About
WANT IT BAD
Carla thought she had it all together.
Then Jake moved in next door.
She never expected to fall for someone half her age. Especially Jake, an escort who specialized in very kinky sex.
But Carla was curious. And rich. And when Jake accepts her as a client, they each may have gotten more than they’d bargained for…
WANT IT BAD mixes erotic romance with laugh-out-loud humor. Sexy, funny, and outrageous, this is the book you’ve always wanted to read. A smart, older woman goes on a journey of sexual discovery, and somewhere along the way finds love. Or at least something equally as tasty.
WANT IT BAD
It begins where 50 Shades of Grey left off…
WANT IT BAD is a 64,000 word contemporary romance by bestselling author Melinda DuChamp. It’s hot. It’s playful. It’s more fun than the last ten books you’ve read.
Try WANT IT BAD. You won’t be disappointed.
She’s a rich lawyer.
He’s an escort.
She’s 41.
He’s 25.
They both…
WANT
IT
BAD
One woman’s sexual discovery begins now
Melinda DuChamp
Contents
Begin reading WANT IT BAD
About Melinda DuChamp
Also by Melinda DuChamp
Other Recommended Titles
Copyright
Carla gripped the chains attached to her wrist restraints, a scream welling up behind the ball gag secured in her mouth. The insatiable tongue between her bound and spread legs continued to devour her. As Carla climaxed for the fourth time her mind lapsed back to all the events leading up to this moment…
Seven
Days
Earlier
One
“So then he moves in for the goodnight kiss, and his garlic breath was so strong I almost passed out.”
“Did you kiss him anyway?” Janet asked.
“Closed mouth. I wanted to invite him in, but all I could taste was veal scaloppini. The only thing on my mind was brushing my teeth.”
“Sounds like you should have brushed his teeth as well.”
Carla frowned, playing with the diminutive drinking straw in her untouched Manhattan. “He’s a nice guy, Janet. I wonder if he’ll call me.”
“He talked about his ex-wife all night, made you pay for half the dinner check, and kept calling you Marla. The guy was a creep.”
“It was the first date I’d been on in three weeks.”
Janet drained her Cosmo and signaled the bartender for another. “Fuck dating. Go out and get laid.”
“I think I intimidate men.”
“You think? You always dress like you’re going to a wake, and you earn more money in a month than most men earn in a year.”
“Black is my color.” Carla opened her jacket and studied her silk blouse. “This is Yves Saint Laurent.”
“All you’re missing is a veil. Do people at work offer their condolences and ask where they can send flowers?”
“This isn’t a funeral suit.”
“You wore that same outfit to my mother’s funeral two years ago.”
“No, I didn’t. I wore flats. Now I’m in heels.”
“Those one inch shooties aren’t heels, Carla. Those are like training heels. It’s what a little girl would wear to learn to walk in heels. You’ve got great legs. Would it kill you to wear a dress?”
“I have dresses. I think.”
“Men aren’t into the power suit look. Alpha females make their cocks shrink.”
Carla laughed.
“It’s true,” Janet said, nudging her with an elbow. “When was the last time you even saw a cock?”
Carla immediately looked around to see if anyone at the bar was paying attention. Janet tended to get more foul-mouthed as the evening went on. She didn’t have many inhibitions to begin with, but after a few drinks, Janet could make a sailor blush.
“I don’t know. A few months.”
“Months? Jesus jumping Christ on a pogo stick! If I go more than two days, I start seeing dicks everywhere I look. Every goddamn thing looks like a penis. All those liquor bottles behind the bar? A big rack of cocks. Those bar stools? That bald guy?”
Carla squinted at the bald guy in question. “He does look sort of penisy.”
“Are you kidding? All he needs is a hole in his forehead and he’ll spurt all over the ceiling. How many months has it been for you?”
“The Christmas party.”
“The last time you had your mouth around a pair of balls was Christmas? Fuck me with a door knob. That’s almost a year ago.”
