We stood apart for a few moments. The carnival sounds from the valley providing unique background music.
Becky made the first move. She didn't get dressed. Instead, she just put the hoodie back on.
As she zipped up, she admitted, "Mosquito bites would put a damper on the evening."
We headed back to my house.
"Thanks for thinking of my welfare."
"Ms. Croft, I'm your guide. It's my job to look out for your best interests."
"Thanks John, but I don't want to be Lara Croft anymore tonight. I'll be me, Becky. Okay?"
"Sure. Whatever floats your boat," I said, in a forced detached tone. As blasé as I sounded, inside my head, the vision of Rebecca Renaldi's naked splendor would not go away. I wanted her. I wanted to touch that perfection.
We continued on in silence, until we arrived back home and stopped when the bright, motion detector flood light blinked on. I held out my hand, and said, "My hoodie belongs in the garage."
Without hesitation, Becky removed the garment, revealing the female form I craved.
Handing it over, she said, "Here you go. If it's all right with you, I'm going to take a shower."
"Sure. Cleanliness is next to godliness." Transfixed, I watched her angel ass sway to the backdoor.
After placing the hoodie back on the garage hook, I let Dick Tracy out to complete his evening toilet. The fireworks hadn't left him incontinent. With mission accomplished, we went back inside. The main shower was running when I walked past, and I resisted the temptation to find out if Becky wanted her back scrubbed. Instead, I continued on to my bedroom and showered in the private, master bath, as my brain battled with an ethical dilemma. One side argued against involvement with a client - a prostitute at that.
The other, more persuasive side argued, 'What the hell. Why not?'
Exposing herself was obviously an invitation, after all. But my suspicious nature wouldn't let me totally enjoy her overt advances. I began to wonder about ulterior motives.
Unable to raise any opposing arguments, my final ruling on the matter- inconclusive evidence to convict, further cross examination was necessary. My plan, knock on her bedroom door and ask if she wanted anything - me for instance.
After the shower, I shaved, while practicing my opening statement in the mirror. Wearing just a towel, I adjourned to the bedroom to dress, stopping abruptly at the unexpected flicker of candlelight. The long, tapered candles placed around the room belonged on the dining room table. As I scanned the perimeter, I spied a different kind of dining experience. A feast for my carnal appetite reclined on the bed.
Becky, covered by the sheet up to her bare shoulders, said, "I hope you don't mind that I made myself comfortable. And... I was thinking we would both enjoy some bedroom fireworks this evening. Am I right?"
Yes! No! Maybe. My brain waffled. My heart leapt. My cock twitched.
I sat on the bed, and said, "Becky, you are beautiful, but you're my client, and-"
She sat up and put a finger against my lips. "Shush. I am the client. I hired you to protect me. There's no place I'd feel safer than in here with you. Now... if we happen to enjoy ourselves while you protect me, there's no harm in it, is there. We are two consenting adults, after all, celebrating Independence Day, exercising our right to pursue happiness." Her hand slipped under my towel to grasp my happiest part. "The truth is self-evident."
She had hard evidence, to be sure. I couldn't argue the facts, only the mitigating circumstances. "I don't have any condoms."
Reaching back under the pillow, Becky pulled out a small square package. "Really? Then what's this I found in the drawer next to the bed?"
"I guess I had one left."
"I counted nine."
