Second Go-Round Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Lynn Burke

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-508-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For those who got a second chance and succeeded.

  SECOND GO-ROUND

  Elite Escorts, 2

  Lynn Burke

  Copyright © 2017

  Christine

  Nothing like Sunday mornings, a pot of coffee, and sports talk radio on TV. While Mike and Mike chatted about the Pats, I sucked down caffeine hoping it would infuse my bloodstream so I wouldn’t have to prop my eyelids open with toothpicks.

  Talk about a lousy lay.

  I swallowed down more coffee and shook my head, my mind flitting to memories of my date the night before. The sexual-charged energy over the dinner table. The grinding of his huge hard-on against my hip while dancing amidst strobe lights and thumping bass. The anticipation as I dragged him into my apartment at two in the morning…

  The guy didn’t know how to use the package between his legs he’d been blessed with. That, and his complete lack of hand and mouth use just about killed it for me. And not in a good way. He just stuck it in and went to town getting his own rocks off.

  Boring with a capital B.

  I stifled a yawn and frowned. Shouldn’t have been surprised. Every man I’d been out with since losing my virginity years earlier had pretty much proven to be the same. Hype, energy, then disappointment. Sure, I got off on occasion, but only because I had to help them get the job done.

  You’d have thought I ripped his heart out when I sent him out the door the night before, declining his suggestion of another date. No, thank you.

  Broken heart number … fifty? Sixty? Whatever the answer, he joined all the men I’d left hanging or begging for a second chance. The few who did happen to talk me into another try ended up as a similar blip on the radar of my past.

  I’d been called all kinds of names over the years, most being uncomplimentary, regardless of how truthful they might be. Those who knew me best pitied the men who went out with me, fools who would without a doubt end up with a broken heart.

  Huffing an exaggerated exhale through my lips, I focused on the update on Gronk’s latest injury that had taken him off the football field the weekend before. Didn’t look like he’d be returning for the game against the Steelers the next day.

  My phone dinged with an incoming text, and scowling over the interruption, I grabbed it off the side table.

  “Dad knows better than to text me this early,” I grumbled to myself after swiping my thumb over the screen.

  Dad: Have you seen the news? There’s been another bomb threat.

  “Fuck.” Dad wouldn’t be texting me unless the threat was to a business our family insured. I quickly texted Dad back and clicked the TV over to NECN.

  There had been five bomb threats to bars and strip joints in the previous couple of weeks, one of which led to an explosion in the Boston area. Although no one—or group—had claimed responsibility, I expected it was probably some religious fanatics thinking they needed to cleanse the world of so-called sin.

  Sure enough, the latest threatened the Blushing Cherry, one of our long-standing customers located less than a mile from our insurance agency.

  “Damnit.” I put my empty mug on the coffee table. They so needed to catch the bastards robbing Boston’s nightlife joints of business. Hadn’t kept me from visiting my favorite dance clubs and bars downtown, but the crowds had certainly lessened since the threats had begun.

  My phone rang as shots of the BC showed on-screen, a bar-slash-strip joint I was well acquainted with. While I didn’t get turned on by watching other women rip off their clothes, I loved the sexual-charged energy scenting the air. All that testosterone building … needing release.

  Just wish I could find a man who wouldn’t bore the hell out of me after a second go-round.

  I swiped to answer. “Hey, Jess.”

  “See the news?” my good friend and employee said without preamble.

  “Just turned it on after Dad texted me.”

  “Isn’t that David’s place?”

  “Yep.”

  “Skye!” Jess’s muffled holler sounded loud over the line. “I told you not to touch!”

  Her daughter yelled something unintelligible in the background while Jess fumbled with her cell, filling my ear with thumps and clatters.

  “Sorry,” she said a few seconds later. “Skye’s new obsession with the Keurig is driving me nuts.”

  I eyed the last inch of coffee in my pot on the kitchen counter and grabbed my mug. “She’s got good taste.” Meandering around the island, I made for the coffeepot. “How is Bossy Boo?”

  “Bossier than ever.” Jess huffed. “How’d your date go last night?”

  “Same old, same old,” I muttered, lifting my steaming coffee to my lips.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worst lay of my life.” I sipped as Jess laughed.

  “Sounds like you need something to perk you up.”

  “If the coffee isn’t doing it, nothing will,” I grumbled, leaning my hip against my kitchen counter.

  “Hmm. Actually, I think I have just the thing.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Reid finally fulfilled his end of the bargain.”

  My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught. I had let her fiancé bribe me four months earlier into giving him Jess’s phone number. In exchange, I got a free night with one of his old co-workers from Elite Escorts. Tall, dark, and handsome, pretty boy Jarod. At least, that’s what his profile on Elite’s website portrayed.

  “Seriously?” I heard myself squeak while telling myself he probably just photographed well.

  “This Saturday.”

  “Holy shit.” Gone were the thoughts of a lousy lay and exhaustion tugging on my eyelids. Energy sparkled inside of me, priming me to life, dampening my panties. “Holy shit,” I repeated, and Jess laughed again.

