Dirty Talk (A MFM Ménage Romance) (The Dirty Series Book 2)

by Tara Crescent

  Dirty Talk (A MFM Menage Romance)

  Tara Crescent

  Contents

  Free Story Offer

  Dirty Talk

  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

  Epilogue

  A Note from Tara

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

  Text copyright © 2017 Tara Crescent

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  My editor Jim takes the comma-filled words that emerge from my keyboard and shapes it into a story worth reading. As always, my undying gratitude.

  Additional thanks for Miranda’s laser-sharp eyes.

  Cover Design by Kaylea Ehm

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  Boyfriend by the Hour

  This steamy, romantic story contains a dominant hero who’s pretending to be an escort, and a sassy heroine who’s given up on real relationships.

  Sadie:

  I can’t believe I have the hots for an escort.

  Cole Mitchell is ripped, bearded, sexy and dominant. When he moves next door to me, I find it impossible to resist sampling the wares.

  But Cole’s not a one-woman kind of guy, and I won’t share.

  Cole:

  She thinks I’m an escort. I’m not.

  I thought I’d do anything to sleep with Sadie. Then I realized I want more. I want Sadie. Forever.

  I’m not the escort she thinks I am.

  Now, I just have to make sure she never finds out.

  Dirty Talk

  Secret confession – I love Dirty Talk.

  James Fowler and Lucas Bennett are the sexiest guys in New Summit. Vloggers, celebrities and hosts of the hottest, steamiest show on the internet. Dirty Talk.

  I might be a teeny bit attracted to them.

  Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t get enough of them. They’re two huge temptations and I can’t resist.

  Two. Huge. Massive. Temptations.

  And they’re in my coffee shop every day, enticing me, calling to me, whispering that a little sin won’t matter…

  But I can’t let myself give in. I can’t have a threesome. As much as I want to say yes - as much as I want to scream and moan their names - I have to say no.

  Because I’m at the brink of getting everything I’ve ever wanted, and James and Lucas are just a distraction.

  Right?

  1

  Cassie:

  It’s Monday morning. The hottest two guys in New Summit are in my coffee shop. Sounds pretty good, right?

  Wrong.

  Because these aren’t just any guys. Nope. I’m serving coffee and muffins to James Fowler and Lucas Bennett. Sex vloggers, YouTube stars, and hosts of the no-holds-barred show about blowjobs, bondage, and buttsex.

  Yup. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m crushing on the hosts of Dirty Talk. Somebody kill me now.

  The doorbell chimes and I look up, automatically pasting a smile on my face, one that fades when I see that it’s my landlord, Dr. George Bollington, psychotherapist and all around pain in the ass. Ever since Mia started dating Landon and Ben, the crotchety old man has switched his attention to me. If Mia weren't my best friend, I’d strangle her.

  “Hello, Dr. Bollington,” I chirp. “Can I interest you in a scone this morning? On the house, of course.” Hey, I’m not above bribery. The last time Bollington was here, he went on an epic rant about the subdivisions they’re building on the outskirts of town. His tirade lasted twenty-one minutes.

  That would have been bad enough, but it got worse. Matthew Steadman, the foreman in charge of building the gated community, had been in my coffee shop at that time, and he’d overheard. He didn’t say anything to Bollington—Matthew’s far too classy to start a fight—but he’d left and hasn’t been back since, and neither has any of his crew.

  My landlord surveys the offerings behind the glass cabinet with a frown. “You have any of those carrot muffins?”

  Just one. Forgive me, Mia. I know they’re your favorite, but I’ll sacrifice my first-born to get Bollington out of here. “I do,” I reply brightly, putting it on a white ceramic plate and handing it to him. “Coffee with that?”

  “A large, please.” Bollington sets the muffin down on the wooden communal table that fills the front area of Cassie’s Coffee. Belatedly, I curse myself for my stupidity. I should have put the muffin in a paper bag for him, not on a plate. Do you want him to stay the whole day, Cass?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lucas trying to stifle his chuckles. Jerk, I mouth silently to him. Lucas knows perfectly well that I’m trying to get rid of my landlord, and he’s clearly amused by my inability to do so.

  James is sitting next to Lucas on the battered leather couch, his laptop resting on his knees. He looks up and takes in the situation with a grin. Shaking his head, he rises to his feet and walks over toward us. “Dr. Bollington,” he greets the older man heartily. “You’re just the person I wanted to run into today.”

  As if.

  “You did?” My landlord looks suspicious.

  “Indeed.” James extends his hand in greeting. “My name is James Fowler,” he says. “You might not know me, but I just moved here.”

  Inwardly, I snort. Of course Dr. Bollington knows who Lucas and James are; he’s a gossipy old man who is intensely interested in anyone who moves into town. His head will probably explode when the new subdivision is built and hundreds of strangers invade New Summit.

