Trapped In Paradise by Lizzy Grey

Can Alix escape Paul’s clutches or will she be forever trapped in paradise?

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While working undercover in a London pole dancing club, Detective Constable Alix Barker is drugged and kidnapped by the blonde man who had come to watch her for six nights in a row. Regaining consciousness, Alix finds herself on a remote Caribbean island, owned by the man from the club – drugs baron Paul Blake.

Alix is Paul’s prized possession now and she has been remodelled to suit his requirements with large breast implants and lip augmentation. Alix has everything she could possibly want except her freedom. Can Alix escape Paul’s clutches or will she be forever trapped in paradise? 

 

An Excerpt From Chapter Three

Alix had been on the island for six weeks when Rosa came to her as she sat with her feet in the swimming pool one morning, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Mr Blake has confirmed that he is returning to the island today. I need to prepare you for him.”

Alix’s heart sank. “Prepare me?”

“Hair, makeup, clothes. Come with me.”

In her bedroom, Rosa had laid out a black lace dress, a thong, and black high heeled shoes. There was no bra, Alix noticed. She was, seemingly, going to be topless for him, showing him exactly what he had paid for.

She sat meekly, her eyelids drooping, as Rosa re-dyed her hair blonde then did her makeup. That done, she changed into the thong and dress, refusing to look at herself in the mirror.

“Stunning.” Rosa stood back from her. “Look.”

Alix pushed herself to her feet and stared at her reflection. All she could see were her huge breasts, red pouting lips and blonde hair. “I look like a doll,” she murmured.

“It’s how he wanted you, so be grateful for that.”

“Rosa, I’m scared,” she said in a little voice. “I feel even more woozy today.”

“It’s the Valium, Alix, I upped your dose today so that you are obedient and let him use you. It’s just easier all round.”

“What does he like?”

“For you to be exactly the way he wanted you, which you are,” Rosa soothed. “And for you to allow him to use your body, which you will. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about.”

Alix glanced towards the window as she heard a helicopter approach. “Do I go and meet him, or stay here?” she asked.

“No, go to the living room. He will come to you there.”

She walked unsteadily to the living room and stood in front of the fireplace before having to lean back against it. ‘Let him use you. It’s just easier all round.’ Rosa’s voice echoed around her foggy brain as the door opened.

Paul Blake was dressed in a black suit and white shirt. He closed the door before turning and looking her up and down. She clenched her fists as his pale blue eyes took in her hair, lips and breasts.

“Rosa tells me you are recovered.”

“Yes.”

“So, Detective Constable, I hope you like your new self?” She couldn’t reply and fought to stand her ground as he approached her. He tilted her chin up and she was forced to look into his eyes as his lips twitched upwards. “I like you very much. Your breasts and lips are magnificent.” He slowly licked her lips, taking them into his mouth, as if claiming them for himself. His tongue then opened them and explored her mouth, finding her tongue and swirling around it. She gasped as he drew it into his mouth and sucked hard until she was arching her back, breathless and clinging to him. Suddenly, he released her chin, stood back from her and she found herself almost whimpering. “I hope you like my island?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve always hated the police,” he went on. “I never ever thought I would have a police officer all to myself, though, one I could model to my own requirements with the huge tits and lips I love so much. You know I brought you here to fuck you, don’t you, Detective Constable?”

“Yes.”                  

“You are on the contraceptive pill?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I suppose I may as well tell you now that you are not my only partner.”

She frowned. Didn’t Rosa say that she was? “I also fuck my bodyguard, John. We must do a threesome sometime. Although, I’ll have to be the sandwich, as he won’t want to penetrate a woman. Come.” He held out a hand. “I want to explore those tits I paid for.”

Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her out of the room, down the hall and into a large and airy bedroom. Letting her hand go, he went into the ensuite bathroom and returned with a tube of lube.

“Strip,” he told her simply.

Carefully, she peeled off the lace dress and laid it on a chair before kicking off her shoes and sliding the thong down her legs and stepping out of it.

He quickly undressed and she saw that his cock was semi-erect. When he took her breasts in his hands and smoothed his thumbs across her nipples, she watched his face and was relieved when he smiled. He began to lap her nipples with his tongue, moving from one to the other, before sucking on them until they were hard. A hand went between her legs and she opened up for him, allowing him to find and start stroking her clit. When she started to moan, he laughed, pulling his hand away and she whimpered aloud.

“On the bed, Detective Constable,” he told her, applying lube to his cock. “And on your back. Legs open. I want to fuck the police.”

She lay on the bed and opened her legs as he crawled up the bed with his cock in his hand. Positioning it at the entrance to her pussy, he let it go and forced it into her. Despite the Valium and lube, it made her groan but he didn’t stop and began to slide in and out of her with a firm and steady rhythm.

“Those are the best breasts money can buy, put in by the best cosmetic surgeon money can buy,” he said conversationally. “In time, you’ll become very proud of them, Alix, because you’ll know they give me great pleasure.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered as he pulled hard on each nipple with his lips. It made her wince and she reached up to cover them but he slapped her hands away.

“Don’t do that. I want to play with and explore those tits as I fuck you.” He gave her an icy smile. “I think you love being fucked, Detective Constable. I think you love being flat on your back with your legs open and a big cock fucking your cunt. Don’t you?”

“Oh, God,” she moaned as he thrust deeper into her.

“I said, ‘Don’t you?’” he added coldly.

“Yes.”

“Good. And there were to be no trout pout lips for my police officer. I wanted the best and you got them – great big luscious lips to go around my cock – or maybe John’s, he won’t mind that.”

She stared at him, gasping involuntarily at each thrust, and groaning as he pulled at her nipples again before lapping them with his tongue. “John’s?”

“You’re mine, Alix. You’ll fuck and suck whomever I chose.” He began to pump into her and brought her to a juddering orgasm and grinned. “You came for me first time. Good. You’re mine now, Alix. Remember that.” He pulled out of her and got off the bed. “I think I’ll fuck John now,” he said, walking out of the room.