“It’s not a year. It’s only ten months.” And that wasn’t entirely true; Carla didn’t actually put his balls in her mouth. Was that a thing?
“That’s sad, girlfriend. Do you even remember what a penis looks like?”
“Like that bald guy. With a hole in his forehead. I like his tie. Do you like his tie?”
Janet grabbed her shoulders. “You. Need. Cock. Aren’t you worried your pussy is going to dry up? Your ovaries could fall out.”
Carla rolled her eyes. “No they can’t.”
“They’ll hang out of your box like two shriveled up raisins on rubber bands. You’ll have to tuck them in when you put on underwear.”
“I’m just having a little dry spell.”
“That’s like saying the Mojave Desert is having a little dry spell. And your Christmas fling shouldn’t even count.”
“It counts. I’m counting it. There was penetration. I vaguely remember it.”
“That’s because the guy finished in five seconds. You didn’t even have time to lubricate. What was his name? Steven?”
“Evan. He was sweet. Sent me flowers the next day.”
“Didn’t he whip it out in the movie theater and want you to blow him?”
Carla laughed again. “I was reaching for the popcorn in his lap, and there it was.”
“You should have done it.”
“Janet!”
“Would have only taken five seconds. Then you could have brought him back to your place and sat on his face for an hour. Take a nice, long mustache ride. Quid pro quo.”
Carla blushed. Janet was her best friend, and had been since seventh grade. But even though they shared a lot with each other, Janet didn’t know that Carla had never sat on a guy’s face. The only man to have ever gone down on Carla was her boyfriend from college, and he hadn’t known what he was doing. It had been awkward and embarrassing and frustrating, performed with all the erotic skill of a guy painting a fence. Carla had to fake an orgasm to get him to stop.
The cute bartender—blond, blue eyes, muscles outlined by his tight t-shirt—came over with Janet’s third drink.
“Don’t you think my friend is hot?” Janet asked him, holding onto his hand as he set down the drink.
“She’s very pretty.”
The bartender hadn’t even looked Carla’s way. He was too busy staring into Janet’s cleavage. Janet was a flight attendant, and she dressed like every male’s fantasy of that profession. Ridiculously high heels, tight skirts, and a push-up bra that made her look like Elvira.
“She’s a partner at a law firm, and makes half a mil a year. Does that intimidate you?”
He smiled, in a cocky way that revealed how often he got laid. “Not much intimidates me.”
“I bet. What are you, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Into older women?”
“I’m into all women.”
“Ask my friend out.”
“I think I’d rathe
r ask you out.”
“Kid, you couldn’t handle me. I’d break you in half.”
“My name is Jeff. I get off at 2. Which means I could get you off by 2:15.”
Janet lifted her glass, took a sip. “Too long of a wait, Jeff. I expect to be humping some stud by twelve. But thanks for the offer.”
Jeff winked, still didn’t look at Carla, and walked away.
“It amazes me you get away with stuff like that,” Carla said.
“He’s lucky. I’d ruin him for other women. And young guys get clingy. You show them a few tricks and they’re like puppy dogs, following you around for more.”
Carla took a sip of her drink. Enough ice had melted to take some of the heat off the whiskey. She noticed Janet was scoping out the room, looking to make good on her promise to be laid by midnight. It was just past eight, so she had plenty of time. Janet would do it, too. And tomorrow she’d call Carla with all the sordid details. How big he was, how long he lasted, anything kinky that happened. Janet was the type of girl that men wrote about in Penthouse Letters. “I never thought it would happen to me, but I met this babe last night who blew my mind…”
Carla could never be like that. She’d never had casual sex. In her twenties, she dated as much as anyone but had only slept with two guys, and neither of the experiences had been particularly memorable. In her thirties, her career began to take off, and she had a relationship with a man at the office that lasted almost five years. He wasn’t the marrying type, Carla never really loved him, and the sex was mediocre. Sometimes she came, sometimes she faked it. When she stopped caring enough to fake it, she broke it off.
