Chapter 60 - Don’t Make a Sound R18

Chapter 60: Chapter 60 - Don’t Make a Sound R18

Angela kept stroking him.

Her oiled hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm, fingers still unable to close completely around the thick shaft. Jesse’s head remained tilted back against the cushion, eyes half-lidded, the faintest smile on his mouth. He looked completely at ease, like a man who had expected this outcome all along.

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Every upward stroke brought the flushed head into clearer view, and the longer she looked the more the thought pushed its way forward. She wanted it in her mouth. The idea arrived fully formed and refused to leave—how heavy it would feel on her tongue, how far it might reach, whether she could even take more than half. Percy never asked for this. Percy barely touched her anymore. The memory of that dry fact only made the want sharper.

He had already let her put her hands on him. He had told her she could. If he had allowed that, he would not stop her from this.

Angela leaned down before she could talk herself out of it and took him into her mouth.

Jesse’s eyes snapped open. For a second he simply stared at the top of her head, clearly startled. Then the surprise melted into a slow, delighted grin. He remembered exactly what she had told him three nights ago in the front seat of the Porsche—that her husband gave her nothing, that she had been starving for attention. Now she was on her knees beside a massage table with his cock stretching her lips, and the knowledge settled warm and vindictive in his chest.

He reached down and gathered a handful of her dark curls.

The moment his fingers tightened in her hair the system skill flared. Sensual Touch flooded the contact point, turning the simple grip into something far more intense than pressure. Angela made a small, startled sound around him as pleasure raced down her spine and pooled low in her belly. Her eyes fluttered. She had never felt anything like it from someone merely holding her head.

Jesse kept his thrusts shallow and controlled at first, mindful of the thin walls and the receptionist down the hall. He worked himself in and out of her mouth with deliberate patience, watching her cheeks hollow and her throat struggle to adjust. The wet heat and the way she kept trying to take more of him eventually stripped the restraint away. His hips began to move faster. The wet sounds grew louder. He still managed not to groan aloud, but his breathing turned rough and uneven.

When he came it was sudden and hard. He held her in place through it, spilling across her tongue in thick pulses. Angela pulled back the moment he loosened his grip and turned her head, spitting onto the towel she kept near the oil cart. She stayed kneeling for a second, breathing quickly, the taste still sharp in her mouth.

Jesse saw the unsatisfied tension still coiled in her body. She had given him everything and taken nothing for herself yet.

He sat up, swung his legs off the table, and moved behind her before she could reach for another towel. One arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her upright so her back was flush against his chest. His cock, still half-hard and slick, pressed firmly against the curve of her ass through the thin fabric of her scrub pants. His other hand came up and covered her mouth completely, palm sealing over her lips.

"Don’t make a sound," he whispered against her ear.

His free hand slid down the front of her pants, past the waistband, past the edge of her underwear, and found her already soaked. Two fingers pushed into her without preamble. Angela’s entire body jerked. A moan tried to escape and died against his palm. The same unnatural intensity that had flooded her when he gripped her hair now poured through every stroke of his fingers. He rubbed over her clit in tight, relentless circles, then curled inside her, then returned to her clit again, never giving her a moment to catch her breath.

She trembled hard against him. Her hips began to rock, chasing the friction even as she tried to stay quiet. Muffled sounds kept escaping around the edges of his hand. Jesse only pressed tighter and lowered his mouth to the side of her neck.

"Cum for me, Angie."

The words were soft, almost gentle, and he repeated them like a command each time her breathing hitched. The combination of the skill-amplified touch, the firm hand over her mouth, and the low voice at her ear stripped away whatever control she had left. Her thighs started to shake. She clenched around his fingers. A broken, high sound still managed to leak out as the orgasm tore through her—sharp, full-body, and stronger than anything she had felt in years.

Jesse held her through it, fingers still moving until the last tremor faded and she sagged against his chest, breathing hard through her nose.

Only then did he slowly take his hand away from her mouth.

