Mr Garcia (Mr Series)

I freeze on the spot, and we stare at each other.

What the hell?

Damn it, no. I don’t want him to see me here.

Wait a minute… what the fuck is he doing here?

Are you freaking kidding me?

Oh my God, and I thought he was nice. What a joke.

Typical. Another man of my dreams who turns out to be a walking fucking sperm bank. Ugh.

I’m so done with men.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I narrow mine right back.

Don’t look at me like that, asshole. I see you for what you really are now.

Sleazebag.

“May I introduce you all to our newest Escape Girl,” Porsha says into the microphone. “This is her very first shift. She’s completely untouched.”

The hushed whisper of awe falls over the room, and I feel the heat of everyone’s eyes on me.

“Cartier is as intelligent as she is beautiful, I’m sure you all agree, gentlemen.”

I glance around at all of the men that are standing, captivated, around the catwalk. The scent of money hangs in the air. So many expensive suits on well-groomed, handsome men. Each in their thirties or forties.

I wonder if any of them are married.

Hell.

What the fuck am I doing here?

Damn Kayla and her contagious excitement. Where is she now, huh?

This is a living nightmare.

Just go to a room and go to sleep. I don’t have to do anything with anyone, I remind myself.

“Gentlemen, who’s it going to be?” Porsha asks the room.

The men all smile darkly, drinking me in.

I can almost feel their hunger.

My breath quivers on the intake, and I drop my shoulders and force a smile.

If I’m going to Hell, I may as well go hard.

“Gentlemen,” Porsha says, as if this is some kind of stage show. Well, I guess it is, really. “State your intentions. Who wants to be the very first man Cartier spends the night with?”

The men all begin to move around, and they come and stand in front of me, just like Porsha said they would.

I glance up to the one man that doesn’t: Mr. Garcia.

“Hello, I’m Jonathan,” a blonde man says as he picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. His eyes hold mine, and he kisses my hand again. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Hello.” My stomach flutters with nerves, and I force a smile. “Likewise.”

“Bennet.” A dark-haired man smiles. “It’s a pleasure.”

I shake his hand and smile. “Nice to meet you.”

One by one, the men introduce themselves, and Porsha is right: the majority of them are gorgeous. And even if they haven’t been genetically blessed, they all have the ‘It Factor’.

I glance over to Sebastian, who is standing alone and sipping his scotch. His eyes stare straight ahead, as if pre-occupied.

Why isn’t he lined up to meet me? I know he likes me. At least, I thought he did. I glance over at the line of beautiful girls beside me, and the penny drops.

He’s here for someone else. One of them.

Fuck.

“I’ll start the bidding!” a man from the back calls. “Thirty thousand pounds.”

A few of the men chuckle. “Fifty thousand.”

Huh? What’s going on?

“Seventy-five thousand tip to spend the night with me!” one man calls in an assertive voice.

I glance around. There seems to be some kind of auction happening.

Oh crap, they told me about this, I get 25% of the auction price on top of my wage if I accept one of them.

“Eighty-five.”

“One hundred!” another man calls.

From my peripheral vision, I see Sebastian place his scotch down on the table and turns toward the exit door.

What… he’s leaving?

I look around nervously. He’s just leaving?

“Him!” I call.

Sebastian keeps walking, and I point toward him. “That man there. The one walking toward the door.”

“Mr. Smith!” Porsha calls.

Sebastian stops on the spot, still facing the exit.

“Cartier has chosen you,” she calls.

Sebastian turns, and his eyes hold Porsha’s before he says, “She doesn’t have what I want.” His voice flat and lifeless.

I glare at him. Asshole.

“That isn’t how this works, and you know it, Mr. Smith,” Porsha says. “Our girls call the shots. If Cartier wants you, Cartier gets you.”

Sebastian’s eyes meet mine, and then his chin rises in defiance. “I’m not interested.”

I feel my face flush with embarrassment. This is possibly the most degrading thing that has ever happened to me. Fuck you.

“Mr. Smith, you play by the rules or you hand in your membership.” Porsha sneers.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, clearly angered, and he walks back toward me. “One hundred and thirty!” another man calls from the back.

Sebastian stands in front of me, inches away from my face, and we glare at each other.

Anger bounces between us. What, exactly, we are angry about, I don’t know. Actually, that’s a lie. I do know.

It’s the fact that he’s fucking here, that’s what. And here I was thinking he was someone special. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so pissed off with someone I don’t even know.

I raise my eyebrow.

He stares at me, and then without a word, he takes my hand.

“This way,” he mutters under his breath.

Porsha smiles at him. “That’s more like it.”

I feel the other men in the room staring at us as we walk toward the door and then get into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, Sebastian drops my hand like a hot potato. We stare forward in total silence as we travel upwards.

She doesn’t have what I want.