Alix curled up on the bed, her nipples and pussy throbbing, and furious with herself for coming. Why didn’t he just pimp her out to passing cruise liners? She certainly had the face and body for it now. She slid off the bed and went out into the hall, hearing grunts coming from a bedroom at the far end. She crept unsteadily to the door and crouched down. She peered through the keyhole, hoping she wouldn’t topple over and sucking in a breath as her breasts rubbed against the cold wood. All she could see was a corner of the bed moving up and down so she straightened up, returned to her room, and took a shower.         

About to go into the kitchen for a cold drink, she heard Paul Blake’s voice speaking to Rosa, and waited in the hall.

“…It was like fucking a zombie. She’s far too compliant – she came for me first time, for fuck sake. What happened to keeping her on the Valium for only a few days?”

“I was very much afraid she was going to try and escape,” Rosa told him. “The implants are huge and she hates what’s been done to her, so I’ve kept her docile on a low dose. But today I upped it so she would be obedient for her first time with you. If it was too high a dose, then, I apologise.”

“It was far too high. Keep her on the low dose and I’ll see how she is with that.”

“Yes, Mr Blake.”

“She looks amazing, though, Rosa. I wondered if fourteen hundred CC implants might be too much but she certainly has the body to carry them off. I must get her photographed. Yes, she was a good find. Let’s see how she fucks on a lower dose of Valium.”

Ten minutes later, she was sitting at the breakfast bar with a glass of orange juice when the door from the hall opened and a man wearing black trousers, a white open neck shirt, and a black waistcoat, came in. He was tall, dark-haired, and muscular, and she couldn’t help but stare rudely, trying through her Valium-fogged brain to visualise him naked.

“You must be Alix,” he said with a genuine smile.

There’s no one else here who looks like a sex doll, she thought. “Yes.”

“I’m John Warren, Mr Blake’s bodyguard.” He held out a hand.

And I’m to suck your cock sometime. “Pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand. “Do you stay with Paul twenty-four-seven?”

“I certainly do. And I’m to watch out for you too, now.”

“Why? There’s nowhere for me to go.”

“I know, but there’s always the risk of you being kidnapped.”

“Oh.” She just stopped herself from laughing. “So I can’t go for a walk without you coming along, too?”

“Preferably not, no. Mr Blake values you very highly.”

“Oh. Well, I had planned on going for a swim in the sea for the first time. I haven’t been able to up to now because of my…” She trailed off and saw his dark eyes drop briefly to her breasts before he raised them again and nodded.

“You just tell me when.”

He went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice and she watched, blinking furiously to keep her eyes open, as he drank it in three gulps. Never mind Paul’s, what would her new lips feel like around his cock? She got off the stool and grabbed the breakfast bar to steady herself.

“I’ll just go and change.” She had a bikini and a swimsuit and both were barely able to cope with her breasts. With a struggle, she put on the bikini, then reached for a blue sarong and wrapped it around her. John was waiting in the hall, wearing a pair of black shorts, a white T-shirt, and a pistol in a holster strapped around his upper body. Was the gun really necessary? “Which beach would you recommend?” she asked, trying not to stare at the gun.

“The north beach. Less of a current there.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Lead the way.” He brought her to the beach nearest the villa and she self-consciously peeled off the sarong, noting again how the bikini bra was barely adequate. God, how she hated these breasts. He sat down and she placed the sarong on the sand beside him. “Are you coming in, too?”

He peered up at her, having to shade his eyes and shook his head. “Jet lag,” he said. “I’ll just sit here and acclimatise.”

She turned and walked unsteadily into the sea. Had her predecessor just kept on walking? Was that how she had drowned? She plunged into the water and began to swim parallel to the shore. Her breasts made it awkward but, she hated to admit it, she was getting used to swimming with them now. She swam up and down a couple of times, then walked slowly out of the water, and sank down onto the sand beside him with a groan.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

“I’m on Valium to help me adjust to these.” She indicated her breasts. “And to keep me docile. But it exhausts me. I’m not a zombie and usually, I’m very fit.”

“I see.”

“Have you been with Paul long?” she asked. “As his bodyguard, I mean?”

“Two years. We met in a bar and, luckily, he was looking to employ someone. The fact that I was gay, too, was a bonus. He told me he was bi from the start and it doesn’t bother me.” He turned to her with a smile and she forced herself to return one. Why did he have to be gay? “So you needn’t worry, I don’t resent you.”

“Oh. It’s just that Paul mentioned a threesome…”

“Should be interesting.”

“I’ve never done one before,” she added.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

She gave him a sharp glance. He wouldn’t hurt her? Did that mean Paul would if she wasn’t co-operative enough? “What happened to my predecessor?” she asked. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand.”

“She tried to swim out to a passing yacht but didn’t make it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t try and escape Alix,” he told her softly. “Not only is it all but impossible, but you wouldn’t like Mr Blake when he’s angry. We’ll be here for a while, so you can talk to me in confidence.”

“How can I talk to you in confidence when you’re Paul’s boyfriend?” she demanded.

“I am not his boyfriend,” he added in the same soft tone. “He is my employer. We just happen to fuck, too. It’s an arrangement we’re both happy with. It would be a lot easier for you if you could just accept that your body is his as well. He spent a fortune on getting you out here and on your surgery.”

“I hate what he’s had done to me,” she whispered. “Look at me. I look like I should be in porn films. From now on, I’m only going to be defined by my tits. You can leave Paul. I can’t. I’m trapped here.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Alix. And, yes, I can leave Mr Blake, but I don’t want to. I have a lifestyle many people can only dream of. Yes, you’re trapped here, but it’s paradise, and I can think of worse places to be trapped. Rosa treats you well, doesn’t she? Gets you things you ask for?”

“Yes,” she had to admit.

“Good. Well, if you feel you can talk to me, it won’t go any further, I promise. I do know what you’re going through.”

“Do you?” she asked sharply.

