. I hope it’s not weird….” He’d always been the weird kid. Orphan, nerd, gay, too skinny, too much of a doormat.

  “Tell me,” Cal urged Owen with a sultry whisper. “What would you like me to do? Shall we move into the bedroom?” He cast his gaze to the open doorway at the far side of the main room. Owen had a real bed in there now. Simple, no headboard, with slate gray sheets. It was everything else in the room that was colorful, like the books on his shelves and the stained-glass lamp on the nightstand.

  “Y-yes,” he said and accepted the hand Cal offered.

  The strength in the other man made Owen giddy as he was pulled from the chair. He was being led by the hand into his bedroom by the most attractive man he’d ever seen up close and whose voice made him tremble down to his toes.

  “Whatever shall we do once we get in there?”

  “It’s n-not… I-I just….” Owen was a stuttering, stumbling mess, a complete goon trying to find the words to explain.

  “Relax, remember?” Cal brought Owen’s fingers to his lips and kissed them just as their feet crossed the threshold. He was gentle for all his strength, tugging Owen forward and turning them so he could coax Owen to sit on the bed. Backing up a step, he traced long fingers down the length of his tie. “Would you like me to undress for you?”

  “Yes,” Owen said, maybe too eagerly, but he’d decided before Cal arrived that he wanted skin contact. “Just not everything,” he added when Cal started to loosen his tie. “Keep your underwear on. Please.”

  “You’re assuming I’m wearing any.” Cal winked.

  “You’re not?”

  “Only teasing,” Cal rumbled with laughter. “We can start there.”

  The paisley tie came undone in two sure jerks on the knot. Coiling it around his hand, Cal slid his jacket off and set both items on the chair beside Owen’s bed, where he also toed off his shoes. Then he started to undo his vest.

  “I-I want….”

  “Yes, Owen?” Cal’s voice saying Owen’s name like that was making this harder—much harder.

  “I don’t want you to do anything unless I ask you to,” Owen said in a rush.

  Cal paused as his vest fluttered open, picking up on the seriousness of the request. “Of course. Anything you want. Only what you want.” His fingers undid the buttons on his shirt like a weaver pulling thread. The crisp white stood out starkly against his skin, and the shade of blue in the vest and slacks complimented him like he’d been created with that color in mind.

  Watching the slow, precise movements of Cal taking off his clothes, Owen brought up a quaking hand to his own shirt. He had to undress himself. He’d never make it through this if Cal offered to help.

  “It’s okay,” Cal said, the calm, even tone of his voice reminding Owen that it was, that he didn’t need to shake or be afraid, even though no one had touched him since….

  No, he didn’t want to think about Harrison.

  “Your speed, Owen. Your rules.” Cal opened his shirt like parting the curtain to a great prize and shrugged it from his shoulders to fall to the floor.

  He wasn’t the broadest of men, but if his features were carved from marble, then his body was just as impeccable, especially the touches of softness around his muscle tone and the diamond of chest hair that thinned into a line on its way down until it disappeared into his underwear. No waxed six-pack—this was better. There was even the hint of a scar along Cal’s collarbone to remind Owen that he wasn’t some statue come to life, he was real.

  “Your everything,” Cal said.

  Owen n
odded, feeling empowered by his belief in Cal. The usual bashfulness over being too skinny didn’t surface as he removed his shirt. He started to undo his jeans just as Cal unbuttoned his slacks, and he had to wonder when he’d last seen another man in an intimate setting who wasn’t Harry.

  Seeking to banish any remaining traces of his ex, Owen kicked his jeans to the floor, impatient now for Cal to join him. As soon as the other man was left in only snug boxer briefs, Owen scooted up the mattress.

  “On the bed. Under the covers with me.” He wasn’t usually good at giving orders, but the way Cal listened to him, grinned and slinked after him from the foot of the bed, made it easy to stay confident. Cal didn’t touch him when Owen yanked down the covers and they slid beneath together, not until Owen reached for him first.

  Taking hold of Cal’s arms, Owen turned onto his side and wrapped Cal around him like a blanket, snuggling back against his chest and feeling instant relief in the contact of skin. “Yes… like this,” he said as if he’d been holding his breath for months.

