FILTHY: A Steamy Romance Collection

by Brent, Amy

  He was pounding into me faster now, harder.

  The slap of our flesh joined the sound of our heavy breathing.

  I glanced up at Tanner. Every muscle in his body was flexing.

  His head was back.

  His teeth were clenched.

  His eyes were closed.

  He breathed through his nostrils like an angry bull.

  “I’m… cumming…” he moaned. “Come… with me…”

  I closed my eyes and joined him for the ride.

  A few more deep thrusts and Tanner pushed his cock into me as far as it would go and growled as he came.

  As he filled me with his hot cum, my own orgasm hit.

  I threw my head back and squeezed my eyes shut and felt my entire body shake as the orgasm overtook me and sent me over the moon.

  When I was over, we opened our eyes and looked down.

  We were a hot mess.

  And we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  THE END

  Part II

  FILTHY DOCTOR

  Description

  They say some doctors have a God complex. I’m Dr. Cole Walker, world-renowned cardiologist and star of my own daily TV show. I can hold a man’s heart in my hand and make a woman cum with the other. I don’t think I’m God. Man, I am God…

  Dr. Cole Walker… You could say that I have it all. Movie star good looks. More money than I could ever spend. Worldwide fame. A luxury penthouse in New York City and a summer home in the Hamptons. I have a fleet of cars I’ll never drive and a collection of Rolex watches I’ll never wear. And best of all, I have bitches lined up around the block waiting to take their turn between my Egyptian cotton sheets. I’m Dr. Cole Walker. And life is freakin’ awesome!

  Lucy Rhodes… Look up the phrase “cheating motherfucker” in the dictionary and you’ll find a picture of my ex-husband Randy. I let him use me as a doormat for fifteen years while he screwed every woman in sight. When I finally came to my senses, I divorced him, took a job at a television network in New York City and never looked back.

  Then, like a ghost from the past, Calvin Walker—I mean—Dr. Cole Walker, drifts back into my life. We were high school sweethearts and sexual pioneers. I gave him my virginity and I took his. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

  Now, eighteen years later, the skinny boy I once loved is a hot doctor/TV star with an ego to match the size of his you know what. I find him arrogant and self-centered, but all I can think about is rekindling the spark that once burned so brightly between us. Can I fan the flames until they become a raging inferno? Or will the intense heat of our desires devour us both?

  Prologue

  Cole ordered the driver to take us to his penthouse, then raised the tinted glass behind the front seat so we could have a little privacy. We sat in the back seat making out like the two horny teenagers we once were.

  His tongue hungrily probed my mouth as his warm hand slipped under my blouse and bra to massage my breast and roll my nipples. Little sparks of electricity shot through my body from head to toe, as if I’d touched an electric fence.

  I could feel the intense flood gushing between my legs as my hand slid between his thighs and found his thick cock hard and ready, just like the old days. It felt magical beneath my hand, as if touching it had transported me back in time.

  I moaned into his mouth when his hand slid down to my crotch. He rubbed the fabric between my legs until the heat was so intense I thought my slacks might catch fire.

  “We’re here,” he sighed in my ear as the car rolled to a stop in front of his Manhattan penthouse. It was a short ride that ended not a moment too soon. “Let’s continue this upstairs.”

  “Yes, let’s,” I said, blowing out a long breath and adjusting my blouse as the doorman hurried across the sidewalk to open the car door.

  “I have a huge boner,” Cole whispered with a boyish grin that I recognized from years ago. He took off his jacket to drape over his arm to cover his protruding cock. He slid out of the car and held out his free hand to me.

  When I got out of the car I “accidentally” brushed his cock with my hand. He jumped and I giggled.

  “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll take care of that for you, Dr. Walker,” I said. Without another word, he grabbed my hand and literally dragged me inside the building, across the marble foyer, into the gold-paneled elevator, and into his penthouse suite.

  We attacked each other the moment the elevator doors closed.