“I know it doesn’t really compare with your breasts and lips, but Mr Blake insisted that I get a nose job, my teeth capped, and to keep my body muscular. He’s changed us both to suit him, Alix.”

She glanced at his straight nose, he caught her glance, and both smiled. His teeth were perfect, too. “He’ll keep me blonde, I take it?”

“Yes. All his companions have been…”

“Stereotypes?” she finished.

“Like what you are now,” he told her. “Accept it, Alix. You have no choice.”

She didn’t reply, climbed to her feet and walked into the sea again. She waded up to her breasts, watching as the waves flowed hypnotically over them. Her eyelids drooped and she raised a hand to her forehead. She was exhausted and was going to fall asleep standing up in the sea.

“Alix?” She heard John’s voice. “You okay?” She wasn’t okay. She had to sleep right there and then. She closed her eyes and swayed. “Alix?” She heard splashing behind her and hands caught her as her legs went from under her. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m all woozy,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” She was carried out of the sea, up the beach and into the villa, where he shouted for Rosa. “She almost passed out in the sea,” he explained. “She says she’s on Valium.”

“It’s to keep her docile,” Rosa explained. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened with Maya. Today, I upped the dose so she would be compliant with Mr Blake for their first time together. I may have given her a little too much. Put her on the bed on top of this towel.”

“She could have drowned,” John accused as he laid her down on the bed. “The drugged state she’s in, she shouldn’t be anywhere near water.”

“What’s happened?” She heard Paul’s voice.

“Alix almost passed out in the sea,” John told him. “Too much Valium. She shouldn’t be anywhere near water, it’s far too dangerous, the condition she’s in.”

“Has she been swimming while on the lower dose?” Paul asked.

“Well, she likes sitting on the steps at the shallow end of the pool,” Rosa began awkwardly. “I’ve only seen her attempting to swim in the pool a couple of times.”

“Attempting? Right, take her off the Valium altogether,” Paul told her. “I value her too much and I don’t want her to drown.”

“Yes, Mr Blake,” Rosa replied.

“Thanks for looking out for her, John.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Let her rest now, Mr Blake,” Rosa added. “I’ll keep an eye on her. I’m terribly sorry.”

Feet walked to the door, it closed and Alix drifted.

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Trust No One’s Becca Hills

Becca Instagram

Becca Hills is thirty-five-years-old and was baptised Concepta Burns after her Irish grandmother. The Burns’ are a notorious criminal family from London’s East End and Becca’s mother did her best to turn Becca into her so Becca could take over from her when the time came, or become head of her own family of drug dealers eventually.

Becca was sent away to boarding school and wasn’t allowed to mix with the local children when at home. Becca always felt as if she didn’t belong with the Burns’, hated her names and being brought up wrapped in cotton wool and longed to escape.

As soon as she could, Becca changed her name to Rebecca Burns, moved away and joined the London Metropolitan Police. One of the other police probationers was Stephen Connor. They fell in love and moved into a flat together. But the Burns’ wouldn’t leave her alone and arranged for her to be attacked. The attack left Becca deaf in one ear and she had to leave the police.

Becca and Stephen decided to try for a baby and they spent a long weekend in Brighton on England’s south coast. Soon afterwards, Becca discovered she was pregnant. One day, she forgot her Oyster travel card, returned to the flat and found Stephen and her sister-in-law, Jackie Burns, in bed together.

Jackie was told she couldn’t have children and her husband walked out on her. Money and drugs buy information and Jackie found Becca, discovered Becca was pregnant and was madly jealous. Jackie couldn’t allow Becca to be happy while she wasn’t, so she threw herself at Stephen, knowing exactly what to do, where to do it, and for how long. Stephen and Jackie had sex in the hall, in the bathroom and in the bedroom. For Becca, this was the ultimate betrayal and she disappeared.

Changing her name again, Becca Hills and her son, Tommy live a deliberately quiet life in a council flat on the twenty-fourth floor of a north London tower block. When Tommy started school, Becca began working part-time in a local crime bookshop. She misses Stephen, still loves him, but knows she will never trust him again.

Then, one morning, Becca wakes up late. She has forgotten to top up the electricity meter, the power went off in the middle of the night and her clock radio failed to wake her at eight o’clock. She gets Tommy ready as quickly as she can and they manage to arrive at his school shortly after nine o’clock.

Crouching down outside the gates to kiss him goodbye and pass him his rucksack, she is pushed over and a woman grabs Tommy. It is Jackie Burns. Jackie runs across the road carrying Tommy and when Becca goes after them, she is struck by a car.

When Becca comes to, her vision is blurred but, from the stink of disinfectant, she works out that she is lying in a hospital bed and she can see the outline of someone sitting beside her bed. When she wakes again, her vision has cleared. She is in an Accident and Emergency Department cubicle and the person sitting beside her bed holding a lock of her waist-length blonde hair in his fingers is Stephen…

 

Sooner or later, your past will catch up with you.

Rebecca Burns has been running and hiding from her drug-dealing family all her adult life and trusts no one. An injury ended her career in London’s Metropolitan Police, and when she took a chance on love, she discovered Stephen cheating on her.

Changing her name, she runs and hides again, despite being pregnant with Stephen’s child. ‘Becca Hills’ and her son live a deliberately quiet life in a London tower block, but when she is involved in a road traffic accident, she finds Stephen and her past catching up with her. Can Becca allow herself to trust, forgive and love again?

Stephen and Becca

An Excerpt From Chapter Two

Following a detour by way of a supermarket, the cab dropped them off on Dixon Street. Tommy was almost asleep on Stephen’s shoulder as he let them into the apartment.

“I want Bear,” Tommy mumbled again.

“I know, but,” they went into Stephen’s bedroom and he opened the wardrobe, “meet Humphrey.” He pulled out a very old and battered teddy bear. “I’m sure Humphrey wouldn’t mind standing in for Bear for now.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Tommy clutched Humphrey to him.