Now, at age forty-one, she was successful beyond her wildest expectations, but dating had become more of a chore than an adventure. Men her age were only interested in women a decade younger. And although older men were charming, starting a relationship with someone fifteen years her senior seemed like settling. Carla kept in shape—yoga and Pilates—and was still the same size six she’d been in junior high. Her boobs were her best feature, but she learned early on that the more she covered up, the more respect she commanded at the firm. Carla had almost forgotten what her own cleavage looked like; it had been that long since she’d worn a sexy bra.
“Have you tried the Hitachi wand yet?” Janet asked. Her scan of the room had apparently come up empty.
“It’s… loud.”
“Of course it’s loud. It’s the most powerful vibrator on the planet. On high speed, you could sand the clit off an elephant.”
It had been Carla’s fortieth birthday gift. Janet had learned that Carla was apparently the last woman on the planet without a sex toy, and had taken it upon herself to buy her friend the biggest one out there. Several months ago, after several drinks, Carla had worked up the nerve to finally give it a try. But even on the lowest setting, the Hitachi was too strong. Rather than get Carla off, it made her numb down there. The toy had been at the bottom of her underwear drawer ever since.
“I don’t need a vibrator, Janet.”
“Every girl needs a vibrator, Carla. It should be mandatory. Like a toothbrush. Or a Gucci bag. It’s your body, learn how to use it.”
“I know how to use it.”
“You know how to let guys use it. Not the same thing. You can’t keep expecting Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet and play your body like a piano maestro. If you don’t know what gets you off, any guy you’re with is doomed to fail.”
“Brock was good.”
“That guy in college? First of all, his name was Brock. Second, French kissing while getting finger banged in the back seat of his Hyundai isn’t the pinnacle of your sexual potential. Third, his name was Brock. How was he with his dick?”
“He was better with his fingers,” Carla admitted.
“I should get you a rabbit vibrator. Not as powerful as the Hitachi, but it gives you that filled-up feeling. I’ve got one that takes six D batteries. It can also be used for home defense.”
“Stop buying me sex toys.”
“Okay. You can borrow one of mine. I think I’ve got a pocket rocket in my purse.”
“Gross. And no. What’s a pocket rocket?”
Janet fished through her purse and came out with a lipstick. But when she took off the cap, it wasn’t make-up inside, but a small plastic vibrator. “For long flights,” Janet said, twisting the bottom and making the toy buzz softly. “I just hop in the lavatory, and in two minutes I’m refreshed and ready to serve coffee.”
Carla smiled, shaking her head. “You’re such a slut.”
“You want to take it into the bathroom right now and try it out?”
“Yuck. No.”
“How about this one?” Janet pulled a large dildo out of her purse.
Carla turned red. “Janet! Put that away!”
“It bends. See?” She bent the toy at a forty-five degree angle and it stayed like that. “If you want to fuck yourself around a corner.”
“Janet!”
“If I chucked it, think it would fly back to me like a boomerang?”
Janet waved it above her head, as if to throw it.
“Put it away.”
“Why? Embarrassed?” Janet noticed some short, weasely guy was looking at them. She got in his face. “You packing something this big, shorty? Not from what I can see. What have you got in there, two raisins and a cashew? Who you gonna fuck with that tiny package, Malibu Barbie?”
Carla drank more whiskey. “Why do you even carry that around with you?”
“You never know when the mood for a little D.P. can strike.”
“D.P.?”
“Double penetration.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I’m totally serious. You get the right rhythm going, it’s like your uterus and colon are having a tug of war. One in the pink and one in the stink. Just make sure you didn’t just eat Mexican beforehand. For some reason, men don’t find it sexy when you squirt carne asada on their sheets.”
Janet put the dildo away, slammed her drink, and then gave her hair a shake.
