The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)

“Such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?” I mutter through my teeth as I slam into the woman on her knees in front of me. She whines and moans with her face pressed into the mattress.

“Yes,” she cries. “Harder.”

I pick up my pace, practically bruising her backside with my hips. Her wrists are pinned together behind her back, held in place by my hand.

With every thrust, I gauge her reactions. She doesn’t pull away or make any noises of pain. She’s not shaking or trembling; from what I can tell, she feels good.

Mentally, I’m aware that there are only about twenty minutes left in our session, which means I need to start wrapping this up so we have time for aftercare.

Digging my free hand into her hair, I hoist her upright and bring my mouth to her ear. “Let me hear you come for me.”

“I’m almost there,” she says through panting breaths.

I quickly lean down and snatch the vibrator off the bed, clicking it on while I keep up my thrusts. When I press the low power of the wand against her clit, she starts bucking in my arms.

“That’s my girl,” I say in her ear. “Come on my cock. Don’t you dare let me down.”

She lets out a screaming wail of a moan as her body tenses. It sounds feral and wild. Once I know she’s just about finished, I realize it’s time to focus on myself.

I hate having to come at work. And I realize how ridiculous of a complaint that is. Most guys would think my job is a dream.

But my focus isn’t getting myself off. That’s what makes me good at my craft. It’s the reason I’m scheduled months out. I’m not here to shoot my load. I’m here to be the best at what I do.

And judging by the way my client is howling and quaking with her ass in the air for me, I’d say I am the fucking best.

But as much as I hate it, I have to come in order for her to be satisfied. If I don’t get my orgasm, then she will take it personally or assume it’s not over until I do, neither of which is true.

Shutting my eyes, I take myself somewhere else. I drown out the noise and sensations of the moment. It has nothing to do with this beautiful creature in my bed. She’s stunning and fun, and I genuinely like her a lot.

But for some reason, there’s a block.

And it’s been getting worse. Although I’m trying not to think about that. My sessions over the last few weeks have been difficult. Men, women, couples, groups…doesn’t matter.

Sadie suggested I see a therapist about it. Or take some time off.

There I go again…getting lost in my thoughts and no closer to my climax.

My client’s orgasm has ended, and she’s melting into the mattress while I’m trying to finish.

Come on, Dean. Figure it out.

“Come inside me,” she purrs, thinking it’s what I need to finish.

“You want me to fucking come inside you?” I ask with a grunt. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she mumbles into the mattress.

Of course, this is all just talk. The only thing I’m coming in is a condom. And that’s if I come at all.

Shutting my eyes again, I take myself to a few of my favorite memories, hoping one will get me there.

I’m so close, but it’s downright cruel how much my orgasm will tease me. It hovers just out of reach—like it always does.

After a few more minutes, I do what I’ve resorted to doing over the past few weeks.

I fake it.

I’m not proud of it. But as I shudder and moan through a jizzless orgasm, I silently pray my client won’t pick up on it and start canceling her sessions.

When I’m done, I pull out and roll over to remove the clean condom and take it to the trash. My client has maneuvered to her back, staring at the ceiling, looking entirely satisfied and well-fucked. Her cheeks are red, and her hair’s a mangled mess.

“How are you feeling?” I ask after I’ve picked up my black briefs from where they lie folded on the chair. As I slip them on, she gives me a soft smile and a nod.

“I’m wonderful.”

On my way to the mini-fridge to retrieve her water bottle, I notice the time. Ten minutes left. Perfect.

I unscrew the cap as I reach the bed. “Be a good girl and sit up for me.”

She gives me a flirtatious smile as she sits up on the bed, resting against the headboard. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she takes the water. After the first sip, she looks at me with her lips pressed together. “My friend was right about you.”

One side of my mouth lifts into a smirk. “Oh yeah? I hope that means you enjoyed yourself.”

She chuckles to herself as she glances down. “I never imagined I’d do something like this.”

Sitting on the bed, I reach out to her and touch her hand. “What do you mean by that?”

When she looks back up, she gives me a shrug. “I didn’t just want sex,” she says before chewing on her bottom lip. “But most guys I date just don’t get it. Even if I told them what I wanted, they didn’t take me seriously or take the time to make sure I even finished. It’s pretty sad if you think about it. Having to pay someone to put your needs first.”

That is fucking sad, but I don’t say it. “I’m here for you anytime,” I reply because what else am I going to say? That normal men being shit in the sack keeps me in business. That I’m glad she can’t get a good fuck because then I know she’ll come back and shell out another six hundred bucks.

It is fucking sad, but that’s life. Life is fucking sad.

I’m just here to give orgasms when I can to make it a little less fucking sad.

‘Thank you,” she says, her mouth screwed up in a soft smirk.

After our session, I walk my client to the door. A security guard will ensure she gets to her car safely.

On my way back, I notice my pink-haired boss practically jogging across the club toward me.

“Dean,” she calls before I can disappear back into my room.

Begrudgingly, I turn around to face her. “Sage.”

“We just scheduled your last appointment for August. You are booked for the next three months.” She says this with pride and excitement as she grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze. Then she leans in as if to tell me a secret. “You’re by far our most popular escort out of them all.”

That is not a secret. She knows that.

We all know that.

But Sage is kind and doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

“Thanks,” I reply politely. “I’m happy to add another opening in my week.”

Emphatically, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. You’re already putting in eight sessions a week. Your dick is going to fall off if we add any more.”

I smirk at her as I lean against the wall. “I appreciate your concern for my dick.”

She playfully punches my arm.

“And you know…your mental health,” she adds. “How’s that block going?”

My face screws up at the mention of it. My inability to climax has become a public topic of concern at the club. Not that I mind. I’m not ashamed. “It’ll pass.”

“Things like that don’t just pass, Dean. You’re working too hard.” She puts her hands on her hips as if that makes her look more authoritative. She’s far too adorable to come across as assertive, but that’s what I like about her. Sage doesn’t give a shit about most things people concern themselves over. Images, norms, expectations, reputation.

Which is why she’s less worried about my performance as one of her employees and more about my health as her friend.

“I’ll figure it out, Sage. I promise.”

She delicately rests her fingers on my forearm as she leans toward me. “Please take care of yourself. If you need time off, say the word, and we’ll move things around.”

“Thanks,” I reply with a tight-lipped smile. I’m brushing off her offer before she can even get the words out.

Behind Sage, I notice the club manager, Sadie, rushing toward us with an expression on her face I don’t like. Her eyes are wide and pointed directly at me.

“Dean,” she says, sounding exasperated. “There was a call for you.”

My blood runs cold as my spine straightens. Immediately, I think of my father. Ever since his lung cancer progressed to stage four, he’s been staying with me.

“Who was it?” I ask, bracing myself for the news. But what comes out of her mouth takes me by surprise.

“It was the fire department. There was a fire at your house.”

“Oh my god!” Sage replies, lifting her hand to her mouth. “Was anyone hurt?”

My teeth clench as I wait for the answer, but Sadie is quick to shake her head.

“No. Your dad got out okay. Everyone is fine, but they need you to go there now.”

Maybe I waited to hear that my dad was okay before the anger started to set in. Maybe I didn’t.

And as I dash toward my room to grab my phone and keys, I start to fume. Because I already know exactly how that fire got started, and I know exactly who to blame.