Five minutes later Tommy, in one of Stephen’s T-shirts, and Humphrey, in his birthday suit, were tucked up and fast asleep in the double bed in the mauve bedroom.

“A drink?” Stephen whispered to her.

“Yes, please.” She followed him into the living area. “A large one.”

“Coming up,” he said, going to a kitchen cupboard, and taking down a bottle of Irish whisky and two glasses.

“I really thought I’d left them all behind. I’m surprised I didn’t have television companies ringing up wanting to do programmes on the Family From Hell.”

He poured the whisky and passed her a glass. “Here. Think about taking out an injunction, I won’t have them putting you and Tommy in danger. Better still, come and live here.”

“Stephen…”

“What the hell is it with you?” he demanded, slamming his glass down on the worktop. “Every time I try to help you, you throw it back in my face.”   

“I’ve just got out of the habit of asking for help. I never liked doing it anyway.”

“I know.” The telephone began to ring and he went to answer it. “Connor.” He listened for a couple of moments before sighing. “No. No. Why? Because it’s over. Please don’t call me again.”

“After one date? Well, fuck you, Stephen,” she heard a woman’s voice shout and the call was promptly ended.

“Women trouble?” she enquired as he put the handset down.

“Not anymore. I just couldn’t commit to any of them.”

“How many were there?” She pulled a stool out from under the breakfast bar and sat down.

“A few.” Pulling out a second stool, he sat down opposite her and took a sip of the whisky. “How about you?”

“Two.”

“Did they last longer than a month?”

She met his eyes. “No,” she told him truthfully. “The first just liked the idea of having sex with a single mum. The second didn’t like Tommy so that was it with him.”

“And what about you?”

She shrugged. “All I wanted from the first was meaningless sex. Tommy was still a baby and he wasn’t aware of him being around but the second just didn’t like Tommy and Tommy didn’t like him and I wasn’t going to have strange men in the flat. I’d seen enough of that at home with Mum’s boyfriends when I was growing up and I didn’t want to turn into her.”

“You can’t hide from your family forever, Becca.”

“But what the hell can I do?” She rested her head on a fist.

“Take out an injunction. You should have done it years ago.” Reaching across the breakfast bar, he gently caressed her deaf ear. It felt wonderful and she fought a hard battle not to visibly shiver with pleasure. “Before they did this to you.”

“I know, but it’s too late now.”

“Does Tommy know about it?”

She nodded and took a sip of whisky. “He thinks it was an accident, though, not an attack.”

“Does he ever ask about them?”

“No, because I haven’t told him anything about them.” She sighed, cradling the whisky glass in her hands. “I wish I could. I wish they were worth telling him about but they’re not. He has no idea what it is like to be not the black sheep of the family but the white sheep, the only good person in a family of scumbags. And for me to join the police was just the last straw for them. So they did this so I’d have to leave.” She touched her ear. “And then there was you and me. If Jackie hadn’t waded in in her size sevens they still would have broken us up somehow.”

“But they hadn’t betted on Tommy, had they?” he said quietly.

“No. And I’m scared…I never thought I’d be found and I don’t know what to do anymore.” She put her glass down on the breakfast bar before she dropped it. “And I’m so tired all the time. I’m going to bed, it’s probably going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Before you go to bed, listen to me,” he begged, clasping her hands in his. “Live here, please? I will be here as much as I possibly can. It has to be better than you being in that flat on your own with Tommy.”

“But if they find out?”

“The injunction, Becca. Think about it?”

“Yeah.” She extracted her hands from his and finished her whisky before sliding off the stool. “You’ll have to lend me a T-shirt or something.”

“Okay, come with me.”

She followed him into his bedroom, noticing again just how austere it was. Kneeling down at the drawers beneath the wardrobe, she watched as he opened one and pulled out an item of clothing.

“Here.”

She took it and held it up. It was a pink silk-effect nightdress with thin shoulder straps she had left behind in her rush to leave. “You kept this all this time?”

He nodded. “In the hope that you might come back.”

Oh, God. “I see.” Putting it over an arm, she retreated to the door. “Well, thanks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Closing the door behind her, she hurried down the hall to the mauve bedroom.

Tommy was fast asleep still clutching Humphrey as she turned the bedside lamp on, undoing her plait, and shaking out her hair. She got undressed and slipped into the nightdress, finding it a little tight over her bust. Since she had last worn it, she had both given birth to and breastfed Tommy. Getting into the double bed beside him, she turned off the bedside lamp. She stared up at the ceiling, remembering the nights she and Stephen had sat at their old kitchen table talking into the small hours putting the world to rights. Oh, God, how she missed those nights. And, God, how she missed him, too.

* * *

Two hours later, she was still staring up at the ceiling. This was hopeless. Getting out of the bed without disturbing Tommy, she went to the kitchen and took a carton of milk out of the fridge. She poured some of the milk into a mug and put it in the microwave oven for forty-five seconds but opened the door with one second to go before it pinged. Taking the mug over to the display cabinet, she stared at the photograph of herself and Stephen with all the cardboard boxes. When had she laughed like that since?

Opening one of the doors in the bottom of the cabinet, she found two large photograph albums and pulled them out. Taking the albums over to one of the sofas, she sat down, opened one, and took a sip of the warm milk. ‘The Two PC Plods’ was written under a photo of the two of them as police probationers. She smiled, shaking her head, they were so young. The photograph below it was taken by Stephen’s younger brother, Gerard. She and Stephen were kissing. Talk about a tongue sandwich and a half. She quickly turned the page.

“That’s one of my favourites.”

She jumped, almost spilling the milk down her front. “Stephen,” she hissed.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” He sat on the sofa opposite her, dressed for bed in his usual T-shirt and boxer shorts. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming in.”

“Well, I didn’t.” She watched his eyes move up and down, taking in her loose hair and how fully she now filled the nightdress. God, how she wanted to straddle him and sit on his lap and push her breasts into his face and let him kiss them and – oh, God – so many other things she missed so much. “I helped myself to some milk,” she said instead.