  He could feel that Cal was hard, stiffening behind him against his hip. Of course he was; Owen was too, and he hadn’t explained that he didn’t want to go further. Part of him wondered if he should change his mind. He could, he knew. Cal expected him to ask for more, but this… this was all Owen wanted despite the stirrings in his body. Cal’s warmth and kindness and comfort—things Harrison had only pretended to give him.

  It felt better than Owen expected, and he clung tightly to the arms around his waist, choked by the emotions catching in his throat as he basked in having someone with him who wouldn’t ask for more than he could give.

  THERE were plenty of attractive men in the agency’s catalog closer to Owen’s age, even a few Cal respected for their tastes aligning closely with his own, enough that Owen could have found someone younger with ease. He wondered if the decision to have him tonight was purely aesthetic or a conscious choice on Owen’s part to have an older man, but Cal had pried enough with questions during dinner.

  Owen was such a fragile, sweet kid, blushing and endearing through it all, making Cal want to please him all the more and give him everything he asked for.

  “You smell even better than I thought you would.” Owen sighed in pure bliss—just what Cal had hoped to instill in him.

  Owen felt amazing pressed up against Cal with his mile-long legs and slender frame. The full line of their bodies connected, aside from the underwear, but Cal imagined slowly smoothing his hands down Owen’s taut stomach beneath the elastic, grinding forward, and palming him until the kid begged for more. He couldn’t do that yet, though. He had to wait for Owen to ask, which made it all the more thrilling.

  “What next, Owen?” he whispered.

  “Nothing. Just this.”

  Cal blinked, certain he’d heard wrong. “Just this?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “This is all you want?”

  “Y-yes….”

  “Okay,” Cal said quickly when he sensed the tension returning to Owen’s body and heard the worry in his voice, but he didn’t understand.

  This kid was beautiful and sweet, a good cook, a good conversationalist when not falling over himself with embarrassment. What could possibly be the reason he needed an escort to snuggle? It wasn’t Cal’s place to ask. Still, he was curious.

  Holding Owen securely, Cal offered tender strokes down his arm but no farther. Pressed his cheek to the back of Owen’s neck but didn’t kiss him. Willed his body to come down from its excitement and held Owen like he’d been asked. He didn’t know what to say, but he would never go against a client’s wishes.

  It wasn’t long before Owen’s shoulders started to shake, a sniffle and sharp intake of breath breaking the quiet. Cal told himself not to recoil; he didn’t want Owen to think this wasn’t okay, but he didn’t know how to handle someone breaking down in his arms who wasn’t his sister.

  “I’m s-s-sorry.” Owen’s voice shook with his body. “I don’t know why I’m… crying….”

  All Cal could do was shush him, nuzzle closer, and let his hand travel past Owen’s elbow down his forearm—

  A flinch pulled Owen’s arm out of reach. “S-sorry. Old injury. It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

  It was not fine. Cal knew what this was now, and it hardened like cement in his gut. Someone had hurt Owen. Deeply. Even physically, judging by that flinch. What monster had damaged him so much to cause this, Cal wondered?

  He shouldn’t be the person anyone relied on, especially not when they were dealing with true, visceral trauma. Owen needed something more than him, a friend, a therapist, not an escort in his bed. But who was Cal to tell someone what they needed when Owen had asked for him?

  When Owen pulled Cal’s hand back to reconnect on his forearm like an apology, like he needed to apologize, Cal couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

  “You don’t have to answer, but… why? Why this?”

  “Because I’m alone,” Owen said, small but steady, like he wanted someone to hear this, though it was clearly still easier facing away from Cal. “Because my friends and family are hundreds of miles away, and I needed something tonight no one else can give me. I’ve always been terrible at dating.

  “There was someone… a long-term someone, but he never gave me this. He never let anything be on my terms. I’m lonely without him, but I’m scared to go out. I don’t want to fall into that same pattern and end up with someone else who only wants to use me for sex. Sorry!” He started as if he’d said something terrible. “I don’t mean—”

  “I’m not offended, Owen.” Cal cut off his default reaction to assume blame. “No one uses me for sex. I give it freely. There’s a difference. If this is all you want, then this is all we need to do. But next time, you don’t have to pay extra.”

