Second Time Around (14 page)

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Authors: Darrin Lowery

BOOK: Second Time Around
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Chapter Eleven
Korie and Vaughn went skating. Other activities included the zoo and the Field Museum. They saw all that Chicago had to offer.
She took him to a few Bulls games. He insisted on floor seats and she insisted that they sit among everyday people. She took him places he hadn't been in years, such as J&J Fish, Leon's Barbeque, and places in the hood to get a good hoagie. Of course, Vaughn never had more than a bite or two, considering his health and age, but he enjoyed that bite or two of food immensely.
They went to the movies—at the theater. They went to plays, they went to after-five events, and they also did simple things like picnic and go for long walks. The courtship lasted ten weeks off and on. It was off and on because Vaughn was forever traveling. He was always busy making millions for his company.
He traveled the world. No matter where he was, he always made time to call. He always sent her flowers, and no matter what he was doing night or day, if she wanted him she could call him. She could reach him. There were even times where he might be in the middle of a board meeting, unknown to her, and he would politely excuse himself just to talk to her for a few minutes about nothing.
He was attentive, affectionate, and loving. He was all these things and they still hadn't even slept together yet. For him, she was the perfect woman and to her, he was becoming the perfect man.
Initially, she thought the age difference would get in the way. She thought that eventually she might one day become bored with him. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Each day, Vaughn found a way to reinvent himself. Korie made him smile. Korie made him feel loved. Korie made him feel young.
When Vaughn was in town, he went running many mornings with Korie. Korie seldom ran with Jayna anymore. Jayna had her hands full at work and with her courtship with Brandon. Korie would wake up in the morning and Vaughn's driver would be out front waiting for her to take them both to the park where they would run. It was a pleasant difference between her runs with Jayna. In the limo, coffee would be waiting and Vaughn with one of his million-dollar smiles. It felt weird getting out of a limousine at the park to go jogging, but riding in a limo was definitely something that Korie could get used to.
Like Vaughn, Brandon was always busy. Because he wasn't the boss, he couldn't simply move his schedule around as Mr. Harris could. Still, he spent every moment he could with Jayna. He also made more money than Jayna did—a lot more money. For Brandon, although he didn't command the money that Mr. Harris did, money was no object. There was nothing that a man could get Jayna that she couldn't get for herself. There were, however, things that Brandon could get Jayna that no other man could: Weekends in Vermont on short notice, for example.
It was little things like this that made Jayna swoon. Although it was true that the trips cost money, and on the outside looking in it might appear that Jayna was indeed a gold digger, she wasn't. She simply wanted a man who could be romantic on a whim and do romantic things for his woman without being preoccupied with cost.
Jayna also spent her money on Brandon and she bought him things that few women could afford to buy for men. Just as Brandon paid for lavish trips, it was not uncommon for Jayna to spend her hard-earned money on him as well. She bought him ties, suits, and the occasional watch.
For the first time in a long time, Korie and Jayna were happy with their love lives. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Korie thought she might be open to falling in love again.
At private events, Vaughn introduced Korie as his lady friend. It was an old term that meant girlfriend, and Korie didn't mind it at all. It was a moniker that she would proudly wear. Vaughn was attentive to her and, in spite of all the incredible responsibility that he had within his company, he made time for her.
Work was secondary, or at least he made her feel that it was. Korie's thoughts of him were growing less and less each day. Rather than think of the past, Korie was beginning to look toward the future. She was finally beginning to see past the hurt. She introduced Vaughn to her world and he introduced her to his.
She took him go-kart racing.
He took her for a ride on his Hinckley T38R convertible speedboat.
She took him to see the new Tyler Perry play.
He took her to see the New York Metropolitan Opera . . . in New York.
Some nights were spent in one another's arms in the apartment she once shared with him.
Then there were the nights that she spent in his mansion in Wilmette.
She introduced him to Aéropostale, Tommy Hilfiger, and Nike.
He introduced her to Vera Wang, Donna Karan, and Paris Hilton—literally.
She took dancing lessons; salsa, mambo, and merengue.