  Dr. Bollington shakes James’ hand, his expression stiff. I’m convinced he disapproves of everyone under forty on principle. “How can I help you?”

  “My father had a stroke back in February,” James replies. “He’s undergoing rehab now, but it’s hard for him. He has to relearn so much, and he gets frustrated. I thought that if he talked it out with a professional…”

  Bollington’s eyes light up at the prospect of a new patient. “Of course.” He pats James’ back. “That’s an excellent idea.”

  James gives me a sidelong wink. “Would you mind if I walk back with you to your office and book an appointment?” he asks the therapist.

  “Yes, yes, certainly. Cassie, I’ll need my coffee and muffin to go.”

  I hurry to do what my landlord asks. Thank you, I whisper to James, then watch the two of them walk out of the door, James’ dark head bent as he listens to something Bollington is saying.

  “Admit it, Cassie.” Lucas has walked up to the counter, and he’s standing in front of me, his hazel eyes twinkling and a smug grin on his face. “I’m not really that much of a jerk.”

  “James was the one who rescued me from Bollington,” I point out, though I can’t stop the answering grin from brea
king out across my face. “Is it true, what James was saying? His dad had a stroke?”

  Lucas’ smile dims. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Patrick isn’t doing too well.”

  “I’ve never seen him in here, have I?”

  “No.” Lucas runs his hand through his hair. “He’s pretty depressed, and he doesn’t leave the house much. James is having a rough time of it.”

  I do some math in my head. “You moved here two months ago,” I ask, a question in my voice. “Because of the stroke?”

  Lucas raises an eyebrow at my unexpected chattiness, and I blush. Ever since the two of them walked me home after Sophia’s birthday party three weeks ago, I’ve been keeping them at arm’s length.

  That night, they’d been flirting with me, and I’d reciprocated. Then I got home and Googled them. Once I found out about Dirty Talk, I knew I couldn’t get involved with them. They live their lives in front of the camera, and I have too many demons to risk exposure.

  “Yeah,” Lucas replies, satisfying my curiosity readily. “His health insurance didn’t cover all his bills, and he ate through his savings while in the hospital. This place is a lot cheaper than Manhattan.”

  “So James moved in with his father to help out, and you did too? You guys bought that wreck on Baker Street, didn’t you?” I’ve classified James and Lucas as bad boys because of Lucas’ tattoos and the raunchiness of their show, but now I reassess my first impression. There’s more to these guys than meets the eye.

  “It’s going to take us a few more months to get used to how everyone knows everything in this town,” Lucas mutters ruefully. “Yeah, Patrick needed our help.” He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. It’s just what you do for family, you know?”

  There’s a pang in my heart. My own relationship with my parents was much rockier. “I don’t know,” I reply. “My mom and dad are dead.”

  An expression of sympathy flits across his face. “I’m sorry, Cass,” he says quietly.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I try for a flippant tone, but judging from the watchful expression on Lucas’ face, I don’t manage to pull it off. “It was almost nine years ago. They died in a car crash.”

  I don’t add that if they hadn’t been killed in the accident, we’d probably be estranged. My parents—especially my mother—weren’t interested in me if I wasn’t performing. When I was winning every beauty pageant in the country as a toddler, they approved of me and showered me with presents. When I started rebelling, they were less kind. “Stop shoving food in your face,” my mother used to say to me every time I sat down for a meal. “No one will find you attractive if you get fat.”

  Here’s a parenting tip, mom. When your daughter is seven, don’t tell her she eats like a pig.

  “Cass?” Lucas’ voice interrupts my reverie. “Are you okay?”

  I pull my attention back to the hunk in front of me. God, he’s gorgeous. His black Metallica t-shirt hugs his broad chest. His faded jeans stretch across his crotch, and I want to grab his butt and lick every available inch of him. And if James happens to be watching… well, that’s even better.

  Unfortunately, there’s my camera phobia. After a childhood of being made up to look like a doll and being leered at by old men, I’m done with the spotlight.

  James walks back into the coffee shop. “You owe me,” he says with a grin. “That man loves the sound of his own voice. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “Sorry,” I say ruefully. “Can I offer you a muffin on the house for your help?”

  “A muffin?” James shakes his head, looking indignant. “I put myself through fifteen minutes of hell for a muffin? I don’t think so, Cass.” His lips quirk into a smile. “Have dinner with me.”

  I wish I could. I really do. It’s not the first time I’ve turned one of them down. They asked me out the night of Sophia’s party, and I declined then as well. “Sorry,” I say, keeping my voice light, “the muffin’s the best I can do.”

  Lucas gives me a searching look. “You won’t have dinner with James,” he says. “You won’t have dinner with me. Will you have dinner with both of us?”

