Escort
Copyright© 2026 by Sandra Alek
Chapter 4
When they stepped onto the sand, the beach suddenly filled with applause and cheerful shouts. It wasn’t mockery — it was a salute to a winner. Tanned men raised their glasses. Women looked at her with interest and a bit of respect — the “brave lady.”
A waiter in a spotless white shirt appeared right away. He carried a tall, frosty glass with a soft pink cocktail on a silver tray.
“Compliments from the hotel management, madam. For your amazing energy.”
For the first time since arriving on the island, Helen decided to break her safety rule. She was in plain sight here. Nothing could happen.
She sat down in the lounge chair and took a big sip. The icy mix of tropical fruits and expensive alcohol gently burned her throat and took away the last bits of stress. Her head felt light, and the world around her suddenly looked very bright and friendly.
How would her friends and her husband act in a situation like this?
She took another small sip and thought about the people she knew — their habits, their words, their behavior.
They would look like clowns. They would seem funny. They didn’t belong to this group.
But which group did she belong to?
“Time for lunch, Hel,” Steve’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “And time to get ready for the meeting. Tonight is going to be important.”
Lunch was even more elegant than breakfast. Steve ordered a bottle of wine that probably cost as much as her yearly salary. When he handed her the glass, their fingers touched.
A thin electric spark ran up her arm to her shoulder. Helen flinched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her hand stay there a second longer than necessary.
She saw Steve’s nostrils flare slightly. His eyes darkened, and his pupils grew large, almost covering the colored part.
“He wants me,” a hot thought flashed inside her.
All his confidence, all his platinum armor was cracking from just one touch of her skin. “Is his self-control really stronger than my charm?” she thought with excitement, taking a sip of wine and looking at him over the rim of the glass.
On the way back to the bungalow, she sat in the golf cart and deliberately let her thigh press against his. She was no longer the scared companion.
Now she was the hunter. She was extremely curious: when exactly would he break?
When would this “cold businessman” turn back into the aggressive, hungry boy from her high school memories?
She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was interested.
In the bungalow, Steve turned to her. His look was businesslike, but something personal slipped into it.
“The spa master will come soon,” he said. “We need to take care of your face. Salt water and sun are hard on the skin. I also booked a specialist for intimate grooming. Your ‘bush’ needs attention, Hel. But you can say no. I’m not insisting.”
Helen froze. Inside her, there was a quick fight between her usual modesty and a new, itching desire to look perfect. She looked at Steve and, to her own surprise, nodded.
“Okay. Let them come.”
Steve took a step closer. His pupils grew large, almost covering the colored part of his eyes. Looking straight into her eyes, he lowered his voice to a soft whisper:
“Will you let me watch?”
Helen’s breath caught. Heat rushed between her legs, and her mind quickly painted a picture of his eyes moving over her most private places.
“Don’t even dream about it,” she answered in a rough, broken voice.
Steve only smiled as if he understood and walked out, leaving her alone in the room filled with the smell of waiting.
Soon two women arrived with their cases. They started with the intimate grooming. Helen tried to stay calm and chose a simple narrow strip.
When they began working, a sudden thought burned her: she had forgotten to lock the bedroom door. Steve could walk in at any moment.
This thought — a mix of horror and wild excitement — filled her with inner trembling.
Would he come in or not?
She was afraid and painfully waited for every sound behind the door. But there was only silence.
When the grooming was finished, disappointment came.
Then they worked on her face. Cool masks and a massage calmed her down. When everything was done and the women left, Helen stood in front of the mirror for a long time. She looked fresh, bold, and frighteningly beautiful.
She picked up the phone and called her husband, hoping for support. But when she told him about the beach incident, Andrew exploded with anger.
“Have you lost your mind?!” he shouted into the phone. “Why did you even do that? What if someone took a photo? What if it gets online? Do you understand our friends might see it?”
“Andrew, calm down. Everything is fine...”
“Fine?!” he kept going. “They looked at you like a whore, Helen! The whole beach stared at your naked ass!”
The word “whore” hit like a slap. Helen silently ended the call. Anger and unfairness boiled inside her chest. The person she was doing this for had just crushed her dignity, while a stranger — Steve — had lifted her up.
Steve knocked on the door.
“Hel, hurry up. It’s time to go.”
“Which dress should I wear?” she asked through the door, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Any one,” he answered shortly. “Right now you look like a million dollars in anything.”
Helen chose the dress they had called “delicate” the day before. The fabric was very thin, almost see-through, and the black lace underwear underneath looked like a challenge. If Andrew thought she was a whore, she would act like one. She was done making excuses.
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