  “I gave Reid your email address for Elite to send over the forms. Personal info, limits … all that good stuff.”

  I bit on my thumbnail, eyeing the pile of dishes in the sink. Limits. I wouldn’t even know what they were. I had fantasies out the ying-yang, but had yet to meet a sampling from the smorgasbord of man-beef who was interested in learning what desires crowded my mind.

  A few minutes later, I hung up the phone and made for the sink full of dishes. I expected my entire apartment would be spotless before the weekend ended as I tried to make the time pass. The workweek ahead dealing with clients and selling insurance would probably stretch on for an eternity, and my trusty vibrators would get workouts like they’d never known.

  Elite Escort Jarod. The memory of his full-length pic on the website flitted through my brain. Luscious-lipped, muscles rippling down his bare chest. The bulge in his boxer briefs.

  My mouth watered.

  “God, I hope you’re all that and more,” I mumbled, heading toward the sink.

  Problem was, if he lived up to my expectations, the available and attainable males I tended to find would fall way too short for satisfaction.

  Sighing, I pulled on rubber gloves and went to town.

  Jarod


  Christine…

  I stared at the file I had opened from Elite Escorts—a professional headshot of a green-eyed beauty with reddish-brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

  Always up for action, my cock began to swell at thoughts of watching her Jolie-like lips clamping around my length and sucking me deep.

  Damn, the woman was fine.

  I cleared my throat and adjusted myself inside of my scrubs beneath the break room table. Ignoring the steak-tip salad in front of me, I flipped back to the specs on that weekend’s assignment. Her evening had been paid for by Reid Sullivan, an old co-worker who had specifically requested me for the night.

  Twenty-eight, I noted, from the North Shore area, loves beer, football, and sex.

  “Huh.” Brow furrowed, I re-read that line. “My kind of woman,” I mumbled. One last eyeful of Christine’s pic, and I clicked out of the file and pulled up Reid’s number.

  “Zimmerman. What’s up?” he answered after three rings.

  “Hey, Sullivan. Just got a file from Elite.”

  He chuckled. “I owed her a favor. She’s Jessica’s boss, the one who I had to bribe into giving me her number.”

  “Ah. Gotcha.”

  Christine had originally booked a date with me for her friend, but I had gotten sick earlier in the day from some bad Thai food, and Reid had filled in for me. Tall, dark, and handsome, both of our Elite profiles promised, exactly what Christine had been looking for to spoil her friend—Reid’s soon-to-be wife.

  “How’s Jessica doing?” I asked, pouring vinaigrette over my steak and feta-smothered greens.

  “Over her morning sickness, thank God. Man. It fuckin’ sucks hearing her every morning.”

  I grimaced, but my daytime job of being a nurse didn’t allow me to lose my appetite. “Hoping for a boy?”

  “I don’t care either way as long as the kid is healthy,” he replied. “How’s work going?”

  Glancing around the empty break room, I grinned. “Nursing or fucking?”

  Sullivan laughed. “The fucking-for-the-money side job.”

  “Still pays better than the day job. Not quite as fun without you, though, man.”

  “Yeah, those were the days.” He huffed another laugh. “No more threesomes for me.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I stabbed one of the steak tips with my plastic fork. “Keep in touch, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Zimmerman. Take it easy—but not on Christine. Jessica says she’s a kinky fuck who’ll give any escort a run for his money.”

  I hung up, shoveled the steak into my mouth, and reopened the image of Christine, my upcoming client.

  She wanted to meet at a dance place downtown. Thumping music, strobe lights, and those lips. Fuck. I adjusted myself again. I sure as hell hoped she had some flesh to hold onto. With a face like that, a cushioned body for fucking, a beer and Pats lover? I just might fall in love.

  With a snort, I exited out of the file and put my phone down. I didn’t believe in love or “the one.” Thanks to my parents’ shit marriage and ugly divorce when I was twelve, I had sworn off relationships or anything that might lead to heartbreak.

  I chewed a piece of steak, my brow furrowed. No such thing as soul mates. That’s why I enjoyed my night job with Elite. Get paid for sex, no attachments. Ever.

  Sure, a handful of women claimed to love me as they came around my cock, but who doesn’t have that second or two of emotion when coming? You want to stay in that moment forever, a suspended-in-time high of euphoria and adrenaline.

  Another peek at those green eyes and lush lips … Christine.

  Fuck me. I couldn’t wait.

  ****

  Thumping music and flashing lights just like I had expected. I scanned the gyrating crowd, too large and writhing to find one woman even if my height allowed me to see over most of the swaying bodies. I moved toward the bar and waited my turn, head and eyes in constant motion searching for the auburn-haired woman who I hoped would make my night after a shit day in the ER.

  “What can I get ya?”

  “Cranberry and soda water,” I half-hollered to the bartender who wore a black brassiere, corset-type top to plump up her small breasts.

  Her gaze flitted over my wide shoulders and the Henley hugging my pecs. “You got it,” she hollered back, a glint in her eyes and smile on her lips while grabbing a glass.

