Strictly Research (Bad Boy MFM Romance)

by Terry Towers

  And what’s that smell? Walking into the bathroom, I attempted to find the source of the odor. I couldn’t find it. This is what I get for prepaying, I guess. Knowing I was forced to stay and there not being a whole hell of a lot I could do about it, I wandered back into the room and went to the window. The view is why I paid so much, that much was clear as I looked out onto the street to see the beauty of the canal below. Night was just beginning to take over, and the canal was beginning to illuminate the light shimmering off the water like little diamonds. My gaze shifted to the direction of the red light district, which was my goal, if I could get myself to be brazen enough to wander that way.

  First thing was first: finding out if I could get what I wanted. All of the internet sites I’d come across seemed rather vague over what was offered along the lines of male escorts to women. Apparently, it wasn’t a big market. That much made sense—it wasn’t that hard for a woman to go to a bar and get laid. But getting laid wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, even though I hadn’t had sex in five months. Yup, you heard right; I’d been in a relationship, but no sex for five months. It had gotten to the point that the thought of sex with him repelled me. I think I’d made up every excuse I could think of, and I’d even googled some when I ran out. Yes, that relationship had long run its course, and maybe I was a bit of an asshole for letting it continue, but it was all in the past.

  But I regress. continuing my search, I found I was as lucky now as I was when I checked a couple of months ago. I saw more than my fair share of boobies and brothels dedicated to men seeking men, but nothing for women searching men. Guess I would have to resort to plan B.

  After taking an hour to shower, ensuring every part that needed shaving was done to perfection, I carefully applied my make-up and picked out the perfect outfit for the night. Once ready, I peered at myself in the mirror behind the bathroom door. The dress was simple and unassuming. Considering what I was about to do, did it really matter that I looked good? Wasn’t the whole point of coming here to indulge in things I’d always been curious about but never brave enough to ask for? So did it really matter whether I looked my best? The man would get paid either way.

  God, this was a crazy, and perhaps the stupidest idea I’d ever had. But I was going to do it anyhow.

  Satisfied I looked as good as I was going to, I grabbed my handbag and left my room. First thing was first, pulling the concierge aside and finding out where I could get what I wanted. I suspected that would be the most embarrassing part of the whole thing. Of course, I doubted I was the only one to request this type of information, and I probably wouldn’t be the last.

  Entering the reception area, I released a sigh of relief to see that not only was the reception empty aside from the front desk clerk and the concierge, but as luck would have it, the concierge was at the opposite end of the room. Unfortunately, the concierge was male. I would have felt better had they been a female.

  The concierge lifted his head from the book he’d been reading as he heard the soft click-clack of my heels as I walked across the black marble floor. Why did the main part of the hotel and the outside look impeccable while my room looked like shit? False advertising, if you asked me. It made me angry all over again.

  I gave him a hesitant smile as I approached.

  “What can I help you with, Miss? And may I say, you look fantastic.”

  Smiling at the compliment, I didn’t answer until I was within whispering distance of him. “Thank you. I need to know where I can go to get something.”

  “Oh course, Miss. What are you looking for?”

  Chewing at my lower lip, I attempted to figure a delicate way of phrasing it. I’d been mulling it over on the elevator ride down and come to the conclusion that there was no polite way. “I’m looking for…” Oh damn, this was hard.

  “For…” He prompted. And shit, why did the man before me have to be young and attractive? Not that an old, ugly guy would have made me feel any less embarrassed.

  “Some. Mmmm. Male companionship.”

  The man’s lips twitched as he forced himself not to smile. But I could see the amusement in his dark eyes. “I get off in two hours…” he trailed off.

  Was he serious? I truly wasn’t sure. But this was getting even more awkward than originally anticipated. “I, ummm. Thank you? I...I appreciate the offer, but… as far as ‘establishments’ would go, I meant.”

  Seemingly not put off by my rejection, the concierge allowed himself to smile. “In that case, then you’ll want to head to the Pulse in the red light district. It’s—”

  “That’s okay.” I held my hand up to him wanting to get out as quickly as possible. “I’ll find it. Thanks.”

  “Alright, then. But if you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me. We aim to please, here.”

  Indeed. Still wasn’t sure whether he was joking. I nodded and gave him a smile before scurrying away from him as quickly as my heels could take me, making a mental note to avoid him for the rest of my stay. As I exited the hotel, the warmth of the night air greeted me. Such a beautiful night! I took a moment to stand outside the front entrance of the hotel and survey the scenery before me. The canal was lit up, illuminating the darkened sky. Across the canal was the train station. While busy during the day, it seemed now relatively quiet now.

