A Taste of Utopia (2 page)

Her hand slightly trembles as she brings her fingers to push the black-framed glasses back on her nose. Her tongue darts out of her mouth to moisten her lips. Her eyes meet mine yet again. They are dilated and dark.

Oh, this will be lots of fun. All I have to do is endure two hours of mind-numbing chemistry.

A BUZZ RESONATES
from hidden speakers indicating the end of the class. The immediate sound of screeching chairs erupts in the room. A herd of students race to the door, tripping over one another, anxious for freedom.

Slowly I gather my books, stalling to be the last student remaining in the class.

I glance up. A lanky student with greased hair glued to his forehead makes his way to the professor.

Her face crumples with obvious disappointment, but quickly recovers. The sorrowful expression dissipates, and she grants the student her full and undivided attention.

With my notebook in hand, I file behind the group of students exiting the room without looking back.

Lingering in the hall, I wait until the lanky student leaves the room. I reenter the auditorium and quietly lock the door behind me.

I step across the room as silently as a panther closing in on its prey.

Professor Smith is absorbed by the task of packing away her books in a smart-looking leather messenger bag, her back toward me.

With an ability mastered after years of experience, my fingers shackle her wrists and I twist them to her back.

She gasps and before she has the chance to scream for help, one of my skilled hands clamps over her mouth.

“Hush your dirty little mouth.” I pin her against the desk. “I don’t want a peep leaving your lips. Right at this moment your body is mine. I’m going to fuck and ravish you so thoroughly that for the rest of the semester, every step you take will remind you of my cock slamming into your pussy.”

I ram my pelvis against her ass. “Are you going to be a good girl and keep quiet?”

She nods. I remove the hand from her mouth. Her body trembles under me. An anguished moan escapes her throat.

“You have a mighty fine ass, Professor.” One hand holds her prisoner while the other roams over her body to squeeze her voluptuous and perfectly rounded ass. I do enjoy a plump behind.

Slowly, my fingers travel over her body until they find the small pearl buttons on the front of her shirt. One by one, I undo them and unfasten the front clasp of her bra.

“Your tits are big and ripe.” I cup her heaving breast and pinch her nipple hard and rough. She squirms and moans loudly. I tighten my hold on her wrists and pull them back harshly. “I said quiet.” I drag her unbuttoned shirt over her shoulder, and my teeth sink into the exposed skin, punishing her for emitting the noise.

Under my firm grip, she struggles to suppress another moan. “Good girl.” I soothe the bite-mark with my tongue.

I bend her over until her face rests on the desk’s surface. “I’m going to let go of your hands. If you move a muscle, I’ll punish you. Understood?” I whisper those demands into her ear, my teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

She nods.

I release her arms and place them over her head.

I straighten my body and retreat a step.

She tries to glance over her shoulder.

“Don’t look at me,” I warn.

She presses her cheek against the surface of the table. Her breath comes in fast gulps, and her body shakes.

I caress her round derriere. “You, my lovely wench, shook your firm ass in my face to tease me, didn’t you?” My fingers grasp the hem of her tight skirt. I yank it up until it’s bunched at her waist, exposing the black lace partly covering her behind.

A loud smack resonates through the room when my palm meets her butt cheek. She gasps, but doesn’t emit a sound. “You enjoyed watching me adjust my pants. You knew my cock was painfully hard. Yet, you continued to provoke me.” I caress the pink handprint where I just slapped her.

I unbuckle my pants and shaft my dick with a rubber. “I could be nice, do a little foreplay, court you and all that. But I won’t. Your pussy will be punished for being such a tease.”

I grip the flimsy fabric of her undergarment and rip it to shreds in one swift movement. She groans and squirms attempting to suppress her surprise and anticipation.

I smile and stall. She remains still and silent.

“Such an obedient slut,” I praise, sticking my hand between her thighs and cupping her sex. “Oh, my professor’s cunt is wet with need,” I tease.

I place my cock at her entrance, grip her hips, and slam into her.

Two hours, three orgasms, and another satisfied customer later, I count the wad of hundreds she handed me. My costumers pay in advance. However, she added a thousand dollars gratuity for turning her fantasy into reality.

Being a male escort is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

Two months later . . .

I slam the door closed and glance at my watch. It’s six in the morning, almost time for my morning run. I drop my luggage on the floor, toss my rumpled jacket on the couch, and kick my shoes off.

The smell of coffee beckons me to the kitchen.

“Morning, Zach,” I greet my roommate and best friend as I sit on the bar stool by the granite island.

“Morning to you,” he says filling a mug with the black elixir of gods—also known as coffee.

“You want some, yes?” He offers me a steamy cup.

“How was your trip? Enjoyable?” Zach is wearing a silky kimono patterned with cherry blossoms. Outside the house Zach only wears manly apparels. At home, he always wears a feminine Geisha kimono. Some of them rival Japan’s imperial family’s wardrobe, in my opinion.

“Thanks, man.” I retrieve the offered cup with a grin. “It was the usual: Middle of the night sex, shower sex, elevator sex, dressing room sex, public sex.”

“How’s the oriental beauty?” He wiggles his brows.

My grin morphs into a full-fledged smile. “If I ever get married, please remind me to marry a chick in her forties. The stamina. Damn.”

“Well, too bad we can’t say the same for men.” He grins and a dimple pops on his left cheek. Zach is beyond good-looking. He is a beautiful specimen. Tall, strong build, aquamarine blue eyes, blond—and curly—hair.