He took flying lessons. When he felt confident enough, he bought a plane.
As a man, he grew into this loving, caring person he never knew he could be again.
As a woman, she grew as a professional and as a companion.
Vaughn was becoming Korie's Adam. Korie was beginning to become Vaughn's Eve. They held hands, told secrets, and talked about ambition.
 
 
And then there was the first time that they made love.
He was attentive. He was tender and he made her feel like a woman. Korie hadn't felt like a woman in a long time. Once they began making love, Korie remembered what it was like to be with a man again; a man who cared. They didn't make love often. Vaughn would often blame it on his business, but Korie knew it was because he couldn't always hang with her in the bedroom. For her that was fine. There was more to life than sex. There was more to a relationship than sex. There was also love. Although Korie wasn't in love with Vaughn yet, she was more open to being in love with him one day. And so, they made love as often as they could. After all, Korie hadn't been sexually active at all. She eventually came to feel that occasional sex was better than no sex at all. She soon after discovered that she missed sex. It was like not having chocolate for a long time and then being given some as an afterthought. It was after she became active again that she remembered how great it was to feel the embrace of a man, his scent, and his strength.
 
 
It was a warm day in May and Vaughn had to meet with Japanese buyers. He met with them in his downtown Chicago office, and for the first time in a long time, he had trouble doing business; he had trouble closing a deal. This hadn't happened since his wife died. Brandon and the board of directives figured something—or someone—was distracting him.
Rather than say anything, they left their CEO alone with his thoughts. Was he distracted? Was he suddenly losing it? Vaughn knew what his employees were thinking. In the back of his mind he wondered if they were right. Lately he had been acting giddy; like a teenage boy. People seldom said no to DeVaughn Harris, and with the non-closing of this deal, he felt something that he hadn't felt in years: fallible.
He didn't express his concerns to Korie. He liked where he thought their relationship was headed. He did, however, need to speak with someone. He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.
“I need to see you as soon as possible,” he said.
“Okay, Mr. Harris, when?”
“How about now?”
“Now is fine . . . my office?”
“No. My home in Wilmette. I'll send my driver.”
Vaughn left his company early that day. He had his driver take him home and then sent his driver to pick up his therapist, Darren Howard.
Chapter Twelve
“Don't ask me to do this.”
“I'm asking you to at least think about it.”
“I told you in the beginning to never ask me to do this.”
“All I'm saying is I think we can have more than this.”
“What if I don't want more than this?”
“That's crazy, why not?”
“Because I like the way that things are! I like the arrangement that we have.”
“I'm trying to tell you that I care about you. I'm trying to tell you that I am willing to offer you the world.”
“There is nothing that you can do for me that I can't do for myself.”
“By whoring yourself?”
“Was it whoring when you picked up the phone and made the call?”
“Tell me that you're not feeling me. Tell me that you don't think we would make a dynamic couple.”
“I can't tell you that because we might. What I will tell you is that I've made my decision and the answer is no. You've crossed a line here.”
“Maybe, but you crossed the line yourself last week. You broke your own rules, not me.”
“You're confused.”
“You're damned right I'm confused, especially after last weekend!”
“Last weekend was a mistake.”
“You can't mean that. Look me in my eyes and say it again.”
“Last week was a mistake. I made an error in judgment. It was nothing. It was my fault.”
“Because you were feeling me?”
“Because I can't give up the lifestyle that I've grown accustomed to.”
“What makes you think I can't offer you that same lifestyle?”
“Unless you're sitting on millions, you can't.”
“So this is about money?”
“It's always about money.”
“What about love?”
“Shit, what about love? Fuck love. Besides, you can't love me.”
“How do you know?”
“You don't even know me!”
They had been arguing well over an hour. It had been four months of weekends and Darren had spent close to 24,000 dollars on Stephanie. And that was just her fee. Each weekend was more lavish than the last one.
This weekend, he purchased dozens of roses, had all of her favorite foods and fruits around his place, and he had her favorite music playing and her bath drawn. This weekend, like every other weekend, he treated her like his woman. He was falling in love with her; better yet, he was falling in love with the fantasy that she provided.