Like fucking hell I don’t. I could make you beg for me if I wanted to, you self-absorbed prick.

The elevator door opens, and he marches down the hallway with the key to the apartment in his hand. I follow him. I don’t even want him now, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting him embarrass me like that or take one of the other girls in front of me. Who the hell does this jerk think he is?

She doesn’t have what I want.

My blood begins to boil as he opens the apartment door and walks in. The door nearly slams shut in my face. Nice manners, asshole.

I storm in behind him.

He walks straight to the bar and pours himself a scotch, he holds the bottle up in question.

“No, thanks,” I snap.

I place my purse down onto the table and see a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne in it. That’s more like it.

Sebastian follows my line of sight.

“Do you want one of those?” he asks.

“Please.”

He opens the bottle and pours me a glass of champagne, eventually passing it to me.

We glare at each other as we take a sip of our drinks, animosity bouncing between us.

“I thought your job was making shit coffee?” He sips his scotch.

A sarcastic smile crosses my face. “You sound quick to judge for a man that pays for sex.”

He fakes a smile as if I’m stupid. “I’d rather pay than sell myself.”

“Same fucking thing.” I sip my champagne and then smile sweetly. “But I’ve been paid now. So run along… Mr. Garcia,” I mouth.

Contempt drips from his every pore as his eyes hold mine. “What the fuck are you playing at?” he whispers.

I step forward so that I’m only inches from his face. “I was hoping to get some sexual satisfaction,” I say quietly. “But you don’t have what I want.”

His jaw clenches, as he glares at me and he slowly takes his suit jacket off. “I have more than you fucking want.”

“I doubt—”

He cuts me off by grabbing my hand and putting it over his crotch. His dick is rock hard beneath the material of his suit pants.

My blood begins to heat and, unable to help it, my hand closes around the shape of his hard penis.

“Do your job!” he sneers, and it’s obvious that he’s furious that I’m here.

“You wish.”

His eyes are fixed on mine. “Get on your knees and suck my dick, you dirty whore.”

Excitement screams through my body. This is fucked up…. but holy hell, it’s hot.

“I wouldn’t suck your dick if it were the last cock on Earth,” I whisper. “I’m broke, not desperate.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face, he likes this game, too.

He steps forward and takes my face in one hand, his grip is almost painful as he licks up the side of my face and drops his mouth to my ear. “You want to be a whore, Cartier?”

My heart begins to thump hard in my chest at the dominance of him.

“You want to be used?” He growls against my ear, squeezing my face harder. “You want me to blow my load on your face?” He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back so that my face is to his. “Because I’ve got a really full cock that’s looking to be emptied.”

Christ Almighty, he’s fucking filthy.

Goosebumps scatter over my body. His grip almost painful.

He pulls my head back again and bites my neck hard. My body betrays me and pumps with arousal.

Yes.

He licks my open lips, and I feel it in my sex. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and stretches it out. I flutter all over and whimper.

He licks my face again, and I’m pinned by the grip of his hand. All I can do is close my eyes.

“Answer the question, Cartier. Do you want my cock, or will I go and find someone else who does?” he whispers darkly. “Any wet pussy will do.”

His grip on my face is painful when he licks up my face once more, and then bites my earlobe.

Holy mother of fuck.

This is not how respectable men speak or behave.

Some kind of moral rubber band snaps, and suddenly, I want to be who he thinks I am.

I want to be his whore.

“You wouldn’t survive my pussy,” I whisper. “I’ll ruin you for fucking life, little boy.”

His mouth breaks into a slow, sexy smile, and he steps back from me as he pulls at his tie hard and undoes it. “You wish.”

I pick up my champagne and take a sip.

Our eyes are locked, and button by button, he slowly undoes his shirt. His chest is broad and olive with a scattering of dark hair, and blow me down, if he isn’t the most perfect male specimen I’ve ever seen.

All man.

My sex begins to throb. God, he does turn me into a whore—a filthy whore who wants him badly.

He pulls his shirt completely open, untucking it from his pants.

My eyes drop down his body, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on.

This is wrong and messed up and so damn primal.

He undoes the button on his pants and rearranges himself in his pants. The tip of his hard cock sits over his waistband, and my eyes linger on the thick purple head.

He’s hung.

Okay, this little fantasy just keeps on giving.

Thump, thump, thump goes my pulse.

He steps closer and takes my champagne glass to take a sip of my drink. Then, with his eyes on mine, he slowly tips the glass and lets the champagne drizzle down my cleavage. It’s cold, and my nipples harden.

He kisses my neck and bites and sucks his way down to the champagne. There, he licks it up with strong strokes of his thick tongue.

My insides flutter.

Fuck!

Who’s ruining who here?

“Get that fucking dress off,” he growls.

I laugh out loud because this is insane, and who the hell am I?