“Good.” He smiled, raising his eyes to her face.

“How’s Gerard?”

“He’s very well, thanks. He told me that I was a bloody fool to mess you around.”

She groaned. “Let’s not go into that now, I’m too tired.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

“No, just overtired.” She drained the mug. “And sad. And fucking angry. They took all my photograph albums – all the photos you looked at of Tommy as a baby. Spying on me and trashing the flat I can take, kind of, because they’re scum and that’s what scum does. But taking the photos…only the lowest of the low would do something like that.”

“Live with me?” he added quietly. “Let me look after you both.”

“Stephen.” Banging the mug down on the coffee table, she got to her feet, the photograph albums falling to the floor. “We don’t need looking after.”

“Becca.” He got up from the sofa and grasped her shoulders. “Please?”

“Let me go.”

He complied and bent down to retrieve the albums. “The nights I lay awake wondering if that bloody family of yours had done something else to you. Every time a female body was found it used to scare the shit out of me…”

“Don’t.”

“But they know where you are now, Becca.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I know. I’ll just have to move again.”

“But think of Tommy and school?”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of not thinking about him,” she spat. “I think and worry about him every day – ever since he was born – ever since I found out that I was pregnant if you must know. I even thought about getting an abortion after I left you but I couldn’t.”

“Tell me why not?” He pointed to the sofa. “Please?”

She sighed and sat down and he re-took his seat, placing the albums beside him.

“The baby was yours and mine. Ours. Not my bloody family’s – ours. Despite everything that happened I just couldn’t get rid of him. We made him. It was on that long weekend in Brighton, just after we’d agreed to try for a baby.”

“Brighton?” He smiled. “I’m not surprised, we hardly left the hotel room.”

“I know, but I hadn’t counted on me getting pregnant immediately.”

“I should have asked you to marry me there.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Before, during, or just after?”

He shook his head. “Over dinner the first evening. I’ve regretted it ever since. And I’ve grabbed every chance that has come my way since. And, yes, I do want to make chief inspector before I’m forty.”

“Jan was right,” she muttered. “You are married to the job.”

“You could have made inspector, too.”

“Well, there’s no point saying that now.” She touched her ear. “I’m happy at the bookshop.”

“There’s a crime bookshop here, just around the corner,” he told her. “And Tommy could go to St James’ Primary School. It’s only five minutes walk away.”

“I do know where it is.”

“So what’s your excuse?” he challenged.

She gave him a defiant stare. “Don’t bloody interrogate me, Stephen.”

“All right.” He got up, went to the kitchen, and poured himself a whisky. “But I’m only worried about you.”

“I know you are,” she replied quietly. Getting up from the sofa, she went to him, turned his face towards hers and kissed his cheek. “I need to try and get some sleep.”

“Becca.” He caught her hand. “Before you go, tell me what it was like being pregnant. Please? I missed out on so much.”

“I was huge. And he kicked my insides black and blue.”

“How big were you?” he asked, putting his whisky glass down, standing behind her and taking her hands. “Will you show me?”

She could feel his body pressing against hers, his breath on her ear, and couldn’t help but tense. It felt far too good. “My stomach was out here.” She held his hands out from her body, not at all sure how accurate she was being but just wanting to show him something and then move away from him. “It was huge. I waddled for the last few weeks.” Letting his hands go, she turned around, backing away from him. “I was in labour for sixteen hours and Tommy weighed eight pounds and one ounce.”

“You breastfed him?”

“Yes, I did,” she replied matter-of-factly, not wanting to move onto the subject of her breasts. “And now I really must try and get some sleep,” she told him, walking to the hall door and opening it. “Goodnight,” she added and closed it behind her. She leant back against the door for a moment, raising her hand to her forehead, and finding it damp with perspiration. “Fuck you, Stephen,” she whispered.

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His Sexual Partner’s Lesley Strickland

Thirty-two-year-old Lesley Strickland owns and runs a bookshop in central London called Crime Always Pays. She inherited the bookshop from her late father and she lives above the shop with her flatmate and work colleague, Emma.

Lesley survived breast cancer, had a double mastectomy, and now has perfect 32 F cup-sized breasts. When His Sexual Partner opens, Lesley has recently returned to the UK from six months in Spain, where her mother lives. Coming back to London, she found that she craved solitude, so she now spends her weekends in her mother’s holiday cottage in Essex in eastern England.

One weekend, she was persuaded to attend a cancer charity fund-raising event in a local hotel and to take a cab there and back. Unfortunately, the cab firm recommended to her turned out to be the worst in Essex. The cab broke down and Lesley arrived two hours late, missing both the dinner and the speeches. Buying a glass of wine, she goes out into the hotel gardens and meets a man called Jonathan.

Lesley and Jonathan get chatting and she learns that he survived testicular cancer, had a testicle removed and now has a false testicle – a prosthesis. Comparing how having cancer in such intimate places has affected them, Lesley confesses that she hasn’t had sex for three years because she’s afraid men will now find her weird and repulsive. Jonathan immediately assures her she is neither weird nor repulsive and that he would sleep with her. Lesley has never had a one night stand before but her primal need for sex after so long rules her head and she agrees to spend one night with him.

Lesley and Jonathan have amazing one night stand sex in his hotel room and when she wakes in the morning he is gone but a note with Thank you. Ring Me. has been left on his pillow. She puts the note in her handbag and returns to London, only to see Jonathan on the news that evening. Jonathan is Jonathan Lewis, Member of Parliament for Nerin in Essex and the new British Home Secretary. Lesley is disgusted. She hates politicians and she certainly doesn’t want to be fucked by one.

That weekend, she goes to the cottage in Essex as usual, only to discover that Jonathan’s parents live in a neighbouring cottage and that Jonathan spends most weekends there so he can hold a constituency surgery in the village. Jonathan tells Lesley, he wants to see her again and she finds herself not turning him down flat. Jonathan calls to her holiday cottage that evening and he fucks her deep, hard, and unrelenting and she throws him out.