“How was your date, by the way?” I ask. Zach is bisexual. Well, I’m not entirely sure what he is. As an escort, he only did women but in his personal life, he specifically dates men.

“Fantastic!” he says in a singsong voice. “Though it was very chaste.” His face deflates. “We kissed goodnight and parted ways.” His expression turns dreamy. “But the kiss . . . ? Wow. Memorable. Unparalleled.” His face beams. That’s Zach. He has no poker face. I’ve never met someone so easy to read.

“Not having sex on a first date doesn’t make a person chaste, you know. That’s how most relationships roll.”

“Speaking of dates, you have a message from Adriana. She has a new client for you.”

I frown. It must be someone important. I seldom take new customers. My schedule is booked year round with regulars.

“Please say it’s a traveling gig. Destination: Fuji. Purpose: Wild beach sex.” I prop my elbows on the granite counter and press my fingers on my temples. A splitting headache is numbing me.

“You look awful. Everything okay?” Zach asks, raising his brows.

“Yeah, man. All is well. Just need a legit vacation.”

“I’ve warned you. Too much work.” He gets the coffee pot and tops off my cup.

“Between working at His Secret and your gigs with Adriana, you barely have any personal time,” he reprimands me for the millionth time. “Your lifestyle is a recipe for premature cardiac arrest.”

“You shitting me? My lifestyle is extremely healthy.” Why did I mention anything about being tired? Now Zach is going to grill me with his BS about my needing to quit my job as an escort.

Since our company, His Secret, started to turn in a profit, he’s been pressuring me to commit full time to it.

He stares at me. His lips press into a thin, firm line before he says, “You don’t get to tell me you live a healthy life just because you eat organic, drink wheatgrass every morning, and work out like a lunatic.”

“Someday, you’re going to make a great dad,” I tease.

“I’m serious, S. You need to take the time to chill out and enjoy life.”

“I enjoy life. Have you seen my closet? My car?” I wave my arms around me. “This apartment?”

“I’m not talking about material possessions, Seth. I’m talking about having fun, meeting people, and going out.”

“I went to New York on a chartered plane.” I hold out my hand and count on my fingers as I boast the events of the previous days. “Visited museums. Watched the New York Philharmonic. Dined at Rao’s. Spent a week in a suite at Ritz-Carlton. And went shopping at exclusive boutiques on Fifth Ave. I even rode in one of those fucking corny carriages in Central Park. But, you dare say I don’t enjoy life? Oh, and did I mention how much I paid for any of the mentioned extravaganzas?” I make the universal sign for zero dollars.

“Does it ever occur to you that soon, we’ll be able to afford to pay for all of those
and much more
with the money from our company? Dude, His Secret is taking off. We’re about to dominate the international market. No small feat, my friend.”

“When we get there, I’ll consider leaving
Tailored.
”

“Why don’t I believe you? Oh, yes, because you don’t sound convincing.”

“I enjoy what I do. I enjoy fucking women. What can I say? Sue me!” I shrug.

“Yeah, yeah. You do. And it’s easy to hide behind sex.”

“Here we go again.” I raise my hands up. When I drop them, they hit the counter with more force than I anticipated.

“I’m not sugar coating, S. You seriously need to reassess your life. And while you’re at it, you should consider reevaluating your values.”

“I have plenty of uncomplicated sex with gorgeous women. Tell me what’s to evaluate about that.”

“Sex. What about satisfaction?”

“Get as much as I give, bro.”

“Intimacy. Spooning. Arguments. I just read an article claiming that arguing with your partner decreases the chance of Alzheimer’s. It stimulates the brain, challenges you.”

“I get all I want from my arrangements.”

“I’m talking relationships, Seth. Real dates. Fights. Romance.”

“Did I tell you about the stamina of my last client?” I rub the overnight growth on my cheeks. “I got to fuck a gorgeous woman senseless. Did I also mention she was starving for attention and requested multiple orgasms? She woke me up with a blow job most mornings. Need I continue?”

“She
paid
you for the attention and the orgasms. I’m talking about intimacy, bonding, and companionship.”

“You’re redundantly pleading your case.”

“You need friends. A social life.”

“Hey, I thought you and I were friends, Dr. Phil.” I cock my head.

“My point exactly. I’m your sole friend, yes? That’s not much to write home about.”

“Good thing I don’t have anyone to write home to.” I wanted to sound playful, but it came out bitter.

“Fatigue makes you grumpy. Why don’t you drink your wheatgrass and go ahead and take a nap?”

Right, I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours. My body is in a dire need of rest. “Nah, I have to work out.”

“C’mon. Your temple,”—he waves a hand over my body—“can wait for worship. You need the rest. Adriana said the new client is young, wealthy, and inexperienced. You’ll need your strength and endurance.” He wiggles his brows.

“Fucking hell, some spoiled patrician. Hate those.”

“Well, hazards of the job.” He lets out a mirthful laughter. “Can’t always have the older women.”

“Yeah, damn shame.” I put the empty mug in the sink and head for my room.

TWO HOURS LATER,
I dial Adriana’s number.

“Hey, Querido, how’s the best city in the world?” Adriana asks, her Brazilian accent dragging more than usual.

“Diverse and noisy as ever.” I lounge on my bed. “Are you okay? You sound stuffy.”

“I’m just getting over a cold.” She sniffs and coughs.

“So, what do you have for me?”

“Did you get your beauty sleep, yet?”