  Dr. Cole Walker

  “You fucking cardiologists… You all think you’re gods or something,” Efram said bitterly, albeit it with a smile, as he stared at me from behind the cup of shitty coffee they served in the hospital cafeteria. Dr. Efram Schoenberg was the top anesthesiologist in the city. That’s why I brought him in for all my complex operations. Patients who died on the operating table rarely paid their bills. It was Efram’s job to keep them breathing while I cut open their chests to repair or replace their hearts. Efram was also one of my best friends and the biggest buster of my balls.

  “We don’t think we’re gods,” I said with a smile. I picked up my cup of coffee and held it up in a toast. “Some of us are gods, Efram. And some of us might even be the God. So, watch what you say. I’d hate to waste a good lightning bolt on your ass.”

  “Jesus, how do you carry the weight of that ego?’ he asked, rolling his eyes. “It must be a terrible burden.”

  “It’s a burden I willingly bear for the good of mankind,” I said with a smile. I tapped my cup to his and settled back in the hard chair to stretch out my legs and let my eyes wander around the room. It was after four in the afternoon, but the Mercy General cafeteria was still bustling with staff and visitors eating the lousy hospital food left over from lunch because it was convenient and relatively cheap. The food was decent if you didn’t mind the abundance of grease and salt the kitchen used to give the food a semblance of flavor. I ate there only if I was desperately hungry. Otherwise, I choked down the coffee after long operations with Efram and that was it. I was Dr. Cole Walker, after all. I ate for free at five-star restaurants, not shitty hospital cafeterias.

  Efram and I had just come out of a nine-hour heart surgery and admittedly, I was beat. The patient, a fifty-year-old construction worker with total blockage in all three major arteries, was lucky to be alive. Or perhaps I should say that he was lucky that I was in the hospital when the paramedics brought him into the ER after suffering a massive heart attack. No one expected him to live. No one but me, that is. I cracked his chest and manually massaged his heart as he was wheeled into the OR. I stinted his arteries and Efram kept him breathing until I was done. Now he was resting comfortably in ICU. I expected that he’d make a full recovery. How long he would live after that was totally up to him.

  Like I said, in this hospital, I was God.

  Nobody died on my watch.

  Nobody.

  If you asked most surgeons what the most difficult part of their job was they wouldn’t say that it was replacing a patient’s heart or resecting a bowel or reattaching a limb. That stuff a good surgeon could do in his sleep. The most difficult part was standing over a patient for hours at a time as the muscles in your legs and back tied into knots. Most of my peers had back problems after years of hovering over an operating table. I was only thirty-six and in peak physical condition, but today my back was killing me. I needed a nice deep tissue massage, preferably administered by a blonde with big tits and the willingness to finish it off with a happy ending. As if on cue, Monica Craft, one of the scrub nurses I serviced on a regular basis, i.e. fucked whenever the mood struck me, strolled into the cafeteria and headed my way. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the pink scrub shirt she wore. And if history was any indication, she wasn’t wearing panties either.

  “The patient is resting comfortably in recovery,” she said, sliding into the chair to my right. She picked up my coffee cup and took a drink, then made a sour face that wrinkled her cute nose. She smacked her lip
s and grinned me.

  “Really?” Efram said, bouncing a frown between us. “Do I need to leave?”

  “Nah, you’re good,” I said, winking at Monica. Efram shook his head and looked away. He knew I fucked Monica on a regular basis and that didn’t bother him. He fucked as many nurses as I did. Most doctors did. What bothered him was her air of familiarity. I might have had a God Complex, but Efram had a Class Complex. In his mind, doctors walked among the clouds while nurses, and everyone else, occupied the ground far below. Nurses were beneath doctors, no pun intended. Doctors should not sit or eat or socialize in public with nurses or hospital staff. It was okay for doctors to fuck as many nurses as they pleased, but it was not okay for a nurse to sit down with a doctor in public and sip from his cup. It didn’t matter that in a few minutes I’d be fucking Monica’s brains out in an empty hospital room or a broom closet.