The flute music continued to drift from the corner speaker. Somewhere down the hall a phone rang and was answered. Angela stayed where she was, back against him, pants shoved halfway down her hips, the evidence of what they had just done cooling on her skin.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Jesse’s voice, when it finally came, was quiet and satisfied.

"Clean yourself up. You’re still on the clock, and we need to act natural like nothing happened."

Angela left the room first.

She smoothed her scrubs, retied her hair in the little mirror by the door and checked her reflection twice, as if she expected something to be written across her face. Then she slipped out to "prepare the front." Jesse dressed slowly, folded the towel she’d left on the cart and followed her out five minutes later.

The receptionist with the nose ring looked up and beamed at him.

"How was everything?"

"Exactly what I needed," Jesse said.

Angela was standing at the end of the desk, restocking a basket of rolled hand towels that didn’t need restocking. She didn’t look up.

The receptionist rang him up. It was a hundred and eighty dollars for the ninety-minute session. Jesse paid with his card, and when the screen asked about a tip, he typed in five hundred.

His thumb hovered for a second before he confirmed it.

He could have made it five thousand, or fifty. He’d just spent sixty thousand on an apartment without blinking. But this was Angela’s other life, the small, separate thing she’d built for herself. If a customer walked out after one session and left her a tip bigger than a month of her paychecks, the girl behind this desk would talk. Before long the whole place would be wondering what had happened behind that locked door. Five hundred was generous enough to raise an eyebrow and low enough to pass as a big tipper having a good day.

He pressed confirm.

The receptionist glanced at the screen, and her eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, wow. Thank you so much. Angie, you hear that?" She turned to Angela, grinning. "Your client’s a keeper."

"Thank you," Angela said to the towels. Her ears had gone pink.

"We’d love to see you back again soon," the receptionist told Jesse.

Jesse tucked his wallet away and looked past her at Angela. She finally lifted her eyes and met his, and for a second neither of them moved.

"Oh," Jesse said, "you’ll be seeing me very soon."

Angela dropped a towel. The receptionist bent to pick it up, and Jesse walked out through the frosted glass door into the afternoon sun.

He was barely three steps down the sidewalk when the chime went off in his head.

[Ding!]

[You spent $500 on Angela Bonham. 10X Critical Hit! Earned $5,000!]

[Ding!]

[New Harem Member Added: Angela Bonham]

[Harem Members: 3]

Jesse stopped beside the Porsche and read the line twice.

Three. Carrie, Natalia and now Percy Bonham’s wife.

He thought about Angela at the bus stop three nights ago, shivering in her black dress, asking him whether she was so undesirable that her husband didn’t want her anymore. He thought about the way she’d crossed that dim room and turned the lock herself.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Welcome to the club, Angie," he murmured.

He got into the car and drove home.

*****

The street outside his mother’s building was quiet. A couple of kids were throwing a ball against the wall of the bodega on the corner, and an old man sat on a folding chair two stoops down, reading a newspaper.

Jesse parked at the curb, cut the engine and stepped out.

"Well, well."

Jesse went still.

Percy Bonham was leaning against the lamppost beside the front stoop, in the same spot he’d stood the morning Jesse first brought the Porsche home. He wore his navy FBI windbreaker over a gray T-shirt and held a paper coffee cup in one hand. His bald head gleamed in the sun.

Jesse hadn’t heard him coming or seen him when he pulled up. It was as if the man had stepped out of the brick.

For one awful second, Jesse’s mind raced back to the locked room and the salt lamp. He thought of the way Angela’s ears had gone pink at the front desk. Still Waters was only a few streets from here. If Percy had been walking past the window, or if he’d come by to pick his wife up early...

Percy pushed off the lamppost and walked toward him, slow and heavy, until they were face to face. He looked at Jesse’s eyes and frowned slightly, as if something didn’t add up. Then the frown smoothed into a cold, satisfied smile.

"You must think you’re so smart, huh?"