Authors: Elle Aycart
Tags: #Erotic Contemporary
Copyright © May 2012 by Elle Aycart
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Editor: Rory Olsen
Cover Artist: Ginny Glass
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Dedicated to Rosana Paez, because every time I threw in the towel, she was there to pick it up and whip my whiny ass with it. Thank you, my dear friend; there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I would have finished this story without you.
“It’s decided, ladies. I’m taking the sex-for-hire route.”
Holly, Annie, and Sophie all choked on their drinks. “What?” they squawked almost simultaneously.
Christy propped her legs on the empty chair in front of her and, throwing her head back, finished her shot. Yep, tequila nights were definitely the best.
“I’m going to hire myself a first-class stud,” she stated, her gaze fixed on the dark sky, literally bursting with stars. “If you’re smart, you will too. Although you guys need to get your own—I’m not comfortable sharing.”
She left the shot glass on the table of her deck and smirked at the stupefied girls.
A stud for hire.
She had no clue where the heck that thought had come from. It’d probably crept in sometime between the fourth and fifth rounds of shots, but now that it was out there, it made a world of sense…in a totally messed-up, sex-deprived, alcohol-distorted sort of way.
“A stud for hire? What on earth for?” Annie asked in a slurred voice.
Holly waved in exasperation. “Please, Annie. Isn’t that self-explanatory? Sex, honey, sex.”
Annie’s glazed eyes opened wide. “As in a man whore?” She shook her head. “But…but you’re beautiful, Chris. You don’t need to—”
Christy cut her off. “Hell yes I need to.” Beautiful or not, she knew her limitations. Landing a decent guy on her own—for sex or for anything else—was apparently one of them. “I want to, actually.”
She was drunk enough to be blunt, and well, she hadn’t had sex for ages and good sex for a hell of a lot longer—her whole life, probably. It had never bothered her that much, but tonight the unfairness of it all stunk to high heaven.
“I’ve come to accept that love and happily-ever-afters are not meant for me. I get it. I really do,” she said, turning her glare up to the black sky. “But where is it written I have to make do without experiencing good sex for the rest of my life, huh? Where?” she demanded, raising a fist into the night à la Scarlett O’Hara.
The girls giggled.
Christy sighed. “It shouldn’t be this hard. There’s gotta be something wrong with me.”
Duh, no shit. The understatement of the century.
Holly came to her rescue. “Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetie. It’s the male pool that’s rapidly decaying. Brainless jerks, the whole bunch of ’em.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Sophie said.
Christy wasn’t so sure. She understood Sophie, who was after all in the middle of getting a divorce and had no sympathy for the opposite sex. She also understood sexpot Holly. The girl could catch and keep any man she wanted—if she wanted to, which was the key point here—but other people found great guys all the time, real keepers. It had to be Christy’s fault that she always drew the shortest straw.
This is truly pathetic! I’m pushing thirty-four, for crying out loud. There must be more to sex than what I got, when I got any. I want to see fireworks, bright lights…I want vortices of passion, the pulsing, the clawing, and the screaming. The multiple orgasms! Instead all I got was…
“…unskilled men unable to find your G-spot even with a state-of-the-art GPS embedded in their finger,” Sophie finished. “I know, sweetie. Join the club.”
Oh God! Had she said that out loud? Apparently.
Annie choked on her drink again while Holly broke into a laugh.
“Well…that too,” Christy said, feeling her cheeks flame. That wasn’t what she’d meant, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either.
Holly jumped in. “That’s nothing, girl,” she said, addressing Sophie. “There’s unskilled, and then there’s
. I have pretty horrible war stories myself. What about the jerks who think good oral sex consists of sucking your clit so hard it feels like you’re stuck to a vacuum cleaner? You’re there, squirming, about to pass out from agony, slapping at him and yanking his hair to get him to stop, and what does the moron do? Thinks you’re coming, redoubles his efforts, and obnoxiously grins at you.”
They all dissolved into laughter while Holly rolled her eyes. “Laugh all you want, ladies, but let me tell you, I’d rather get my teeth removed, one by one, without anesthesia, before letting anybody unqualified near my poor clit again.”
The girls were now laughing so hard they were crying and holding their stomachs.
“At least he went down on you. Shouldn’t he get points for trying?” Sophie asked.
Holly snorted. “Nope. No sympathy points. I’m a person, not an NGO. I want them housebroken; absolutely no beginners. Either they know what they’re doing, and I mean
know, or they can hit the door.”
“When did that…uh…vacuum cleaner experience happen?” Annie asked, mopping her tears.
Holly took several seconds to answer, building their expectation. “Um…remember that
investment consultant I dated a while back?”
