Perfect Ten

by Nikki Worrell

  Perfect Ten

  Nikki Worrell

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Nikki Worrell

  About Jack’s House Publishing

  PERFECT TEN

  by

  Nikki Worrell

  Copyright © 2016

  E-book Layout by Holly Sullivan

  E-book Formatting Fairies

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Jack’s House Publishing, LLC

  ISBN:978-1945340062

  Cover design by Ashley Lopez

  Simply put, I dedicate this book to each and every one of you. It was a boatload of fun to write. May you find pleasure throughout the pages.

  One suggestion, though. Take a chance and let that inner sex kitten/lion out. Don’t overthink it. Just get down and dirty and have some fun. Take this book to bed with you and see what happens.

  Every fucking one of us is a Perfect Ten. Now go out there and shine!

  Prologue

  S.E.X.

  Say hello to the best three letters of the English alphabet. As I was coming of age, I had as much sex as I possibly could. As a matter of fact, I lost my virginity at the ripe old age of fifteen, only a week after my father died, and to an eighteen-year-old senior. After that day, I figured I knew just about everything I needed to know about girls. I mean, hey—an eighteen-year-old wanted to play with my cock. I figured I’d have the pick of the litter after word of my prowess and my huge cock got around.

  Of course, it didn’t quite happen that way. I think I actually got carpal tunnel from jerking off so much. As it turned out, the eighteen-year-old had only lost a bet. She didn’t want me. She was just the one who lost and had to be a pity fuck for the poor kid whose dad had just died. Whatever the reason, I still fucked her.

  Funny thing happened a couple of years later, though. I grew about eight inches and then sat back and watched as my shoulders got wider and my muscles became more defined. Six-pack? Nah, I had an eight. And guess what? Girls dug it. But I still couldn’t seem to get the sex thing quite right. Then it hit me. Here I was, a physically great-looking specimen of man, but I didn’t know shit about what women wanted in bed. And I didn’t really care as long as I got off. However, word spread about my selfish behavior in the sheets, which didn’t work out so well for me.

  My sexcapades weren’t nearly as frequent as I thought they’d be through high school, but near the end, I was learning. I learned to listen to the girls I was with. When I stroked them a certain way and they gasped, I stored that little nugget of information away. And then I hit the mother lode. I tasted my first pussy, and, fucking-A, I was hooked. All I wanted in life at that moment was to learn how to conquer that tender little nub that drove girls to grind themselves against my face, calling out my name.

  That learning helped me immensely in the next phase of my life.

  “That’s it. Fuck, yeah. Just like that.” Christ! Will I ever get sick of getting blown? “Softly now, sweetheart. Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s perfect.” I watched her lips slide slowly over my dick. I could feel her tongue lick at my balls when she took me in all the way to the hilt. Was there a man alive who didn’t love that?

  “I’m gonna come right down your throat. Is that what you want?” She moaned and curled her fingers into my ass, confirming what I already knew. She was yet another trophy wife who didn’t get the attention she needed from her wealthy husband. “Ahh God!” I grabbed a fistful of her hair and moved her head faster, watching her suck me in over and over. “I’m gonna fill your mouth.” I came, thrusting deep into the back of her throat. She gagged on it, and I came some more. When she spit me out, I took my dick in my hand and continued to pump myself until I had nothing left. I was mostly done at that point, but I still had enough left to shoot a couple of hot drops on her parted cosmetically enhanced lips. Lucky girl.

  Like I said before, my sex life wasn’t always like this, but it is now. I can pretty much fuck who I want, when I want. Yeah, I’m that good. And no, I’m not humble. If you’re good at something, be proud of it. Own it. Now, before any of you women get up in arms thinking I’m still a selfish piece of shit who only cares about getting himself off, get the whole story. Talk to one of my dates. They’ll tell you what’s what.

  I admit that I might hold their head down on my dick a couple of seconds past pleasant. I might ram into them from behind a bit too hard in the heat of the moment now and then, but ask them how their night was. Besides, there’s a fine line between pleasure and pain. I haven’t had a complaint yet, and this is why—I don’t come until she does. If I can’t make her come, and come hard, before I do, then I’m not doing it right. So, yeah, I’m that good.

  Chapter 1

  Joe Starling

  So I guess I should start at the beginning to get you up to speed. My name is Joe. Joe Starling. Joseph Starling, Jr., to be exact. I’m twenty-six years old, and I’m a professional escort. You might wonder how someone comes to be in that profession. Well, you’d be surprised how prosperous life can become when you’re in the right place at the right time.

  I can’t say that I was ever grateful to be poor, but if I wasn’t, I never would have been where I was, when I was, the day my life changed. You see, I have this friend. His name is Shawn, and I’ve been friends with him forever. He’s one of the few friends that didn’t drop me when my life turned to shit after my father died. Apparently, when you go from being a rich kid to a poor kid overnight, your desirability as a friend decreases.