“You want it off, you take it off,” I tell him. “I undress for nobody, least of all entitled assholes.”

He jerks me forward. “You’ll do more than un-fucking-dress for me.”

He spins me around and unzips my dress in one sharp movement. He slides it over my shoulders, and it pools on the floor around my feet.

He slaps me on the behind. “Knees,” he growls.

I turn and stand still, now eye to eye with him.

“I said, get on your fucking knees,” he says.

This is too hot to handle.

Unable to disobey, I fall to the floor and watch as he slides his pants down until his thick cock springs free.

This was not part of the plan, April.

His cock is engorged with thick veins running down the length of it. He bounces it on my cheek, watching me. “Tongue out.”

I stick my tongue out and look up at him in wonder.

Finally, a man who knows what he wants.

“Farther,” he growls.

I do as I’m told, and he stands to the side, sliding the underside of his cock over the top of my tongue.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Just. Like. That.” He repeats the movement, and pre-ejaculate beads on his end.

The idea of him coming undone because of me fries my brain, and I clench hard to stop my own orgasm.

He’s got me, and he’s got me good. This is next level fucking hot.

I want to taste it. I want him in my mouth.

I turn my head toward him. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my face back to his with his dark eyes holding mine.

“Stop.” He bends and slowly licks my lips. “I’ll tell you when to suck.” He licks me again, but this time it turns into a kiss, his tongue dancing seductively against mine. My eyes close.

Oh God.

With his hands still in my hair, his tongue rides the top of mine, back and forth, back and forth.

Everything about this setting is wrong, hot, and damn… I feel bad to the bone. Like a porn star or something. This is unchartered territory for me. My sex life has always been average at best.

He grabs the base of his cock and stands upright, breaking the kiss. He rubs the tip of his cock through my open lips, and his eyes darken with delight. A dark and dangerous smile flashes across his face. “I like this look on you.”

I smirk around him. “Shut up or I’ll bite it off.”

He chuckles before he slides his dick down my throat, and I gag.

“Take it.” His hands tighten in my hair. “Fucking take it all.”

Good God, he’s a big man.

I close my eyes and try to deal with the sheer size of him. The taste of his pre-ejaculate warms my taste buds.

Our eyes lock, and then, as if he’s unable to hold off any longer, he pulls me to my feet and slides my panties down my legs. He slides his fingers through my dripping lips, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out a sharp hiss.

He turns quickly and shuffles through his jacket pocket. Before I know it, he’s rolling a condom on and dragging me over to the sofa where he falls into a seated position. He pulls me over the top of him and then holds the base of his cock up, his eyes locked on mine. “Get on it.”

I laugh as I lose all control and straddle him.

His fingers find that spot between my legs, and he slowly slides two fingers deep inside.

“Tight and wet,” he says. “Just how I like it.”

His fingers move inside me, almost violently as I kneel above him, and I grip his broad shoulders for balance. The sound of my arousal echoes in the room, and I shudder.

“Don’t even fucking think about coming.” He bites my nipple through my bra. My head tips back, and I whimper out loud.

Holy shit. What the hell is going on here?

He’s a god.

And I’m not supposed to be doing this.

He grabs my ass cheek, and with one hand holding himself up, and the other pulling me down onto him, he slides in deep. I feel the sharp sting of his possession stretching my body completely open.

Oh… Fuck.

We stare at each other, and it feels like something shifts between us.

“Fuck…” I whimper before I bend to kiss him. “So… good.”

He smiles against my lips, and he grabs my hipbones, grinding me down onto him, circling himself deep within me.

A deep, guttural moan escapes me, and I begin to see stars.

No… hold it!

He repeats the delicious movement once more, and I almost lose control.

“I’m going to come,” I whimper. “I can’t hold it.” Nobody could be fucked like this and not come.

“That’s okay.” He looks up at me and brushes the hair back from my forehead. “You come hard for me, baby. Milk my cock.”

He slams me down hard as he takes my lips in his, and I cry into his mouth, my body convulsing. Then, the weirdest thing happens. His grip on my face softens, and our kiss turns tender. We stop moving, and we kiss as if we have all the time in the world, like it’s the only thing that matters. It’s sweet and wonderful, and I forget where I am.

He smiles against my lips and then lifts me to lay me back on the couch, where he spreads my legs open.

His eyes stay fixed on my sex as he slowly spreads my lips apart with his fingers.

I hold my breath.

What’s he doing?

Is he stopping?

Doesn’t he want to come?

He spreads my thighs and drops to his knees beside the couch, and he licks me. “I need to taste you.”

His thick tongue swipes through my flesh, and his eyes close in pleasure. “So fucking good,” he moans against my sex.

Goosebumps scatter up my spine as I watch the most sexual creature I have ever encountered lick me up.

