Boyfriend for Hire(3)

Rebecca shivers. “You. My room. Now.”

Her bedroom is always immaculately clean, and it smells faintly of lilacs. I waste no time in stripping her down to the black lacy lingerie she always wears for me, and then I’m in my boxer briefs and Rebecca is on her knees in front of me. Thankfully, I’m fully hard now.

While she’s never asked me to return the favor, Rebecca usually likes our foreplay to include some time spent with my cock in her mouth. I’m not one to complain about this scenario.

“You’re so sexy with my cock in your mouth,” I murmur, stroking her hair as I close my eyes.

Thirty minutes later, Rebecca’s come twice, and I’m pumping away, sweat dampening my lower back. I glance quickly at her bedside clock to check the time, deciding enough time has passed to allow myself to come. So I finally let go, filling the condom with a sharp exhale.

After a quick visit to the restroom, where I freshen up and dress, I find Rebecca wrapped in her silk sheets, her hair mussed from sex and a satisfied smile on her lips.

“You sure you don’t want to stay? I have gelato in my freezer.” She grins like we’re lovers who have just finished a real date . . . not an impersonal transaction where money exchanges hands.

I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or annoyed. I decide on flattered.

Leaning down to give her ass cheek a squeeze, I shake my head. “Wish I could, darling. I’ve got plans later.”

She nods, her eyes bright and happy. A couple of orgasms will do that to a woman. “Okay. Good night then, Nic.”

“Good night.”

I release a sigh as I head back down the walk, duffel in hand, toward my car.

One down; one left to go tonight.

And tomorrow, on what’s supposed to be my day off, Case has me working. Some coffee date. At least it won’t be sex crosses my mind as I start the engine to head to appointment number two.

Jesus, what man in his right mind thinks “at least it won’t be sex” without needing to visit a mental health professional for a complete checkup? I’m thinking I really need a day off.





Chapter Two


Nic



Last night’s activities wore me out more than usual, and I’m running a couple of minutes behind, which isn’t like me. I generally like to arrive to a date early, to give myself time to scope everything out and best plan how to approach things.

But this isn’t technically a date, I remind myself. Just some woman who wants to prescreen me before agreeing to fake-date me.

I park my car and glance at the coffee shop, wondering if she’s already inside. I try to recall what Case told me about my date today, and realize he didn’t tell me much at all. Just the name Christine, which was printed on the sheet he gave me, along with the time and location of the appointment.

Here goes nothing.

I stroll into the coffee shop and find it mostly deserted, given that it’s early afternoon and the morning caffeine rush is over. It makes spotting Christine very easy. There are a few tables containing couples, and one with a group of elderly women, but only one with a single woman seated by herself.

She looks up when she hears the chimes over the door, and when our eyes lock, her mouth softens in a smile. As I approach the table where she’s seated, I have to say I’m pleasantly surprised. She’s close to my own age of twenty-eight, and she looks nice. Normal. That’s always a positive in my line of work.

“Christine?” I ask, pulling out the chair across from her. She’s attractive with dark hair, brown eyes, and straight white teeth.

She gives me a shy smile and a quick nod. “And you’re Nic?”

“It’s nice to meet you. May I sit?”

She gestures to the chair across from her. “Of course. Please do. Thank you for meeting me. I’m not sure if this is how it normally goes, or . . .”

I offer her a polite smile. “This can go however you want it to. My goal is to make sure you’re comfortable. And there’s not just one way to approach it.”

This seems to relax her, and she takes a deep breath.

I can’t help but notice the rather large engagement ring sparkling on her ring finger. Engagement, not wedding ring. Hmm . . .

“Would you like something to drink,” she asks. “Coffee, or . . .”

I shake my head. “I’m good. If I drink coffee at this time of day, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.” I don’t tell her that I usually sleep like shit anyway, so it probably wouldn’t matter much.

“Right.” She nods, her face going serious. “I guess let’s just get on with this.”

Leaning closer, I offer her another smile. “Why don’t you tell me what it is I can help you with. My clients come to me for a variety of reasons, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m more than happy to help in any way I can. It’s my job. But if you don’t like what you hear from me and decide this isn’t for you, then no harm, no foul. Okay?”

She smiles again, brighter this time. “Oh, you’ll be perfect. I have no doubt about that.” Her gaze wanders from mine to my left dimple, and then down to my broad shoulders and the muscular biceps visible below the short sleeves of my T-shirt.

I still have no fucking idea what we’re talking about when she grabs her phone and pulls up a picture of a girl and holds it up for me to see. The girl is fucking stunning with long red hair, a full pouty mouth, and curves for days.