If you missed the beginning of this night, you might want to catch up on An Evening with a Escort in Covent Garden. That’s where it all started — the dinner, the laughter, the promise of something unusual. What follows is where it tipped into far more than either of us expected.
After a while my jaw ached, and honestly my tongue was close to giving up, but instead of slowing down I pushed harder. I wanted this to be good for him. He must have heard the strain in my breath because he murmured, voice hoarse, “We can pause if you’d like.”
I shook my head too quickly, stubborn as ever. “No, I want to.” Though in truth, I was relieved when he kissed me and gently pulled me up. He had that smile that made me feel seen, not judged. “You’re wonderful,” he whispered, “but let’s not rush. I’m close and I don’t want it to be over yet.”
Something inside me softened then. My professional side worried about looking perfect, but his lips erased the thought. The kiss was slow, tangled, almost clumsy, but it worked. It made me surrender. Before long I was flat on the bed, his weight over me, and the room felt heavy with want.
We didn’t fit together neatly, not like in films. Our bodies brushed and pressed in odd angles, and maybe that’s why it felt so real. I couldn’t hold back — nails in his skin, a cry torn out of me before I could stop it. When I finally came back to myself, he was grinning down at me, boyish, like he’d just discovered something. I laughed a little, breathless. “Your turn,” I teased, though my voice was shaky.
He shifted me, almost careful, and for a moment I thought he might ask for something but didn’t know how. There was that flicker in his eyes — embarrassment, hope. I spared him the trouble. “Why don’t you turn around?” I said quietly. Relief washed over him, almost boyish again, and he obeyed.
What came next didn’t need words. I focused on him, hands firm on his thighs, giving rather than taking. He let out sounds he probably didn’t know he could make, sounds men usually bury. That stirred something deep in me — not power in the cruel sense, but the strange intimacy of giving permission to let go.
The rest blurred. His body trembled, his eyes locked on mine in a way that felt raw, unarmoured. And in that Covent Garden room, what had started as a playful dinner date became something else entirely — a shared surrender, messy and unpolished, but intoxicating for us both.
If you’d like to explore more check out our Covent Garden escorts and lose yourself in another story of escort Domination in Mayfair