Jonathan grovels and apologises for his behaviour but admits to her that he has a huge sex drive and now he is Home Secretary, with the possibility of becoming Prime Minister one day, he needs to keep his sex life under strict control. He must find someone to satisfy his constant need for sex, someone discreet, someone he can call upon for sex at any time. Jonathan puts a proposition to Lesley – that she become his sexual partner. She can’t help but be flattered, so she asks for time to consider it, and he agrees. 

Just after Jonathan leaves the cottage, his mother arrives. Unknown to Jonathan, Margaret Lewis has recorded Lesley and Jonathan’s one night stand in the hotel room. Mrs Lewis can’t allow Lesley to turn Jonathan down and risk the future Prime Minister satisfying his need for sex with casual fucks with women who might sell their stories to the tabloid press. Jonathan wants Lesley. He needs Lesley. He will have Lesley. So Margaret Lewis threatens to upload the sex video to the internet if Lesley doesn’t agree to become Jonathan’s sexual partner.

What choice does Lesley have? She’s always hated and mistrusted politicians and now she is being blackmailed into being fucked by one – a very handsome man with a dry sense of humour – but a politician all the same. 

Can Lesley turn Jonathan against his mother? Can Lesley make Jonathan love her, or will their relationship always be only about sex for him? Read His Sexual Partner to find out!

One night of passion. A lifetime of regret. Or can a relationship built on blackmail turn to love?

At a charity fundraising event, Lesley Strickland meets Jonathan Lewis – a fellow cancer survivor – and they spend the night together. When Lesley discovers Jonathan is a politician, she never wants to see him again, despite a deepening sexual attraction. But Jonathan can’t forget her. Only Lesley can satisfy him, and he has a discreet proposition for her – that she become his sexual partner.

Lesley asks for time to consider the proposition, but Jonathan’s mother intervenes and blackmails her, threatening to reveal a secret which could ruin Lesley’s reputation and business. Lesley is forced to accept Jonathan’s proposition and all it entails – being at the new British Home Secretary’s beck and call whenever he needs her – as his sexual partner…

Lingerie

An Excerpt From Chapter Three

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Mrs Lewis smiled. “I advised Jonathan to try you and he did and now he will only have you. Typical man, he loves your body, especially your magnificent new tits.”

“Did he send you here?” she demanded.

“No, he doesn’t know I’m here. Lesley, he is his father’s son. He has an enormous sex drive, and it will take someone special to satisfy him. That person is you.”

“And if I don’t want to satisfy him?”

“Then, I will release the video recording I have of you in The Oaks Hotel being titty-fucked by an unidentifiable man. I was quite touched to see you kissing and licking Jonathan’s huge cock between your tits,” his mother added and Lesley’s jaw dropped. “You don’t believe me?” Mrs Lewis reached into her handbag and brought out a tablet computer. “Look.” She tapped the screen then passed it to Lesley who stared at herself kissing in slow motion the head of an enormous cock poking out from between her breasts. She was immediately identifiable and her stomach churned. “It’s wonderful HD quality and I really think you could fall in love with Jonathan’s cock. Would you like me to upload the recording to the internet and email it to the tabloids? Those wonderful tits really belong on Page Three of a certain tabloid newspaper.”

“No,” she whispered.

“So, you agree?”

Lesley glared at her. “What choice do I have?”

“None. I’m so pleased.” Mrs Lewis returned the tablet to her handbag. “You needn’t worry. Jonathan takes after his father and will age very well, too. He will keep you satisfied, Lesley. Just like his father’s cock has satisfied me since I was eighteen.”

“Why not just find him a wife?”

“Lesley, he could be Prime Minister one day so we need to keep his sex life under strict control. If you continue to satisfy him, you could well be that wife. You’re from a good enough family. And when the time comes for children, your IVF treatment will touch the hearts of millions. I take it that, like Jonathan’s sperm, your eggs are stored in the Heartfield Clinic?”

Lesley blinked furiously, trying to take it all in. Prime Minister? Wife? Children? The woman was nuts. “Jonathan didn’t mention any of that. I don’t want to be a Prime Minister’s wife and I don’t even know if I want children.”

“In that case.” Mrs Lewis reached into her handbag for the tablet.

“Stop.” Lesley slapped her hand away.

“Good girl. Now, listen. Over the next few weeks, you will develop a love for politics, we will introduce you as Jonathan’s girlfriend, and the rest will be history, as they say.” Mrs Lewis looked at her watch. “His meeting with Gerald should be finished by now. Ring him and ask him to come back here. Tell him you have a reply for him.” Lesley didn’t reply and waited for her to go. “I’m waiting.”

She got up and went to the kitchen for her smartphone, brought it back to the living room and, with his mother’s eyes on her, rang him.

“Jonathan, are you still in Nerin?”

“Yes, I am. Why?”

“Could you come back to the cottage? I have a reply for you.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

She ended the call and threw her phone onto the sofa. “Happy?”

“You will tell him you would love to be his sexual partner. You will let him fuck you. You will send him back to London satisfied. I will be ringing him this evening and if I hear that he went back to London disappointed, well, you know what will happen.” With that, Mrs Lewis got up and left the room.

Lesley sank down onto the sofa and began to shake. She was still shaking when she heard a car pull up outside. Forcing herself to stand up, she went to the front door and watched Jonathan through the small window. He was speaking on his smartphone and laughed suddenly. This was the man she would be spending the rest of her life with, whose huge cock she’d have to endure pounding into her poor pussy. He was very handsome, seemed to have a dry sense of humour, but he was a politician. She’d always hated and mistrusted politicians. He ended the call, put the phone in his jacket pocket, got out of the car and walked towards the cottage. She opened the door and forced a bright smile.

“Come in.” Taking his hand, she led him into the living room, then took his other hand. “Jonathan, I’ve thought about it, and I couldn’t let you go back to London without telling you, yes.”

