by Jodi Redford
Not that it mattered. Jane and her enchanting pussy remained off limits. If he was condemning himself to a lifetime supply of KY and hand jobs, so be it.
A familiar whimper snagged his attention, and he snapped out of his dismal musings. He spied his daughter standing by herself in the playground, her tiny shoulders slumped. A fierce wave of protectiveness washing over him, he loped to her and scooped her into his arms. “What’s wrong, Sunny Bunny?”
Tears flooding her eyes, she knuckled her nose. “He didn’t want to play with Malibu Barbie.” Her stricken expression suggested it was the world’s biggest betrayal.
To a five-year-old, it probably did feel like a kick in the teeth. “Honey, sometimes boys don’t like to play with dolls. We’ve had this talk, remember?”
“But you like to play with dolls.”
Sunny’s daycare lady chose that moment to approach them, of course. He cleared his throat. “That’s because I’m your daddy,” he pointed out firmly, as much for his daughter’s benefit as Felicity’s.
“Is that why you let me put mommy’s lipstick on you too?”
You’re killing me here, kiddo. He tucked Sunny’s head against his chest before she could annihilate his manliness further. He gave Felicity a pained smile. “Hope she mostly behaved herself today.”
“Oh, she absolutely did. Sunny is always a delight.”
Unquestionably, he thought his daughter was the cat’s pajamas. But it did his heart good knowing that just about everyone who met Sunny instantly fell in love with her too. She was the best part of him, in all ways. While he might have his issues with Ava, he’d never regret the sweet little girl they’d brought into the world.
Worried he might cripple his manly-man image beyond repair with a tear or two, he focused his concentration on fixing Sunny’s loose barrette while he collected himself. Once he was reasonably sure he had both tasks under control, he returned his attention to Felicity. “Ava messaged me that her flight was rescheduled and she won’t be landing until later in the day. I’ll be dropping Sunny off tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mrs. Brewster already informed us.”
He cringed at the name. Beyond him why Ava insisted on holding on to it, even four years after their divorce. Especially considering all the nastiness that went down between them after she’d inadvertently dropped the bombshell that ultimately sealed his decision to leave her for good. Hell knows he’d unsubtly suggested more than a time or two that she should go back to her maiden name. Likely that’s why she refused to give it up. Spite and bitchery tended to be Ava’s fortes.
Booting his ex out of his mind, he prodded Sunny to give her goodbye to Felicity and then made his way to his car. After getting Sunny situated in her booster seat, he pointed the Maserati in the direction of his office. The drive barely took any time since the daycare was less than eight miles from the Hunks for Hire headquarters. Didn’t stop him and Sunny from performing a little impromptu karaoke with the latest Eminem CD though. Good thing he’d remembered to pop in the clean version. He’d likely still get lectured from Ava about how his taste in music was corrupting their daughter. She already gave him major shit about the agency. Fucking ironic and hypocritical, considering their history.
He parked next to his secretary’s mustang and killed the Maserati’s engine, putting the kibosh on the sing-along. Before Sunny could start pouting, he hauled her out of her seat and plopped her feet down on the pavement. “Last one in has to eat broccoli and frog toe jam.”
“Eeeewwww.” Giggling hysterically, Sunny dashed toward the entrance. The trip was only a few yards long. Wanting to appear like he’d at least put in an effort, he huffed and puffed after her, making it through the door a few paces behind his daughter’s uncoordinated sprint.
“I beat daddy!” Sunny yelled, bouncing in place.
Cherrie halted her chat with her daughter, Andie, and inspected Jack over the rim of her eyeglasses. “Good. He probably deserved it.”
He offered his assistant a droll look. “She meant in a footrace.”
“A five-year-old outran you? Remind me to have you on my zombie survival team. It’ll give me a fighting chance for survival if they catch you first.”
“You say that now, but you’ll miss me once I can no longer sign your paychecks.”
“Eh,” Cherrie responded with a shrug.” I’ll have my three-year-old godson do it. Atrocious as your handwriting is, no one will know the difference.”