  “I don’t?”

  “This isn’t exactly what is meant by ‘anything goes.’” Cal smiled against Owen’s skin, and his tension eased away.

  “Oh,” he said through a chuckle. “Alyssa says it’s Ugly Duckling Syndrome. I met him after I… blossomed, I guess? I was so used to being a gangly dork in high school that no one wanted, I didn’t know how to have confidence with people once I was—and this is her talking not me—hot.”

  “You are hot. You’re stunning.”

  “You’re paid to say that,” Owen murmured. Normally, when someone shot that phrase at Cal, he got angry, but Owen hadn’t said it with any derision toward him.

  “I’m paid to be here,” Cal said, “but I say what I feel. Your terms. Your wishes. And I am happy to oblige. But when it comes to my opinion, I will always be honest with you.”

  After a moment, he didn’t think Owen was going to respond, but then his voice filtered up with a softly whispered, “Thank you.”

  Owen’s sniffles faded as Cal cuddled him close. Anything amorous between them tapered off, leaving only the quiet and two connected bodies lying in tandem.

  Eventually Cal felt Owen’s breathing steady and knew the kid had fallen asleep. He never slept with a client unless he was staying the night, and that hadn’t been part of Owen’s request. Cal figured he’d give him a few hours, but only twenty minutes passed before Owen stirred.

  “Sorry!” he yelped as soon as he roused and shifted in Cal’s arms to face him. He’d never taken his glasses off, so they sat askew now, and one side of his hair was flattened. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “You must have needed it,” Cal said, cupping Owen’s face to caress a thumb down his cheek, which brought out a fresh blush.

  “You don’t have to stay the night or anything.” Owen leaned into his hand even as he averted his gaze. Then his eyes went wide. “Is that extra? If I ever wanted you to?”

  “It is. Still less than ‘anything goes.’”

  “Right.” Owen laughed, extracting himself from Cal’s hold so he could sit up. He appeared refreshed and less shaky when he reached to fix his glasses. “Thank you. I feel a lot better now. I needed this. I know
we’ve been dancing around the subject, but… could this be a regular thing? Do you do that?”

  “I do that.” Cal sat up next to him, unused to sharing a bed with a client when both of them still had an article of clothing on. “I’m very picky about who I take on as a regular, and I only have one available slot at the moment.”

  “Oh….” Owen looked dejectedly down at his lap.

  “So absolutely, Owen.” Cal stressed that he meant that as a yes. “We can do this again. Since you were accepted onto the roster, you have the direct line to my handler. Call her to set up the sort of schedule you’d prefer, and we can go from there. As long as I’m free, I can see you as many nights a week as you want—and can afford.” He kept his tone light to put Owen at ease.

  “Okay.” Owen smiled so delightful and boyish. “I’ll do that. I should let myself settle in more this weekend anyway.”

  They fell into simpler conversation after that as they got up and began to get dressed. Soon, Owen was walking Cal to the door, but he paused at the computer desk to write a note for him.

  “For your wardrobe. Ask for Dennis. He has a good eye. Don’t let the smugness deter you. Once he knows who you are and that you’re willing to spend, he’ll treat you well.”

  “Thanks. I’ll… see you soon?” Owen asked, hovering after Cal on his way out, still unsure of himself and blushing scarlet.

  Scarlet—Cal’s newest name for the books.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  He meant it. He meant everything he’d said to Owen during their evening together, but he had no idea what had possessed him to allow such a change to his routine. Cal never took on clients like Owen—he didn’t think there were clients like Owen—but especially when this case meant that Cal might not be the healthiest outlet for him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint Owen and turn him away.

  Cal had said he needed a change. Maybe helping Owen was exactly what both of them needed.

  FALLING against his door after Cal left, Owen couldn’t stop grinning. He’d fallen asleep with a stranger who’d obviously been thrown by his requests, but he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself. And it had been so long since Owen felt that content in someone’s arms.