Remember that time your friend hired you a male escort"
No" Just me then.
He was supposed to be arm candy.
A strong, sturdy presence to escort me to the party of my crush.
Pity he isn"t any of those things.
But he is pretty,
And funny. Charming.
And determined to get into my panties.
But he"s also a liar.
Because Will Travers isn"t a male escort.
But one of London"s most eligible bachelors,
My new neighbour,
And a risk to my heart.
So I might not be a dial-a-d*ck who"s paid by the hour.
And more a dial-a-d*ck who"s free.
But the lovely Sadie is an opportunity I"ll grab with both hands.
If she"ll let me.
I"ll knock down everything standing between us.
Fight for her like I"ve fought for nothing else
Because it"s true that nothing worth having ever comes easy.
Unless it"s s*x
This is a standalone, full-length romance. Laugh-out-loud and smexy.Books by Author:Donna Alam Books
Another day, another round of vaginas.
"Evening, George." I greet the porter with a quick nod in his direction, not waiting for his response before taking the stairs to my apartment two at a time.
Despite being a card-carrying vagina enthusiast, I must admit, being in the vagina business does sometimes get old. Not that I"d say as much out loud.
I"d probably be crucified.
Ask any of my friends their opinions on what I do for a living, and you"ll find they fall into two distinct camps: I"m either the man with the best job in the world, or the one whose job has the potential to turn them gay.
As if that were even possible.
So I do have bad days, but everyone wants to bleach their eyeballs some days, surely" We all have days we could happily drown ourselves in a vat of liquor. And this just happens to be one of those days.
But it"s not all the vagina"s fault. I"ve also spent the last two hours with my father who is, unfortunately, a different kettle of cunt. Excuse my French.
I pause at the third-floor landing, my own apartment one above. The penthouse, actually.
"Fuck it." I flex my jaw in an effort to relieve the tension and the lingering distaste of this afternoon. A finite number of experiences can help ease the tension held in my body, and those are fighting, fucking, or at the neck of a bottle. Only one of those three is available right now, and as I could also do with a dose of sane, light-hearted company, I decide I"m not drinking alone.
I raise my hand to the doorbell when the sound of someone moaning behind the closed door leaves my index finger in the air and the bell un-rung. It"s not the moan exactly that gives me pause, but maybe the tenor, or the tone"the absolutely feminine plead for divine intervention. One that has my cock flickering to life in my pants.
Go ahead and call me big-headed, but it"s a sound I"m well familiar with. There"s nothing quite like hearing the woman lying beneath you thanking the heavens for the hammering you"re delivering. It"s enough to make a man feel like God himself.
And while you might think the possibility of disturbing someone getting shagged senseless on the opposite side of the door might be enough to make me swing on my heel and head for home, you"d be wrong.
Apart from the voyeuristic element, urgent sex happens to be one of my favourite things. Stumbling in through a front door so desperate that you can"t wait the extra few steps it might take to get to a bed. The absolute need at that moment. The collision of bodies. Mouths and fingers seeking pleasure, slippery and slick. The illicitness in this kind of coupling is unique.
But that"s not the reason I pause. It"s more that the possibility of this happening behind this particular door is slim.
No, not exactly slim. This isn"t an anomaly or an incongruency.
More like fucking impossible.
Because Mo, my neighbour, couldn"t get it up for a girl if he tried. And I know because I"ve known the man for years. He likes to wear a kaftan, for fuck"s sake.
Curiosity, I"m told, leads to trouble, but female trouble is the very best kind, in my opinion. So in my characteristic give-no-fucks way, I ring the doorbell, interested to find out exactly what"s going on here.
The dog barks.
A soft, feminine voice draws closer, her tone chastising. And this time, I hear the exact words.
"Stop repeating me and tell me exactly what you"ve done!"
The door swings open and"surprise"it isn"t Mo. Nor any relation, as far as I can tell, even without her American accent. Whoever she is, she"s a tiny wee thing. And bloody stunning.
Hair the colour of butterscotch, she"s dressed for a night out on the town. If that night was back in the 1930s. Her silver dress clings to her in all the right places, and as she grapples with the dog, the door, and her phone, there"s a stellar amount of side boob going on.
And then, through the phone, another voice says, "I hired you a male escort."
And by the way her gaze works its way slowly from my shoes to my face, guess who"s it.
I"ve always been a bit of an opportunist. Let"s face it, most men are. And paid for sex" That sounds like an even better deal than my current one.
Why did I go to medical school again"
At the beauty"s stunned expression, I bite back my burgeoning grin, along with the instinct to tell her I"d happily fuck her on the house . . . all over the house.
Ten Minutes Earlier
"But what happens if he doesn"t remember me""
"No," Kallie replies stridently. "Don"t you go there." Her responding look is one I know well; dark and elegant brows pinched above fierce honey coloured eyes. But it"s hard for her to stare me down right now, given we"re oceans apart and reliant on both an internet connection and the phone I hold in my hand.