“Hardy-har-har.” He sent a pained look to Andie. “Please tell me you’re here to whisk your mom away for a surprise two-week vacation. I’ll pay for the whole thing.”
“Mm, will taking her out for an early lunch suffice?”
“Make it at least ninety minutes and you have a deal. You can use my tab at the Parkside Grille.”
Cherrie grunted. “I should annoy you more often.”
“Is that physically possible?”
“Wouldn’t challenge me, if I were you. My powers are endless.” Cherrie stroked her chin, a dead ringer of a supervillain plotting world domination.
“God save us all.” Giving an exaggerated shudder, he snagged the bundle of mail resting on the corner of his assistant’s desk and headed into his office with Sunny. Cherrie’s daily sniping with him was one of the biggest highlights of his day. Hard to say if that made him severely twisted, or in desperate need of a life. Likely a little of both.
After ensuring Sunny was properly settled in and entertained with a stack of coloring books and a package of fruit gummies, he lowered onto his chair and flipped through the mail. No pressing business there. He powered up his PC and clicked his inbox. He was about to dismiss the entire lot as nothing urgent until he spotted a message that’d arrived shortly after midnight. He did a double take at the subject line.
Desperately Seeking Dirty Sex. Send Assistance, Stat.
A chuckle escaped him.
“What so funny, daddy?”
He shuttled a glance in Sunny’s direction. “Err, nothing, Sun Bun. How about you draw me a picture in that coloring book?”
“Daddy, it’s already drawn.”
“That’ll make it easier then.”
“Okay.” Her brow furrowed in deep concentration, she carefully selected the proper crayons for her masterpiece-in-the-making.
Satisfied she’d be happily occupied for a good long while, he shifted his focus back to his computer screen and surveyed the highlighted subject line again. He’d fielded plenty of requests but this one won the prize for the bluntest on record. The sender obviously had an...interesting...sense of humor. A couple of his guys would be a good fit for that type of personality. Knox and Sawyer were the first to pop into his head. The brothers had signed on with him two and a half years ago and were constantly in demand. Probably had something to do with their nickname—The Double Dirty. A few times he’d debated asking what the whole story was behind the name. Then sanity rushed in. Sometimes it was better to remain in the dark, especially when it came to his kinky-ass employees.
He clicked the email open.
Hello,
As you might have guessed from my subject line, I’m sort of in a pickle here.
How do I put this delicately? I need a good fucking. There I said it. Probably not too delicately, as it were. But you can’t have everything, right? Only you can have me. I mean, that’s pretty much a foregone conclusion. Did I mention I need a good fucking? Anywho, this is the low-down on what I’m looking for:
1) The kinkiest guy you’ve got. I’ll make it easy for you. Is there someone on your staff you’d refuse to leave alone with your sister for even five seconds? Send that fucker my way.
2) Blindfold
3) Handcuffs and/or restraints
4) Circus monkeys. (Just kidding. Unless you can find them cheap.)
I could easily list twenty more items, but as I’m sitting here thinking about it, the unknown is super exciting. So yeah, let’s go that route. Completely surprise me. I’d like to set this up ASAP. Di
d I mention I really, really need a good fucking? You can reach me through this email, or I have my other contact information listed below.
I look forward to doing business with you.
Sincerely,
Jane
P.S. If any of your guys can pass as a porn star that would be exceptionally helpful too.
Jack stared at the sentences on his screen, his head buzzing.
Jesus.
Fucking.
Christ.
He didn’t need the verification of a last name to know who the email was from. Shit, he’d figured it out long before he got to the part about the porn star. The entire outrageous thing read like Jane. Her voice had practically been the damn narrator in his mind while he mentally absorbed each word.
He’d known she was full of shit about Mr. Boogie Nights. Not exactly an earth-shattering revelation in that department. What was, though? She was desperate for sex. Jane. The wild bad girl who ate men for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not that he’d kept tabs on her sexual exploits...much. But he held minimal doubt that her little black book probably contained more entries than his did back in the day.