  “It’s okay to fuck them,” Efram would say. “But don’t date them or marry them. And certainly, don’t socialize with them in public. It will only cause trouble.”

  “I’ll check on the patient before I leave,” I said with a sigh that signaled that I was ready to get the show on the road. I felt my cock twitch in my scrubs as I watched Monica licking the coffee from her lips. She gazed at me with her big blue eyes and let one eyebrow twitch, which was her signal that it was time to play. She was a cute redhead with big tits and thick nipples, and a bush of red curls that proved that the carpet did indeed match the drapes. She was petite and flexible, like a contortionist, and she loved to create new positions. I could literally pick her up and bend her this way and that, or she would climb up me like a kid on a monkey bar and impale her tight pink pussy on my big cock.

  Her favorite position was clamping her fingers around my neck while I held on to her ass and swung her into me like a kid on a swing. She was small, but she somehow managed to take most of my ten inches inside her. Monica was a sexual marvel, but Efram was right. I would fuck her till her eyes bugged out behind closed doors, but that was where our relationship ended. Once we left the hospital, there was nothing between us. Monica understood that and said she was fine just having a good time. Besides, she was engaged to a guy who worked in accounting, Bob something or other. She didn’t want to marry me, she often said. She just liked fucking doctors.

  I was glad Monica knew how the game was played. Again, I was Dr. Cole Walker, the world-renowned cardiologist who literally held life in my hands. I was not only successful and rich, I was also six-foot-two and two hundred pounds of lean muscle, thanks to my daily workouts and five-mile runs.

  Call me arrogant, but I pride myself on my looks because they remind me of how far I’ve come. I was a tall, skinny, awkward kid with big glasses and bad skin. You wouldn’t recognize me in my high school yearbook. I blossomed at college, I guess you could say. It was amazing what getting contacts and clearing up your skin can do for your confidence. I started running and working out and went from being invisible at parties to being the life of them. I went from being invisible to most girls to having my pick of them. Some nights I picked more than one. I fucked sorority girls, teaching assistants, cheerleaders, the little sisters of my frat brothers, and a couple of cougar professors, who taught me how to really please a woman. Ah… good times. I fucking loved college.

  Now, I was married to my work, but that didn’t stop me from having a very active and very public social life. I had been voted one of New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelors five years in a row by New York Magazine. I dated high-profile models, actresses, heiresses and socialites, though none seriously. I was in it for the sex and the show, meaning I loved a tight pussy and I loved to show off.

  If I was photographed leaving Nobu with a Victoria’s Secret model or some hot young actress on my arm, it didn’t do anything for my medical career, but it shot my Q-Rating through the roof.

  Oh, I should explain what I mean. The Q-Rating is how television networks like World News Network judge how well the audience likes their on-air news talent. The higher the Q-Rating, the more popular the talent. And as I said, my Q-Ratings were through the roof.

  What the hell I’m I talking about?

  Okay, let me back up.

  World News Network was a twenty-four-hour cable news channel headquartered in New York City and beamed around the globe. When the mayor had his heart attack two years ago, I was his cardiologist and the one who spoke at subsequent press conferences, giving the status of his health. Ed Quigley, the head of the news division at World News Network saw me and liked my looks and demeanor. As it happened, WNN was looking for a doctor to come on the air every Friday evening and answer medical questions submitted by viewers in a quick segment called “To Your Health”. Ed asked me to lunch, pitched me the concept, offered me a fat contract, and voila! The next week, and every Friday since, yours truly has been on TV in front of millions of viewers dispensing sound medical advice with a beaming smile. And building the Q-Rating, which could lead to a lucrative network syndication deal like Dr. Oz or Dr. Phil. Would I leave cardiology to host a TV show? No fucking way. I was a doctor first, a TV star second. However, would I be interested in doing both? Fucking A right, I would.

  “So, Dr. Walker,” Monica said, giving me a quick sideways glance. She was rubbing her foot up and down the inside of my calf under the table. My cock was already chubbing up. She put her hand on my arm and cooed at me. “Shall we check on that patient?”