  As I turned right, I was assaulted by the smell of pot. God, I hated that smell. Well, I’d better get used to it, I supposed. As I walked towards the red light district, the GPS on my smartphone leading me towards the club called the Pulse, I couldn’t help but admire the beauty of Amsterdam. Everything appeared so clean and quaint. Instead of the sheets of concrete I was used to back in New York, the sidewalks here were made of cobblestone. That said, they were much harder to walk on than New York’s sidewalks, and I had to take care not to trip each time my spiked heel slipped between a crack.

  As I crossed the street, my eyes landed on a red cylinder light coming up from the middle of the road, signalling the entrance to the red light district. Call me naive, but I hadn’t expected to see it actually marked off with red lights. I paused before crossing the red light, as if crossing that line would mean no turning back. It was a silly way to think, but I couldn’t help thinking it.

  I walked past the red light marker and slowly made my way further into the district, noticing the abundance of police officers in the district. Sex shops lined each side of the red glowing street, and I took in everything. It was such a laid-back area, just being here actually mellowed me out. People were lounging around on the streets, chatting and drinking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I guess a part of me expected to be shocked by the outrageousness of naked women, soliciting customers and perhaps other forms of debauchery going on, but that wasn’t the case at all. Sure, there were some women in display windows, but hardly anything distasteful. Though some would say I had a slightly skewed view on what counted as tasteful.

  Turning left, it wasn’t long before the Pulse came into view. No one was in the window or soliciting outside. The two front windows on either side of the steel door were mirrored with The Pulse, written on each. I paused a second time as I grasped the door handle. Was I seriously going through with this? When the idea to experience the things I wrote about firsthand came to mind, it had excited me, but now, I was as nervous as hell. ‘Terrified’ would be a better word, to be honest.

  This is why I came here in the first place, I coached myself, pulling open the door and stepping into the club.

  Again, I was surprised. The interior reminded me of an upscale night club. Techno music played in the background, but it was hardly intrusive. Just loud enough to set a sort of mood. Not sure what to do or where to go, I made my way to the bar and asked the bartender for a cocktail.

  Now what? I asked myself as I leaned over the bar and swirled my stir stick in my drink. Too bad there wasn’t a Wiki-How page on how to get yourself a male prostitute.

  “Well, well, well… Erotica author, Monica Evans. What br
ings you here?” a male voice said from behind me.

  My entire body froze, I mean fucking froze as still as a statue. I knew that voice. What would be the chances that someone I knew was actually here? Of course, it would just be my luck.

  “It was Monica, right?”

  Taking a deep breath in, I slowly released it and turned, attempting to come up with an excuse, any explanation that might sound feasible.

  Chapter 2

  The remainder of my breath came out as a loud huff as my eyes took sight of Mitchell, bare-chested and sporting a pair of jeans, leaning an elbow on the bar, a bottle of beer in his free hand. His grin was as infectious here as it was on the plane, and I found my lips turning upwards at the sight of him.

  “You’re right, I am. Mitchell?”

  He nodded. “So may I ask a second time, what brings you in here? Get lost on the way to the book store?”

  “No.”

  “Oh,” he cocked his head to the side and eyed me with more scrutiny. “Research, then? Curious to see what the inside of an Amsterdam brothel looks like?”

  I could feel the heat colouring my cheeks and I lowered my gaze to my drink again. “Something like that.”

  “Or were you looking for something a little more hands-on?” I could hear the teasing in his tone. So he could be in here for some pussy, shamelessly, but I couldn’t? What a hypocrite! I wondered what he was into. Maybe he was into some crazy shit that he couldn’t get anywhere but from some brothel chick.

  Forcing myself to keep calm, I lifted my gaze to meet his and smiled. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here, and shirtless at that? Should I assume you’ve already sampled the menu here?”

  “Nope.” He took a swig of his beer and smiled. “I work here.”

  “You mean as a bartender.”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “A manager?”

  “Nope again.”

  My eyes widened as I stared at him. “You’re an escort?”

  He tapped me on the tip of my nose and laughed, “You look so shocked, not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

  Okay, I had no idea how to respond. None. Of course, he was certainly attractive and charismatic enough, and the moment I’d set my eyes on him I wanted him. But this new information, it was blowing my mind.

  “You know, for someone who works with words for a living, I’d have thought you’d have more to say.”

  “I’m a writer, that’s different.”

  “I see.” His smile faded, but the amused twinkle remained in his intoxicating grey eyes. “So to get back to the original question, what are you doing here, if not research?”

  I looked down at my drink again. So, so, so embarrassing. “Well. Sort-of research.”

  Cocking a brow up at me, his grin returned. “Sort-of research? Continue. What sort of research?” Seeing my hesitation he leaned into me, his lips so close to my ear that the warmth of his breath sent a shiver of need through me. “There’s no judgement here Monica. This place. This city. We don’t judge. We indulge. Isn’t that the point of life?”

  “In the books I write, maybe, but this is real life.”

  He shrugged, pushing himself off of the bar. “Alright. In that case, I’ll let you get back to your,” he paused, “research?”