  Anyway, seven years ago, Shawn married his high school sweetheart. Even though I sure as hell wouldn’t have thought about getting married at the age of nineteen, it didn’t surprise me at all that he did. And I was happy for him. I really was, but when he asked me to be his best man, I had to tell him no. He knew why, and he wouldn’t accept my answer. I didn’t have any money.

  Now, I don’t mean that I didn’t have the money to throw him an epic bachelor party. I wasn’t talking about not being able to hire the hottest strippers with the biggest tits. None of that. I actually didn’t have enough money to rent a tux or buy him a gift. You know what he said to me? He said, “I don’t want to hear it, Joe. I’ll get your fucking tux. If you’re not standing up beside me, I’ll punch you in the throat.” You might think that sounds harsh, but he had just told me he loved me and needed me by his side. Us guys, we don’t gush mushy shit, but it doesn’t mean we don’t feel it.

  So, what was I supposed to do, not be in h
is wedding? This guy is closer to me than any blood brother would be if I had one. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. So I pulled extra hours at work to scrape up enough money to help put food on my mother’s table, help her pay the rent, and have enough left over to buy a small gift for Shawn and Carrie.

  The day of the wedding, already dressed in my tux, I was running one last errand for my boss when it happened. The blueprints I was delivering slipped out of my fingers as I tried in vain to hail a cab in the late afternoon. As I bent down to scoop them up, I saw a man scanning the crowd as if he were looking for someone. We locked eyes for all of a millisecond, and he headed my way. As he worked his way through the throngs of people crowding the LA streets, he seemed to be checking me out. When he finally reached me, he grabbed my arm and turned me fully toward him.

  “Yeah, I think you’ll do. What’s your name, kid?”

  “What’s my name?” I jerked my arm out of the guy’s grasp. “What the fuck’s your name?”

  He laughed at my attempt to be a tough guy. “Calm down, kid. My name’s Stan.” He looked me up and down, which was just plain creepy. “How’d you like to make five hundred dollars tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, right.” I couldn’t imagine what this joker was about, but I knew I didn’t want any part of it. “I don’t sell drugs. Take a hike.” I turned around to leave, and he grabbed my arm again.

  “Wait. Hear me out. I work for an escort service. We have a client who wants someone young and hot to make her sisters jealous at her twenty-first birthday party. Big family, old money. Our escort got sick, and I’m looking for someone fresh to fill in for him.”

  “An escort service. Is that even a legal business?” What the hell? Was I in Vegas or something? Candid Camera? What was this?

  I could tell the guy was annoyed with my question. His body spoke volumes—tilted head, raised eyebrows. He was genuinely offended.

  “Yes, it’s a legal business. Escorts are simply that. Escorts. This isn’t a sex operation. It’s an escort service.” He handed his card to me. “Look us up. If you’re interested, show up tomorrow morning at ten. The girl’s party is tomorrow night. We’ll see if you might suit her needs.” Done giving me his spiel, he turned around and left.

  You know the saying “curiosity killed the cat”? Well, hear me meow, because there was no way I was going to miss that meeting. I mean $500 for taking some chick to a party? Count me in!

  That meeting changed my life.

  Chapter 2

  It took me about seven years to climb up the ranks at Perfect Ten, but now I’m at the top of the pyramid, so to speak.

  When I first started working for them, I mostly attended picnic-type parties with women who didn’t want to go alone. I’ve even attended with some men. Of course, I had a different set of rules for them, since I don’t swing that way. My friends couldn’t understand why I didn’t turn those jobs down.

  “How the hell can you go out with some guy and pretend to be a queer?” Shawn asked me this on several occasions, and I always told him the same thing.

  “Come on, man. How many times do I have to tell you? They’re people, just like anyone else.”

  “Yeah, but they’re gay. Aren’t you afraid they’re going to try to turn you gay?”

  I had to laugh at him. “Turn me gay? Uh, no. You’re either gay or you’re not. I’m not. I’ve met a lot of nice guys, and only one’s hit on me. They know I’m not gay going into it. They’re not looking for a relationship. Most of the time, they’re just looking for someone to be with so their family will stop bugging them about being single.”

  Honestly, I don’t mind being on a date with a gay guy. As a matter of fact, I’d rather be with a gay guy than some of the chicks I’ve had to date. Some of them are god-awful. Grabby as all hell. However, the desperate ones are usually the ones with the most money. Or they’re willing to spend the most, anyway.

  My worst date was the one I had on my very first night of work at Perfect Ten. Looking back, I guess my willpower—and intelligence—was pretty much nonexistent, but hey, I was still a kid, you know? So this girl wanted me to be her date at her twenty-first birthday bash. It was a family event that was more like a wedding. This chick had a huge family. A big Italian family. And I was pretty sure the guys in suits and ties wearing dark sunglasses were not there for the champagne. But I digress…

  At first, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Sophia was a five-foot-nothing girl with jet-black hair that fell halfway down her back in silken waves. The material of her short, strapless red dress was so thin that I could see her nipples jutting out from small but perky tits. With each breath she took, the dress threatened to slip down over those tits, and I found myself hoping for a full-on sneeze, but I’m getting off track here.