Annie’s jaw dropped to the floor. “No way! The smooth talker?”
Holly assented. “Useless mouth if you ask me.”
They all doubled over again. Christy was the new kid on the block and she didn’t know any
investment consultant, but she knew outspoken Holly wouldn’t put up with much shit when it came to men, much less oral sex gone bad.
“And don’t get me started on foreplay…”
“In that area,” Sophie began, “you got nothing on me—I win hands down. Have you ever had an ice cube on your privates straight out of the freezer? Without any warning whatsoever?” She looked around. “No, I guessed not. Well, I have. The height of foreplay, I tell you. My soon-to-be ex decided to get creative and go all
Christy was confused. “I don’t remember that scene in the movie.”
“Exactly my point,” Sophie said with a grunt.
Now Holly’s jaw went slack. “Oh shit! What happened?”
“What happened? Frostbite happened. I should probably be grateful he didn’t think of getting it near my clit because it would’ve fallen off in pieces. Talk about permanent damage!”
The three girls looked at each other in stunned silence; then they looked at Sophie, who was sourly pouting, before breaking out in uncontrollable laughter yet again.
It took several attempts before they got the giggles down to manageable levels.
“You’re outrageous when you’re drunk. The three of you,” Annie said.
“More like straight to the point,” Christy muttered. She’d never been that sexually active, or that adventurous. She could count on one hand the guys she’d slept with—never one-night stands, always committed relationships, but she’d had her share of experiences. Her share of bad ones, that is. Good ones had, for the most part, eluded her. Maybe those were just urban legends. Freddy Krueger, the tooth fairy, and multiple orgasms.
Annie shook her head. “Come on, Chris, don’t listen to these two. Despite your previous experiences, you can get both the lasting relationship and the great sex. I was quite happy with Ben in both areas. No big complaints.”
Both girls glared at her until she capitulated with a long sigh. “Until of course he got that job in Boston, met Stan, and switched teams on me. That was the mother of all surprises.”
“And a deal breaker, with you having a vagina and all that,” Sophie said while Holly chuckled.
“Don’t be mean,” Annie chided and then turned her attention to Christy. “And you, nowhere is it written that you won’t get your happily ever after. Give our little town a chance. You’ve been here for what…four months?”
“Five,” Christy answered.
Annie gave her a “duh” look. “Exactly. Short prelude if you ask me. Alden has some fine men; you don’t need to go hiring gigolos out of…out of God knows where.”
“Maybe, but do you see any of your fine men falling down at my feet? Or showing any interest at all, for that matter? Because if so, sorry, I’ve missed them.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “You’re the one running away from anyone who shows the slightest interest in you. The guy from the video store, for example.”
Now Sophie was choking on her drink. “Please, Annie. He’s weird, talks to himself when he gets nervous, which is all the time.”
Christy sighed, resigned. “Nothing new there—weirdos gravitate toward me. Same shit happened in LA. I lived in that city for over ten years and didn’t see a single movie star in the flesh. Not one, not even from afar. But weirdos? Ha! Those I met plenty. No, what I want for a change is someone who can fire me up. I want hot sex. Animalistic heat. Primal connection. I’d love the candlelight and the romance to go with that, but since it isn’t meant to be, I’d settle for something I’ve never had: screaming, blinding orgasms,” she said, not quite believing she was uttering the words. She was more inhibited than that when it came to sex. It must have been all the liquid courage she’d guzzled down, because she couldn’t bring herself to feel too much shame. Self-pity? Yeah, boatloads of it, but no shame.
“Oh boy, Christy’s been reading steamy romances again, haven’t you?” Holly said, frowning. “Honey, those aren’t real. I wish they were, but they aren’t. That kind of man doesn’t exist. Take my word for it.”
“Holly’s right,” Sophie said. “Reality is frostbite and vacuum-cleaner horror experiences, five-minute lays, unskilled fingers, and other rather unappealing appendages probing all over the place and frustrating the hell out of you. And nasty, expensive divorces, of course.”
Annie looked up from her drink. “You need firing up? Then you should try one of the Bowen brothers. They’ll scorch your underwear just with a look.”
“And how would you know about that, Ann Marie? Have you been holding out on us?”
Annie blushed. “No, but I sell candy. People like to talk around sweets.” And it was no big secret those three Bowen brothers were the county’s most sought-after bachelors. Even Christy had heard about their exploits during the first week of being in Alden. Hell, she hadn’t checked, but they were probably featured as centerfolds in the town’s tourist guide. James, the middle one, had now gotten engaged, which had apparently sent the town’s entire female population into full-blown, hold-on-to-your-panties, get-yourself-a-Bowen-husband-before-they’re-gone hysterics.