He was addicted to her. She was his drug. She said all the right things, did all the right things, and made love to him as no other woman had. No other woman since her. She fed his ego, she rocked his body, and she made him shake with waves of orgasm and most of all, she made him smile.
She was the perfect woman.
The point he was missing was that she was the perfect woman—for a fee.
His objectivity had been blurred. So had her professionalism, her rules. She loved the way that he treated her. She loved how attentive he had been. She also made the mistake of breaking her own rules. She gave him personal information, she kissed him more than once on the lips, and once, just once, she made love to him and talked to him. Not like she would talk to a customer, but how she would talk to a man—her man. She told him of her dreams, her aspirations, and places she wanted to travel and the way she wanted to live her life.
She told him how she wanted a grand house, in the south, with a white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. She wanted two boys. Their names would be Jeremy and Allen. She told him how she wanted happily-ever-after. How she wanted to see the world. Paris. Rome. Italy. She talked about how one day she wanted to be nothing more than a mother and a wife.
He listened to her.
He genuinely listened to her.
And this week, there were flowers, music, a drawn bath, and a card that read Be my lady. Let me take care of you. Let's take this to the next level.
The lines that were once drawn in the sand were now blurred.
He wanted more.
Secretly, she wanted more.
But then, there was this line that had once been drawn.
She thought he was handsome. Rugged. The type of man that a girl wouldn't mind bringing home. He was educated. Refined. He was like no other man she brought home before, when she lived with her adoptive parents. He was a good lover, a smart man. She knew he cared for her and she cared for him. She looked forward to his phone calls. She looked forward to seeing him.
But then there was this line that had been drawn.
She knew weeks ago that she had feelings for him. She knew weeks ago that he was someone special. Initially she chalked it up to an orgasm and nothing more. Orgasms made women weak. It made them blind to certain truths about men. Damn him. Why did he make her come? Better yet, why did he make her come so hard? It was more than an orgasm. It was a connection.
He made her come the first night they laid down together. That first night was special. That first night he was shy. She thought being shy was cute. Then there was the way that he looked at her, the way he touched her. There was also the fact that he had this amazing body, muscles upon muscles, and his man muscle was, in a word, nothing short of amazing.
Generally men like him feel entitled. They felt that they were kings and women were concubines. They may not have said it, but their actions spoke volumes. Customers were generally selfish lovers. They were there to be pleased, to be waited on, and to have their egos stroked. They paid for a service and a service was provided.
Stephanie had provided plenty of services. She sold fantasies like the late Billy Mays sold products. Like Arabs sold oil. She owned the fantasy she sold, and she played her part well and for that, she was paid well. She was paid handsomely. She thanked God for Keyshia Cole and their strong resemblance.
She studied Keyshia, emulated Keyshia and coming up, pretended to be her. When Keyshia changed hairstyles, Stephanie changed hairstyles. When Keyshia dressed a certain way, Stephanie did. One day a man approached her about the proposition of being an escort and the rest, as they say, was history. Stephanie stayed in shape, she studied videos, and she even had a gap placed between her two front teeth to sell the fantasy.
That was a few years ago. That was one hundred men ago. That was when she was young and still wet behind the ears. Not the savvy businesswoman that she had become.
He wanted her. From the first moment he saw her, it was clear that he wanted her. He desired her. It was a look she had seen a hundred times before—literally. It was a look of lust in his eyes that she saw. But behind those eyes she also saw kindness. Behind those eyes she didn't just see desire, but potential, tenderness, and a world of possibilities. It was his first time, so they told her at the agency to sell it hard. When she saw him, she knew she was in trouble. She had a weakness for him. He was her type. He was what she was looking for in a man. Before the first nervous word, he already had her wet.
She assumed he would be primal. She assumed he would fumble and be nervous. Rather than jump into things, he took her out. He broke the ice. He made her feel . . . real. He got to know her, as much as she would let him. He pulled her chair out for her. He smiled at her. He wasn't just a customer. Again, there was a connection.