I reach down and run my fingers through his black hair. He looks up and our eyes lock.

Holy hell.

Then he’s all in, moving almost violently against me; his lips, whiskers, and face glistening with the evidence of my orgasm.

He closes his eyes in a state of absolute bliss. His thick tongue thrashes and, oh God, my back arches off the couch.

“Ahh!” I cry.

He flips me over and drags me to the end of the couch, positioning me on my knees before he slams in hard from behind.

The air is knocked from my lungs, and I push my face into the cushions.

Ouch, fuck!

He fucks me, and it’s hard, deep, and powerful strokes. His thick cock is moving at a piston pace, and somewhere in my daze, I come to the realization that I’ve never been fucked like this before.

So thoroughly.

So completely.

He begins to moan, and I smile against the cushions. What a fucking hot sound that is. He slams into me and then holds himself deep. I feel the telling jerk of his cock as he comes hard. He lets out a low, guttural moan, and he continues to slowly slide in and out, releasing his body of the last of his orgasm.

I’m gasping for breath; my body is wet with perspiration. I glance over my shoulder to see Sebastian’s satisfied smile.

I pant and drop my head, my body still shuddering with waves of pleasure deep inside.

Just wow.

He pulls out, panting for breath as he tips his head back to look up at the ceiling. His hands rest on his hips.

“Fucking hell,” he gasps.

I’m speechless. There’s not a coherent thought in my empty head.

He was meant to be sweet and simple, not hot and devious.

That was so random.

“Shower,” he says, and he grabs my hand to pull me up. He leads me down the hall and into the bathroom. After he turns the hot water of the shower on, he removes his condom and throws it in the waste bin.

Without another word, he spins me away from him and unfastens my bra.

I glance over at our reflection in the mirror. My hair is all over the place, and he’s completely naked.

I think we’ve been in the apartment for all of fifteen minutes. So much for me not sleeping with anyone. I guess I really am an Escape Girl.

Whorebag extraordinaire.

Sebastian throws my bra to the floor, and then he moves my hair to one side of my neck and tenderly kisses me on the sensitive skin there.

“You were incredible,” he breathes against my ear.

My hand instinctively rises to his face, and we stand cheek to cheek for a moment. Our eyes lock in the mirror, and his forehead creases. I turn toward him to take his face in both hands, and I kiss him softly. I don’t want anything hard anymore.

I want sweet. I want gentle. I want tenderness.

We kiss for a few moments, and his big, strong arms fold around me. He holds me tightly, and oh… this man.

Our kiss turns desperate, and he pins me to the wall, letting our tongues explore each other’s. Taking our time. His hard erection is up against my stomach. I open my eyes to see that his are firmly shut. He’s right here with me.

He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Wasting no time, he slides in deep, right where he’s supposed to be. It feels so natural between us that I can’t help but smile against his lips.

We move in sync.

“Fuck,” he whispers before he pulls out in a rush and puts me down.

“What’s wrong?”

He drags his hand down his face. “I’ve got to…”

“What?” He looks around the room like a scared animal. “Sebastian?”

He tears a towel from the hanger and wraps it around his waist. “Condom,” he says before he rushes from the room.

Huh? I turn the shower off, and my eyes widen. Oh shit, we forgot a condom.

Oh…he’s getting a condom, I turn the shower back on and get in under the hot water, waiting for him to get back in. I put my head under the water and smile up at the ceiling as the steaming hot water runs over my face. I can’t believe this night.

Sebastian comes back into the bathroom, now fully dressed.

“I’ve got to go,” he says.

“What?”

His eyes hold mine, but he says nothing.

“What are you doing?” I frown. “We have all night together.”

He opens his mouth to say something and then stops himself. “I’ll see you later.” Without another word, he rushes out of the room.

I turn off the shower and run after him, grabbing a towel from the rack.

“What? Why?” I call out.

“I have to go.” He storms toward the front door.

“Where?”

“Home.”

My face falls as I connect the dots. “Are you kidding me?” I snap.

He stops.

“Are you fucking married?”

He stops and spins back toward me. “What?”

“You’re married!” I cry. “You do have a wife and family, don’t you? That’s why you come here. That’s why you have to leave?”

He screws his face up, clearly disgusted. “What?”

I get a vision of a wife at home waiting for him, and three little kids tucked up safely in their beds waiting for Daddy.

I get a lump in my throat because, hell, I do feel like a whore now. The lowest form of low.

“Are you married?” I whisper.

“No.”

“Is there someone waiting for you at home?”

“That’s none of your business.”

My eyes well with tears.

He drags his hand through his hair. “I’m single,” he finally says. “Not that it matters.”

He turns, and without another word, he leaves.

Regret swims around in my stomach.

I walk to the door and rest my forehead on the back of it.

What the hell just happened?