His eyes widened a little and they sat down together on the sofa.” You mean it?”

“Of course,” she lied. “Now, you need to tell me the details. I mean, will we only meet at your apartment? Not here?”

“Not here, just yet. And, I’m not going to lie to you—it won’t be possible every evening—but as many as I can possibly manage.”

“What will you do on the other evenings?”

“Lie back, think of you, and wank,” he replied immediately and she smiled.

“You’d better kiss me now, then.”

He got down on his knees, pulled her gently to the edge of the sofa, and positioned himself between her legs. He kissed her lips, softly at first, then with force. He parted them with his tongue and slowly rubbed the tip against the sensitive roof of her mouth, making her shiver against her will with anticipation.

“That’s good isn’t it?” he whispered, sliding his hands up her body to her breasts, caressing them, and pushing them gently together. “I love your breasts. I want to bury my face between them. I want to lick your nipples. I want to suck your clit. I want to slowly slide my cock into your wet pussy so that I don’t hurt you. Want that?”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly.

Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs, and into her bedroom. He eased her T-shirt over her head then undid her bra, freeing her breasts. He gave a little laugh, bent and took a nipple into his mouth, pulling gently at it. He cupped her breasts in his hands, lifted them a little and buried his face in them.

“God, I love your tits.” He raised his head and laughed with delight. “Promise me that you won’t have anything done to these.”

“I won’t”

“Want me to suck your clit?”

She nodded, kicked off her shoes, and took off her skirt and panties. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened her legs, and he knelt down. His dark head disappeared between her legs and he began to lick, flick, and suck her clit strongly, sending unwanted sparks flying through her body.

“Oh, God. Oh, Fuck.” This was a man who knew what to do with his mouth. It was amazing and she lay back on the bed beginning to jerk against him and he expertly sucked her through her orgasm.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying spread-eagled on the bed, and he was watching her as he got undressed.

“What made you say yes?” he asked.

Your insane mother. “I love sex. You love sex. Our sex will be amazing.”

“Yes, it will, and I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said, running his fingers along his thick hard erection before rolling on a condom. “I’m going to slide my cock into your pussy and hold it there.” He climbed onto the bed, she opened her legs, and he slid slowly inside her. “How’s that?”

“You’re stretching me but it’s okay.”

“Good.” He withdrew a little and pushed in again. “All right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try a bit faster.” He began a slow and steady rhythm and she moaned. Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh, God, that feels too good. “Like that?”

“Yes,” she replied again and gasped as he began to steadily increase the pace of his thrusts. Her breasts began to bounce and she saw him smile before she closed her eyes, succumbing to the pleasure the huge cock was giving her.

“I don’t think my cock hurt your pussy one bit this time.” She heard his amused voice and looked at him lying on an elbow beside her. “Did it?”

“No,” she had to admit. Her pussy was still throbbing and it felt exquisite.

“Thank you for agreeing.” He leaned over and gave one of her nipples a lick and then a kiss. “You satisfy me and I clearly satisfy you. I think this arrangement is going to be very agreeable to the both of us, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied automatically.

“What do you like to wear?”

“Wear?”

“I’d like to buy you something to wear.”

There was no way he was going to start dressing her. “There’s really no need.”

“I’d like to.” His voice was gentle yet firm. “Tell me. Something to show these off to perfection.” He smoothed his fingers around and over her breasts. “I’ll surprise you.”

“I’m surprised you’ll have time to go shopping.”

He smiled. “I’ll find the time.”

“Are you frightened?” she couldn’t help but ask. “I mean, Home Secretary?”

“Nothing is as frightening as being told you’ve got cancer but at least I was only a humble backbench MP then. I’m Home Secretary now with the world and his wife watching and commenting.”

“How are you going to keep us a secret?”

“The constituency party chairman is beside himself with delight that I’m now Home Secretary. Between the constituency party, the party itself, and my mother, our arrangement will be safe.”

“Your mother?” she echoed.

“Mum is on the Parish Council and is Leader of the Women’s Institute. She can be pretty persuasive when necessary.” Lesley turned her face away but he turned it back. “What is it?”

“Your mother approves of this?”

“We agree that my sexual needs have to be kept in check. So someone had to be found who I was attracted to and could keep me satisfied. Believe it or not, it was she who suggested you. She’d seen you arrive late at The Oaks Hotel, pointed you out to me, and I knew I had to have you.”

“What if I’d said no.”

He laughed. “But you didn’t say no.” He glanced at the clock radio on one of the bedside cabinets and groaned. “I have to go.” He leant over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll ring you if I need you, and I will be back next weekend.”

He climbed off the bed, disposed of the condom in the bathroom, then got dressed and she beckoned him to come to her.

“Your tie is crooked.” She re-did it and he smiled gratefully.

“Thank you.” He kissed her forehead again, followed by one of her breasts, then was gone.

Lesley sank back onto the bed and hugged her knees. If only her pussy still hurt so she could hate him. But it didn’t. It was still throbbing exquisitely.

She got dressed, went downstairs, and almost jumped out of her skin when she found Mrs Lewis sitting in the living room.

“I do hope you don’t mind, Lesley, but I listened to Jonathan fucking you. You are quite the screamer. You are going to have to do something about that, but I suppose it does prove that you do love my son’s lips and tongue on your clit and his cock in your cunt. As he said, I think this arrangement is going to be very agreeable to the both of us, isn’t it?” Mrs Lewis got up. “I’ll see myself out.”

The front door opened and closed and Lesley raised a hand to her forehead. She wouldn’t cry, she needed to think. If only there was a way she could turn Jonathan against the bitch. But the bitch was his mother and seeing as the bitch chose her as her son’s ideal sexual partner, that would be easier said than done.

“Oh, God. Oh, Fuck.” This was a man who knew what to do with his mouth. It was amazing and she lay back on the bed beginning to jerk against him and he expertly sucked her through her orgasm.