“Hottie, right behind you. I’m going home with him. Call you tomorrow?”
Carla’s good mood faded. Janet’s schedule was erratic, and this was her first time back in Seattle for more than a week. She’d hoped to have a few more hours with her friend before Janet went trolling for eligible guys.
“Tomorrow’s fine,” Carla said, sighing lightly. “Good luck.”
“I don’t need luck, babe. I’m a force of nature. Toodles.”
Janet gave her a quick hug, winked, and then wiggled over to her mark. The guy was tall, dark, ridiculously handsome. Carla watched, sipping her Manhattan through the tiny straw, as Janet flirted with the man she’d no doubt be fucking later. Within two minutes he’d bought her a drink. Within five they had found a corner spot in the bar, leaning into each other and laughing.
Carla stared, imagining what it would be like to be in Janet’s position, having the complete attention of a good-looking guy. He touched her arm. Her hip. Leaned in close to whisper things. Paid close attention whenever she said something. Probably smelled like sandalwood and wore clingy boxer-briefs and had a six pack.
Carla finished her drink and left the bar without Janet noticing. It was still early in the evening, but the bar scene held no appeal for her without a friend to chat with. Besides, Carla didn’t do pick-ups and one night stands. Maybe she was old-fashioned, but a guy she met in a club and had only known for a few hours had no business at all being in her vagina. It’s not as if Carla didn’t get horny. She did. But she could scratch that itch with a bubble bath, a spicy romance novel, and her handheld shower head. As nice as a man’s touch was, Carla wanted to know who was touching her, and wanted him to know her as well. Janet treated men like they were just another sex toy. Carla envied her friend that ability, but knew that lifestyle wasn’t for her.
Carla’s car—a brand new BMW X6—was parked next to a meter with two hours of time still left on
it; a reminder of one more lonely day in the non-existent social life of a rich and successful female attorney.
As she drove home, Carla flipped through the mp3s on her car stereo and decided on some older Alanis Morrisette as she cruised past the city. Downtown Seattle looked pretty at night, like it had dressed up in sparkly eveningwear. She sang along as Alanis mourned lost love, exiting off of Interstate 5, and heading toward her neighborhood of Windermere. Her house was huge and beautiful, with a beach overlooking Lake Washington. She’d bought it four years ago, after being made partner at the firm, and one of her favorite things in the world to do was sit out on her pier and gaze at the water. The beachfront property was ridiculously expensive, but Carla considered it the perfect antidote to the stress at work, and well worth every penny.
It was a cool night, but not cold, perfect for taking an afghan out to her deck chair and watching the waves roll in. She was imagining the sea breeze as she pulled onto her street, and noticed the moving truck parked at the house next to hers. The house had been vacant for almost six months in this soft real estate market, but it had apparently found an owner. Carla slowed down, curious to catch a glimpse of her new neighbor, and saw a young man muscling a black leather ottoman out of the back of the truck.
Then there was the loudest BANG! Carla ever heard, and her car screeched to the right. Carla hung onto the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop just as she rammed into her own mailbox.
For a moment, Carla wondered if someone had fired a gun at her. Then she realized it must have been a blowout. She sat there, letting the shock wear off, and killed the ignition just as someone tapped on her window. She turned, startled, and found herself staring at one of the hottest men she’d ever seen. Short, dark, wavy hair, a few days’ worth of stubble peppering a strong jaw and chin, pale blue eyes. He could have been a model. And he might very well be one, and probably successful, since the house next door had a list price of seven figures.
Carla unlocked the door and opened it, and her new neighbor extended his hand to help her out. It was rough, calloused, and he gently steadied her as she stood. Carla gave him a discreet once-over. His body may have been even prettier than his face. If not a model, an athlete, perhaps. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, his muscles impressive in the black, sleeveless shirt he wore.
Want It Bad: A Kinky Romance Page 1