Then why contact an escort service?
Why do you care? He grimaced at the astute voice in his head. It was a valid question. He never puzzled over the motive of any client seeking the services Hunks for Hire offered. For one thing, it was none of his damn business. He usually kept his nose out of the actual dates. The only exception was if his clients came to him with a complaint or problem—which rarely happened. He covered his ass by making sure all parties involved played by the rules outlined in the contract. Despite what some narrow-minded folks might like to believe, he wasn’t a glorified pimp. He made it crystal clear no one was getting paid for sex. Yes, some of the dates he arranged likely ended up with extended benefits. That was a choice between his guys and their clients. They’d get no moral lecturing from him there, but better if he didn’t know what transpired after their time on the clock was up.
Only in Jane’s case, there’d be no wondering. She’d spelled it out for him in all its tantalizing glory. Dirty. Filthy. Sex. With one of his men. Not just any old one either, but the kinkiest fucker in his employ.
Shit, that could be every damn guy who worked for him.
As if that thought had been Bat Signaled into the universe, a knock sounded on his doorframe. An instant later, Marco Karras stuck his head inside the office. “Hey, Boss Man. Got a minute?”
Still heavily distracted by Jane’s email, Jack struggled to reclaim his focus. “Sure.”
Marco returned Sunny’s cheery wave from across the room before he dropped into the chair fronting Jack’s desk. “Oz had a last minute emergency come up for tonight. I know it’s not usual protocol, and I’m probably stepping on toes doing this, but if there’s any way I can get first dibs on his booking I’d sure appreciate it.”
“Is it one of his regular clients?”
“No. She’s from out of state, in town for some shindig. That’s why Oz suggested I take her. It’d help me out and she’ll still be covered for tonight.”
He eyed Marco. “Help you out how?”
Marco cleared his throat. “I could really use the money. Or I should say my parents could really use the money. Business has been down at the store. I know an extra gig here and there won’t cover all of it, but I want to do what I can.”
Not long ago, Jack had been in a similar position. It was a good part of the reason he’d initially started escorting. Growing up in a single-parent household, money shortage was a constant in his life, right up until he graduated high school. He’d refused to let his mom work three jobs to put him through college. She’d already sacrificed enough for him. So he’d done what any enterprising nineteen-year-old would do—capitalized on his sex appeal and abundant horniness. The opportunity presented itself purely by chance while he was waiting tables at a trendy upscale restaurant in Birmingham. A woman easily twice his age slipped him a hundred dollar bill, along with her phone number and a promise that his tip would be ten times that amount if he showed her the local hot spots. Like Oz’s client, the woman was only in town for a few days. That, along with the prospect of making more money than he did in a typical three-week shift, made it a no-brainer decision.
His first date had been an epiphany. A woman would actually pay for his company. Complete mind-blower. More than that—and equally important to his horndog self at the time—it’d required no effort to talk her into bed. Midway through dinner, she’d killed any doubt of where the night was headed by unzipping his pants and giving him a slow hand job underneath the concealment of the table. He’d returned the favor by fucking her inside one of the stalls in the ladies room.
Thanks to her generous referrals, he was able to quit his job at the restaurant less than a month later and set himself up as a full-time escort. Crazy amounts of money rolled in. He’d splurged here and there. Designer duds and a used BMW to replace his rust-bucket Grand Am. Necessary accouterments for his newfound trade. His big ticket item came several months down the road—a fully paid one-year lease on a sprawling ranch in one of the best suburbs in the metro Detroit area. Packing up his and his mom’s things and moving them out of their cramped shithole apartment had been one of the proudest moments of his life. It’d taken him another year into the biz to finally come clean with her about what he was doing to make the house payments. Always the concerned mom, Rebecca Brewster hadn’t been thrilled to hear the answer, but she’d stood by him and supported him to this day.
“So are you okay with it?” Marco’s hesitant inquiry road-blocked Jack’s spin down memory lane.
“I’ll have to let Oz’s client know about the switcheroo. As long as she doesn’t have a problem with it, neither do I.”