  He took a step from me and without even thinking about it, my hand shot out, and I grabbed his upper arm, stopping him and tugging on him to face me again. “Hold on.”

  Slowly, Mitchell turned back to me, his smile reforming. “Yes, Monica?”

  I licked my lower lip, stalling, marshalling my courage. I was somewhat familiar with Mitchell and certainly attracted to him, I couldn’t let him get away and have someone else snatch him up. “Maybe I am a little interested in a more...hands-on experience.”

  “Maybe?” Returning to his spot leaning against the bar, he eyed me. Waiting, no doubt intent on making this hard on me.

  “No, not maybe. I do. Here’s the thing, I write stuff in my books that I haven’t actually experienced, and a part of me feels like a fraud, so I thought being that I’m single and here, that maybe…”

  “You can indulge in some of those dirty little fantasies you write about.”

  I nodded, heat rushing to my cheeks again. Surely I couldn’t be the only one who got embarrassed coming in here the first time? “All right, so what do you have in mind? Male, female, double down? Hit me with it.”

  “No! No women. Not at all.”

  Mitchell threw back his head and laughed. “Okay. Just Then you and me, then?”

  Grabbing my drink, I removed the straw and stir stick and downed the contents, needing to lean on some liquid courage. He waited patiently for me to gather myself. Taking a deep breath in, I slowly released it and blurted it out. “Two of you. Men. Two men.”

  I thought I saw a hint of disappointment in his gaze, but he finished off his beer, set the empty bottle on the bar, and took my hand. “You’ve never been with two men before?”

  I shook my head. God, this was so far outside my comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. This wasn’t behind my computer screen, typing out fantasies. No, I was being led towards a door at the back of the room in search of ‘our third.’ Maybe I was getting in over my head? In my mind, I was a sexual deviant, but that wasn’t my reality. In reality, I was a woman who didn’t have wild romps for entertainment, I was the kind of girl who fell in love and expressed it.

  “Then let’s find ourselves our third.” Feeling the hesitation in my steps, he slowed his pace, looked down at me and giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be okay. You’re the boss.”

  I know his reassurance was to comfort me, but it only amplified my uneasiness. Shit, if I’m this uneasy now, how in the hell am I going to be when we’re both naked?

  “Okay, so what you need to do is just pick someone.” Mitchell announced as we entered. “The shirtless men who aren’t talking to anyone are the ones you pick from.”

  “So, they’re all straight.”

  “Nope.”

  I looked up at him my brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  He leaned into me, his lips grazing my ear this time causing my breath to hitch in my throat. “Baby, for a paying customer, they can be.”

  Chewing at my lower lip once more, I surveyed the men. Only a half-dozen looked available. “Okay, so which one’s preference is women?”

  “Mine.” I turned my head and stared into his eyes, those sexy, amused grey eyes, and a rush of need raced through me, superseding my urge to be self-conscious. I wanted to kiss him, for him to kiss me. Was that allowed? I hoped kissing was allowed.

  “I… umm.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want to kiss you.” I said the words without thinking, not allowing myself the luxury to become shy about it. Mitchell slid an arm around my waist and pulled me into him, his lips crashing down onto mine, claiming me. It felt as though my entire body was deflating in his arms as I slid my arms up his bare chest and leaned into him, parting my lips and inviting him in to explore. When his tongue caressed mine, my mind turned off and my body took over fully. The hard muscle of his shoulders felt divine under my fingertips as I traced the contours of muscle, and as I rocked my hips against him, the feel of his growing erection fuelled the need developing between my legs.

  And then it was over, he was pulling back and that sexy, almost arrogant grin was back on his lips. “Anything else?”

  Oh god! Stepping back from him I raked a shaky hand into my long, dark hair, thankful for Mitchell’s arm around my waist, holding me steady. Forcing a smile to my lips, I nodded. “Uh. I’m good, for now.”

  He chuckled. “All right. You want my honest opinion?”

  “Yes.”

  He pointed to a man with blonde hair that was a smidge too long to be considered short, perfectly styled to look unkempt. He appeared to be a little taller than Mitchell, but not quite as thickly built. Certainly sexy. Hell, sexy didn’t even be
gin to describe him. “Xander is a buddy of mine and really loves pussy. But by all means, whoever you like.”

  “Yes. Let’s go with him.”

  “Sure? No pressure,” he asked staring down at me questioningly.

  “No. I want him. Definitely want him.” They were a nice contrast, really, Mitchell being dark, mysterious and handsome in comparison to Xander who looked the lean surfer, all American boy-next-door type.

  “Just as long as you don’t prefer him to me,” he teased, giving me a little side-hug and breaking the tension. As I rolled my eyes at him, he gave a shout out to Xander. “Hey Xander, come here a minute, man.” No one aside from Xander paid him any mind.