Then there was the lovemaking. It was gentle, passionate, and deliberate—the first time. And he made her come. The second time, that same night, he was deliberate and forceful in his lovemaking; still passionate, and yet he took his time. Again, he made her come. The third time, that same night, he fucked her. He fucked her like he was trying to chase away demons. He fucked her like he was trying to force memories of another woman or another love clear out of his head. He fucked her well. He became primal in his lovemaking and again he made her come.
The fourth time, she awoke to his warm, wet kisses all over her body. He was tender and sweet and he whispered sweet nothings to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how stunning she was. By the fourth time, her womanhood was sore, her vaginal lips swollen with heat and passion. He kissed her everywhere but there, and again blood flowed to her vagina, life flowed to her vagina and dare she say it, love flowed to her vagina.
As he made love to her that final time, he touched her. He caressed her. He looked deep into her warm, brown eyes as he made love to her. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, and her arms. His strokes were long, slow, deep, and deliberate, but yielding . . . feeling . . . pulsating. He fought back the urge to come himself. That was the patience he showed with her, the passion he showed with her. He savored her sex. He savored her touch, and just as he held back the urge to come, she held back the urge to kiss him.
He made her feel like no other man had.
He made love to her like that each and every time.
It didn't help that he also took her out on dates.
It didn't help that some days they didn't even make love right away. Some days, he simply massaged her back, or rubbed her feet, or took her into his arms upon arrival and slow danced.
She was selling a fantasy.
But he was selling one as well.
And then there was this line that was drawn.
And then there was last weekend.
Last weekend he took her to the movies. They held hands and went for a long walk afterward. He took her to the park, where she sat on a swing. They went out for ice cream later, then dinner, then dancing, where they had a few drinks and then they went back to his place.
They went back to his place where they made love. She went to sleep, and when she awoke, he was sitting there, watching her. He watched her as she slept. When she awoke, he was caressing her face and smiling.
Again, her bathwater was drawn. He then did something no other man had ever done. He picked her up, carried her to the tub, and gently laid her in. He then lit a few candles, turned on some soft music, and began to wash her back.
He bathed her.
He bathed her like she was his woman.
He touched her as he bathed her.
He touched her, bathed her, planted kisses all over her neck and shoulders and again, told her how beautiful she was; how stunning she was.
He washed every inch of her.
He then dried her off.
He carried her back to the bed, where he slowly and methodically made love to her. He was deep inside of her when she kissed him. He was deeper than any man before him had ever gone. He touched places no other man could reach.
By that, he touched her heart.
She kissed him.
He reciprocated.
That night, they made love over . . . and over . . . and over again.
All week long she thought about the fact that she kissed him. All week long she thought about that passionate love that they made. All week long, she was conflicted about him.
This week she tried to go back to the way things were. This week she tried to go back to business as usual. This week she tried to put her emotional walls up that came tumbling down after months and months of orgasms.
It was sex. That's all it was, sex. Sex accompanied by orgasm; strong, long-lasting waves of orgasm. It was physical, nothing else. This was the lie she tried to tell herself. Then there was the line that had been drawn.
It was a very blurry line at this point.
She tried to go back to the way things were before the kissing. Darren wasn't having it. Apparently, he thought a lot about last week as well. What she felt, he felt. What she wanted secretly, he wanted openly. He hadn't felt this way about anyone in a long time. Not since her. Not since Korie. He was finally at a point in his life where he was comfortable calling her by name. Before the kiss with Stephanie, Korie was just her.
He wanted to move forward. She wanted to move backward. Backward was safe. Two weeks ago was safe. Someone had to draw a line in the sand and Stephanie figured it had to be her. Darren was a customer. He was a john. He was nobody. That's what Elite Escorts would say. Stephanie's heart and vagina would argue that he was something more, he was something special.
But the line had been crossed, and with that passage there were words, emotions, and ties that bind people together. Their arrangement had evolved from something more than a consumer and a provider of goods.
The fact that they were arguing confirmed that it was much more.
 
 
“So you're telling me that you feel absolutely nothing for me?” he asked.
“I'm telling you that you are a customer and as I told you initially, there can never be anything between us.”

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