  “We shall,” I said with a smile. The patient’s file was on the table. I was glad I’d brought it along. I’d need it to cover the bulge in my scrubs. I picked up the file and stuck out my right hand to Efram. “Great job keeping the patient asleep, Dr. Schoenberg.”

  He rolled his eyes at my hand and said, “Whatever.”

  “Nurse, shall we go?” I pulled out Monica’s chair and she somehow managed to brush the back of her hand against my plump cock as she moved past. I looked at Efram and smiled, then let Monica lead the way to whatever spot she had picked out for us to have a little afternoon delight.

  Lucy Rhodes

  “Are you sure about this, Lucy? Are you really sure this is the right thing for you to do?”

  I could hear my dad’s voice in my head as clearly as if he had been standing next to me in the empty New York City apartment that would be my home for the next twelve months. That’s how long my new employer World News Network had agreed to pay for housing under my new contract as the executive producer of WNN’S World News Tonight. They were paying me a nice salary, but I had heard horror stories about the cost of living in New York City. I didn’t know how much the lease payment was on a furnished apartment like this, but I expected that I’d be looking for something smaller and less costly when the year ran out. And that was if I still had the job. I had a one year contract and this was big-time television after all, so nothing was written in stone.

  The TV news business was a revolving door. I worked behind the scenes so it was not as cutthroat as being on the air, but I still had to prove my worth to the network or they’d hire someone younger for less money to do the job. And the most difficult part of any executive producer’s job, especially at this level, would be dealing with the on-air talent who were usually pompous, egotistical assholes of the male variety, or hot young females who were sleeping or conniving their way to the top. I’d worked at TV stations in little towns and big cities and the one thing they had in common was that they were all soap operas. The only difference were the sizes of the markets and the sizes of the egos. There was no larger market than New York City and I was sure the egos would match.

  I smiled when I heard my father’s voice in my head, asking if I was sure I was doing the right thing. I’d had a good thing going in Chicago. I had a great job as the executive producer of the nightly news at WCIL, a great house in the suburbs, and what I thought was a great marriage to my college sweetheart, Randy Rhodes, who ended up tearing my world apart and leaving me to sort out the smoldering ruins. Getting the job offer in New York f
rom my old boss, Ed Quigley, was a welcomed coincidence. I jumped at the chance to leave my old life behind and start anew. And now, here I was.

  “Are you sure about this, Lucy?” my dad’s voice asked again.

  “Yes, daddy,” I said quietly. “I’m sure.” I smiled at the memory of my dad, his soft eyes always so full of concern for his only daughter. I took a deep breath and imagined the smell of his Old Spice and hair cream. I could feel his arms around me, bear hugging me until I grunted while he pretended like he was never going to let me go.

  He was always questioning my motives and my decisions when he was alive. It bugged the shit out me when I was a kid, but once I became an adult I understood that most of the questions he asked were submitted for my own wellbeing. It was his way of asking, “Lucy, have you really thought this through? Is this really the right thing for you to do?”

  “I have no idea, daddy,” I said with a sigh. I shook my head at the meager stack of boxes the moving company had set along the living room wall and gave a heavy sigh. I counted them with my fingers. Ten boxes. I was thirty-four years old and the sad contents of my entire life could be held in ten cardboard boxes with room names scribbled on the side in black marker: KITCHEN. BEDROOM. LIVING ROOM. BATHROOM. MISC.

  It was sad to think that this was all I had to show for what I thought was a pretty good life. Sadder still was knowing how quickly that good life could come crashing down when you discovered that your husband was a sex addict with no self-control. Oh, fuck that. I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a sex addict. Randy was just a guy. He was a self-centered douchebag who thought with his cock rather than his brain. In other words, Randy Rhodes was a typical piece of shit who would fuck anything that moved and some things that didn’t. I wasn’t sad that I had caught him cheating on me. I was sad that it took ten years of my life to realize what a lowlife piece of shit cocksucker he was.