  Anyway, Sophia had told her family that we’d been dating for a while, which was fine by me, since I had her cover story before our date. She neglected to inform me, however, that she’d told them I was a lawyer. Big problem there since I didn’t know shit about law, nor was I old enough to actually be a lawyer.

  “Daddy, this is Joe.”

  A huge, hulking man stared me down until I wanted to shit my drawers. I took his bear paw in my hand and tried not to sink to my knees as he squeezed the ever-loving shit out of me. “My baby tells me you’re a lawyer,” he boomed at me so loudly I jumped a little.

  I glanced at Sophia with a look of pure fear in my eyes. I knew I didn’t look a day over my nineteen years. That was one of the reasons the agency hired me. They told me that women liked young-looking guys.

  “Uh, yeah. I just finished law school, sir.” Fuck, I needed this animal to release my hand!

  “We have a bunch of lawyers in our family. What school did you go to?”

  I knew right then I was royally screwed. As soon as I named a school, he was going to get one of his goons—excuse me—one of his professional protectors in the suits to look me up and find out I was a fraud.

  Before I had to speak up and sign my own death warrant, Sophia came to the rescue.

  “Daddy, I told you. He went to school back east. Now leave him alone.” She grabbed my hand out of her father’s (thank Christ!) and led me outside to the patio, where people were drinking and being merry.

  “Sophia, what else did you tell your family about me? It didn’t say anything in your profile about me being a lawyer. I need to know these things.”

  “I know, baby. I’m sorry.” She ran her hands up my chest and interlaced her fingers in my hair. Now, normally, I’d be all over that shit, but I didn’t think I wanted to tangle with Daddy.

  I smiled at her while gently removing her from my body. “Sweetheart, I’ll gladly pretend to be your boyfriend today, but you need to follow the rules, okay?” That meant no inappropriate touching. No intimacy other than hand-holding, arm around a shoulder, that kind of thing.

  She stuck out a beautiful, provocative, pouty red lip, but reluctantly agreed. That was when I knew this job was going to be tough. I mean, I was a nineteen-year-old guy. I wanted nothing more than to suck on that lip she offered. Pull it into my mouth while I ran my hands up and down her incredible body. Maybe cop a feel and then press my dick—which was now as hard as a fucking railroad spike—against her pussy and see if I could make her squirm.

  As I said before, I love pussy. Love it. I love the taste of it. I love the smell of it. I love it surrounding my entire face. If I could, I’d live there just licking my life away.

  Shit, sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah. Hard-on, pussy, ah, I got it. This job was going to be harder than I thought.

  So, anyway, even though it was only seconds before that Sophia agreed to back off, she didn’t seem to think I really meant it. She looked down at the bulge in my pants with a gleam in her eye. “You sure you want me to keep my hands to myself?” She looked around to make sure we weren’t being observed and ran her fingernail down my dick.

  I jumped at her touch. “Jesus, Sophia. Knock it off. I don’t know what s
ort of date you think you hired, but I’m not a prostitute.” There. I almost managed to sound offended. I could tell by the way she was still boldly staring into my eyes that it wasn’t going to be that easy to make the birthday girl take no for an answer.

  Just as I thought she was actually going to pull away, she grabbed my junk and rubbed me up and down. I tried, I really tried to pull away, but my body went forward instead of back. All right, fine. Maybe I didn’t try that hard. What? I’m only human.

  “Come on, Joe. Let’s hit the pool house.”

  What could I do? I followed her lead. When we got to the pool house, she roughly shoved me through the door and slammed it shut with her foot. Before I even had a chance to look around the room, she yanked the top of her dress down, showing me those perky tits with the darkest brown nipples I’d ever seen. She then franticly grabbed at my zipper as she sank down to her knees. I thought, fuck yeah, and I helped her out.

  “Oh my God! You’re fucking huge! I’ll never be able to suck all that.” She looked up at me through thick black lashes with pure joy. “But I’m sure gonna try.” And off she went, leaving a trail of candy-apple-red lipstick in her path.

  She finished stripping out of her tiny dress as she simultaneously sucked on my dick. When she was completely naked, I grabbed her under her arms to stand her up. Then I got a good hold of her waist and lifted her, swinging her around so that she was hanging upside down. Now I could suck and nibble on that gorgeous pussy as she sucked on my dick. She snaked her arms around my waist and held tight, helping me hold her there. Pure fucking heaven, let me tell you.

  “Oh God. Umm.” This was, of course, muffled as her mouth was full—but I could tell she was enjoying it as much as I was. I bit down on her clit, none too gently (hey, it was her fault she was a hellcat) and she screamed, popping me out of her mouth.