“Thanks, man. And any other gigs you can possibly swing my way...I’d owe you. Big time.”
Jack’s focus drifted to his monitor and Jane’s outrageous email. An image flashed in his head. Jane tied to a bed, spread-eagled and soaking wet in anticipation of the kinky sexcapades waiting for her. He tore his attention from the computer and glanced at Marco. “I’ll keep you in mind.” There’s a fact loaded with irony. He’d be hard pressed to shake the visual of Marco fucking Jane six ways to Sunday, and it was already slowly driving him insane.
He cleared his throat, guilt niggling at him for being a jealous dick while Marco was clearly desperate for extra gigs. “How much money do you need? To help your folks out?”
“They don’t like to talk about it. Say it’s not for me and my sis, Sophie, to worry about.” Marco shook his head, his mouth slanted into a wry, obviously frustrated curve. “Do yourself a favor and don’t ever be the offspring of stubborn Greeks.”
“Duly noted.” Jack stroked his chin before unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk and fetching his booklet of business checks. “I’ll write it for five grand. If you need more let me know.” He glanced up and met Marco’s stupefied expression.
“I can’t accept that.”
“Yes, you can. I know you’re good for it.” He entered the details onto the check and passed it over to his boggled employee.
Marco stared at the slip of paper in his hand for an endless moment before shifting his attention to Jack. “I’ll pay you back, with interest.”
“Never mind that. Just give me a weekly box of your sister’s baklava.”
Marco grinned. “You’ve got it.” He spent a few more minutes engaging in small talk. Jack struggled to keep up the pretense of not having his mind elsewhere. Eventually, his employee took pity on him and ducked out the door after voicing his gratitude for the hundredth time.
The instant he was alone with his thoughts, Jack plowed a hand through his hair and sank back in his seat with a groan. He almost wished Marco hadn’t left. Hell, right now he’d be thrilled to be subjected to some of Cherrie’s acerbic wit, but judging from the silence out front, she and Andie had already left for lunch.
Which meant he had no choice bu
t to face the problem of Jane.
The glaring white of the ceiling tiles provided a distracting focal point while he digested the situation.
The smart thing to do was set Jane up with Marco. They’d both get what they need. For Marco, a few more bucks in his bank account. And Jane would get...
Fucked. Fucked by my employee. When I know damn well I want to be the one sinking my cock inside her.
He’d lived with this craving for her for nearly two years. Countless times he’d nearly caved. Last night in his car was no exception. Feeling her shudder and come? He’d almost yanked down his zipper and hauled her onto his aching dick when she’d broken apart, her fingers clenched so tight in his hair, he’d practically seen stars himself. As it was, imagining her milking his shaft through the aftershocks of her orgasm had tormented him past all sane reasoning.
And now you have a chance to fulfill her fantasies.
The prospect sang to him like the most enticing siren in existence. Only there was one not so small problem... Jane wanted anonymous sex with a stranger. That was evident with her choice of the blindfold. If he showed up she’d go ape-shit. Jesus Christ, that was putting it mildly. It’d be World War III.
Send Marco, you moron. Or better yet, hand this over to Cherrie and let her pick the guy—with the stipulation it’s not going to be Knox or Sawyer. And sure as hell not both of them. As long as he made that crystal clear to Cherrie, he wouldn’t have to give another thought to any of this.
Only he would. The whole time Jane and his employee were merrily fucking their brains out, he’d be thinking about it. Torturing himself with the unknown.
How many times would she come? Would he strap her to the bed and fuck her mouth with his cock? Maybe he’d sixty-nine her before pumping her pussy and then her ass.
He easily visualized it all. Every last sinful act. Only it wasn’t one of his men doing those things to Jane. It was him.
So do it. She wants anonymous sex. Give it to her.
Dropping his gaze from the ceiling, he stared at the email again. A good fucking. He’d do her better than that. He’d give her the kind of fucking that’d leave her brain-dead and unable to walk for a week. And in the process, he’d kill this overwhelming hunger for her.