  I turned sideways, checking out the length of the long bar and the thickening group of people wanting attention and something to help get their buzz on. While I would rather down some ice cold Grey Goose, Elite had a strict policy about liquor. It included a two-glass of wine or champagne strict limit in their employee contract. Condom use and monthly testing was also part of the deal, but getting paid for fucking made the damn rubbers worth it.

  No Christine at the crowded bar, I noted, turning back to the bartender. I handed a twenty over in exchange for my drink. “Keep the change.”

  She offered a flirty wink. “Thanks!”

  I dipped my head and turned, heading for the stairs leading to the balcony overhead. Finding a spot by the railing, I sipped my drink and began my perusal of the humping mass.

  One song morphed into another as the DJ worked his magic, the new one slower with a beat that brought a good, slow fuck to mind. Dozens of people with the same thoughts lined the floor beneath me, a handful of threesomes, hips grinding, and mouths fused, wandering hands.

  There.

  My mouth dried, my hand paused half-raised with my drink. Long auburn waves hung halfway down a bared back. Arms overhead, her curvy ass and long legs shot lust straight to my cock.

  I placed my glass on the nearest table without taking my eyes off of the woman as my hard-on begged freedom from the confines of my jeans.

  Be Christine. Please.

  Even if she wasn’t, I planned on weaving through the crowd to dance with her anyway. I wanted her like I hadn’t wanted a woman in a long-ass time … my date be damned.

  She slowly turned, swaying with the music as I descended the stairs, my cock leading the way. Her head lifted, and our gazes met. Those big green eyes and full lips…

  It’s her. Adrenaline rushed, painfully straining my cock against the zipper.

  Christine smiled with a “come get me” suggestion in her eyes and turned back around, wiggling that fine ass.

  One last tread, and I reached the dance floor, moving through dry-humping bodies and a cloud of perfume, aftershave, and sweat. Bodies pressed against me as I weaved through the crowd—female and male alike—but I focused on the glimpse of auburn hair I kept catching ahead of me.

  She turned again, and her green-eyed gaze landed on me.

  Ten feet. Five.

  Fucking luscious lips parted and cheeks flushed, she stared at me, her body still swaying like a sex-starved siren, reeling me in.

  I palmed one of her hips, slowly drawing her close. Slightly crooked nose, pointy chin, generous cleavage in her slinky top, nipples pebbling beneath my stare. Wide hips and legs longer than a twelve-hour shift beneath her mid-thigh skirt.

  All woman.

  Lifting my gaze revealed the pulse throbbing in her neck and her pupils dominating the green of her eyes. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

  I spun her around and pulled her close, fitting her back perfectly against my body.

  She swayed her hips beneath my hand, grinding her round ass against my hard cock. Moving with her—mimicking a slow, sensual fuck—I wrapped my free hand in her long hair and tilted her head to the side. I brushed my nose beneath her ear against petal-soft skin, breathing in the warm scent that reminded me of the honeysuckle growing along my back fence.

  My cock throbbed with need to bury myself balls-deep inside of her body. I wanted to devour her whole. Take everything she offered and take it again. Heat rushed through me as I trailed open-mouth kisses from her neck to her shoulder and back up again, the loud music coursing through my body with the need to fuck.

  Christine a
rched into me, arms lifting to grab hold of my head, and I slid my hand down her side, fingers brushing the sides of her large breasts, the dip of her waist, to the flare of her hip. Grabbing hold, I ground my cock against her.

  One hand fisting in my hair, she turned her head, and our mouths came together in a rush.

  The thump of the bass beat in time with my heart, thrumming hot blood through my veins. She tasted like a spring morning with a hint of cinnamon.

  I slid my tongue through her parted lips and moved one hand around to caress along the front of her skirt. She gasped into my mouth, but didn’t shy away from my touching her in public. I cupped her pussy through her skirt, her heat searing my hand.

  Her kiss turned needy as I ground the heel of my palm against her clit. She writhed against me, tearing her mouth from mine.

  “My God,” I read her lips and made myself familiar with the soft skin of her neck again. Although the urge to sink my teeth into her rippled through me, I took care not to leave a mark.

  We needed to get the hell out of there. Mouth still on her shoulder, I glanced around wondering what wall I could fuck her against.

  A whole arsenal of toys sat in the Elite-provided bag in the limo outside, but I wanted her to come undone in my arms.

  Sucking her lobe into my mouth, I slid my fingers over the front of her stretchy skirt, mapping out the swell and indent between her thighs. She turned her head, taking my lips again, and I rubbed against the hard nub beneath my fingers as she tried to suck the breath from my lungs.

  Never one to give a fuck about people watching, I continued to tease her through the thin fabric separating my fingers from her skin. My other hand fisted in her hair. I humped her plump ass in time with the beat, relentless with my fingers.

  Christine shuddered against me, and I swallowed her cries as she came, gasping against my mouth. She sagged in my arms, and I nuzzled my nose beneath her earlobe again as she panted for breath, eyes closed and smiling.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I half-hollered against her ear, trying to ignore my throbbing cock.

  Lacing her fingers through mine resting on her hip, she nodded.