  You know what this moment feels like? Like I’m on a diet, and someone’s offering me two deliciously glazed donuts. And they’re right there, tempting me, calling to me, whispering that a little sin won’t matter…

  “I can’t.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot.” James smiles easily at me, unperturbed at my refusal. Why would he be? He’s a YouTube star. I’ve read the comments section of their channel. Women throw themselves at Lucas and James shamelessly, offering to do anything for a little Dirty Talk of their own. I’m fairly sure that the only reason James and Lucas are interested in me is because I said ‘No’. It’s not a word they hear a lot.

  They move back to their seats on the couch. Lucas pulls his laptop toward him and starts typing something on it. James ignores his computer and fiddles with his phone, and I get back to the grind of making coffee and serving customers.

  Two hours later, the morning rush has almost died down when the door opens once again. I look up with a smile pasted on my face, and my heart skips a beat when I realize who’s just walked in.

  It’s Stuart Sutherland.

  High school quarterback, prom king, and the most popular guy in our high school, Stuart Sutherland was a symbol of everything I thought I wanted from life when I was a teenager. I was the kid whose mom made her participate in beauty pageants. Trailer trash, people would sneer behind my back. Desperate for attention, other people would say sadly. Not that anyone ever interfered, of course. That just wasn’t done in New Summit.

  Stuart, on the other hand, had everything. His mother was the head of the PTA. His dad owned the biggest boat in the marina. He lived in the mansion on the hill, and when he turned sixteen, his parents bought him a red Corvette.

  After high school, Stuart got recruited by Ohio State to play football, and he even made it to a practice team in the NFL. He lives in California now and only comes back to New Summit for the holidays.

  My pulse is racing. It’s stupid and childish, but I had the biggest crush on him in high school. He never even noticed me, but God, I pined so hard for him. When I was fifteen, I would have sacrificed my first-born child if it would make Stuart Sutherland notice me.

  I have no idea what he’s doing at Cassie’s Coffee.

  “Cassie Turner.” Stuart flashes me a grin as he struts into the room. “It’s been eight years since I last saw you, hasn’t it?”

  My mouth falls open. Stuart Sutherland knows my name? Teenage-Cassie is doing a happy dance. Come to think of it, from the way my heart is hammering in my chest, Adult-Cassie is having a similar reaction.

  “Hey Stuart,” I reply. Be cool Cassie, be cool. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “Yeah, I’m moving back,” he replies, his gaze darting around my little space. What he thinks of the exposed brick walls, the high ceilings, and the warm lighting, I have no idea, because I don’t register his next words. I’m still stuck on the ‘I’m moving back’ bombshell.

  Stuart Sutherland is back in town? Things are looking up.

  “I’m going to work for my dad,” he adds. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “Can I get a cup of coffee to go, please?”

  “Of course.” I hurry to fill his order, surreptitiously wiping my sweaty palms on my apron. Get a grip, I scold myself.

  “Thanks,” he says, taking the cup I hand him. “By the way, Cassie, you want to go out Friday night? Maybe we can stop by at the bar down the street?”

  Stuart Sutherland just asked me out. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for confetti and streamers.

  “Yes,” I choke out. “That’d be great.”

  “Perfect.” He pulls a business card out of his wallet and pushes it toward me. “Call me on Wednesday, and we’ll work out the details.” Scooping up the change from his five dollar bill, he winks at me and leaves.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see James and
Lucas watching the entire interaction, identical frowns of disapproval on their faces. I don’t care, I tell myself defiantly. I can go out with whoever I want.

  Yet, I can’t meet their eyes.

  2

  Lucas:

  I know jerks, okay? And this guy that just asked Cassie out is one. I’d bet my life on it.

  “Who’s the guy?” James asks me in a low voice. “I haven’t seen him around before, have you?”

  I shake my head with a frown. “Sounds like he’s from here.” Yeah, whatever. So I eavesdropped shamelessly on Cassie’s conversation. I haven’t known her long, but I feel a little protective of her.

  Let me rephrase that. I’m a lot protective of Cassie. I have been ever since Amy Cooke showed us a video of eleven-year-old Cassie, her face caked with make-up, dancing in some stupid beauty pageant. “What a hoot, right?” she’d giggled. “Look at the way she’s shaking her hips. Cassie Turner was always such a slut.”

  Stupid fucking bitch. Nina should have never hired the gossipy hostess. Not that Amy lasted long at the Merry Cockatoo. Nina fired her ass after the first week, tired of the constant complaining and the bone-deep laziness.

  Small towns can be vicious. Whenever I think of Amy chortling over that video of Cassie, I see red. I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but that day, I came pretty damn close.

  “I don’t like him,” James declares. “He didn’t tip her. Seriously, what kind of jerk doesn’t tip his barista?”

  I bite back my smile. James used to work at a Starbucks in college. He has very strong feelings about people that stiff their waitstaff. “Maybe he feels awkward about tipping her because he knows her,” I suggest. “Besides, Cassie isn’t exactly a barista. She owns this place.”