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His Sexual Partner by Lizzy Grey

One night of passion. A lifetime of regret. Or can a relationship built on blackmail turn to love?

HSP Advert 1

At a charity fundraising event, Lesley Strickland meets Jonathan Lewis—a fellow cancer survivor—and they spend the night together. When Lesley discovers Jonathan is a politician, she never wants to see him again, despite a deepening sexual attraction. But Jonathan can’t forget her. Only Lesley can satisfy him, and he has a discreet proposition for her—that she become his sexual partner.

Lesley asks for time to consider the proposition, but Jonathan’s mother intervenes and blackmails her, threatening to reveal a secret which could ruin Lesley’s reputation and business. Lesley is forced to accept Jonathan’s proposition and all it entails—being at the new British Home Secretary’s beck and call whenever he needs her—as his sexual partner…

Lesley1

An excerpt from Chapter Three

In the lift, she stared at her reflection in the mirrors. The little black dress barely contained her breasts and the skirt was more of a belt. She looked like a high-class call girl. She closed her eyes for a moment. She was a high-class call girl now, though an unpaid one.

As she walked along the eighth-floor corridor, Jonathan swung open a door and smiled.

“I hope you’re thirsty? I’ve just bought two bottles of wine.”

“I am,” she replied, feeling ridiculously nervous all of a sudden. He was wearing the trousers of a black suit with a white shirt. His blue tie was pulled loose and the top couple of shirt buttons were undone. She couldn’t help but admit that he oozed virility. Could she make this man love her, or would it always be only about sex for him?

“Good. You look incredible.” He opened the door further for her. “Come in.”

She went inside, and glanced around the apartment, feeling his eyes drinking her in. The apartment was large, open plan, with wooden floorboards and French doors opening out onto the roof terrace.

“It’s strange,” she began. “I’ve suddenly become a news junkie. It’s driving Emma mad because she’s addicted to Strictly Come Dancing.”

He groaned and walked to the ultra-masculine kitchen complete with black cabinets, black granite worktops and black stools at the breakfast bar. He took a corkscrew from a drawer then turned to her. “Red or white?”

“Red, please.”

He pulled the cork out with a pop and left the bottle on the worktop. “I’ll let it breathe for a few minutes. So, a crime bookshop, eh?”

“Yes, I really do make a living from crime.”

He laughed. “Don’t tell anyone, but I love a good crime novel.”

“Surely, reading one must be like taking work home with you now?”

“There’s always the historical ones.”

“That’s true.”

“Are we going to discuss the weather now?” He leant back against the breakfast bar and folded his arms.

“I hope not.” She smiled. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Our agreement. But first—and I hope you don’t mind—but I’m a terrible chef so I got some food in, threw it all together and made a kind of a goulash. I didn’t really want to call it stew.”

“No problem.” She glanced at an orange casserole dish in the oven. “As long as it’s not paella, I never want to see paella ever again.”

“You won’t in this apartment, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

She watched him serve the goulash and followed with the bottle of red wine as he went out onto the roof terrace with the two dishes. A black cast iron table and two chairs stood in the centre. It was beautifully cool and with hardly any breeze, a candle was flickering gently in the centre of the table.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t have dinner guests here very often,” he said as he put the dishes on the table.

“Oh.” She stared at him in surprise. “I thought you would.”

“No, this is where I sleep. I get up and go to work, come home, and sleep.”

“You’re not regretting accepting the position, are you?” she asked, as he held her chair for her and she sat down.

“No.” He sat opposite her. “The workload I can cope with, the responsibility is harder, though. I’m glad you’re here.” He gave her a smile. “It’s been years since I’ve wined and dined a woman here.”

“You’ve had a love life which wasn’t just sex, then?” She sampled the goulash and found it to be surprisingly good.

“Back in the dim and distant past and it didn’t last very long. She dumped me when I got the cancer diagnosis.” Her eyes bulged and he nodded wryly. “You really find out who your friends are at a time like that. I’m half expecting her to come crawling back now and it will give me great satisfaction in telling her where to go.”

Is that because of me, she wondered, eating another spoonful of goulash. It was far easier to have a sexual arrangement with someone, rather than a proper relationship.

“Luckily, I was single when I was diagnosed. I did lose a few friends, though. They couldn’t—or wouldn’t—cope with it so stopped ringing and calling around. Their loss.”

“Exactly. Fair weather friends, who needs them, eh?” He poured the wine then held up a glass. “Fuck the lot of them.”

“Fuck the lot of them.” She touched his glass with hers. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to bite my tongue. It must be awful for you now everyone knows about you.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “It comes with the job. Luckily, I haven’t yet been asked directly whether I’ve got the balls for the job yet, but all the balls and testicle jokes have been well and truly done to death in the newspapers and it’s only been a few weeks.”

“If I were you and everyone was making jokes about my breasts… actually, they wouldn’t, because it would be seen as sexist.”

“To some,” he said. “To others, you’d still be seen as fair game.”

“Which is why I’m nervous being here. If the press finds out about me.”

“Lesley.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I will do my utmost to try and keep your name out of the press for as long as possible.”

“Thank you.” She sat back in her chair with her glass of wine and glanced around the roof terrace. It was large but the table and chairs were the only furniture on it. “It is lovely here. I’ve always wanted a roof terrace and I suppose I’m lucky that the shop has a backyard, but I had the Pyrenees as a backdrop for six months and the yard doesn’t really compare.”

“So you go to Essex?”

“Yes,” she said and took a sip of wine. “No mountains in Essex, though.”

“That’s true.” He laughed.

“Not as easy to sunbathe nude there either.”

“I suppose not.”

“You’ve never sunbathed nude?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “In my parents’ back garden? No. And now it probably wouldn’t be such a good idea given that part of my anatomy could melt.”

“Silicone doesn’t melt, trust me.” She made a point of glancing down at her breasts then smiled at him and out over the rooftops. “It’s lovely here,” she said again, putting the glass on the table.

“I know. I was very lucky to find this apartment. Let me give you the tour.”

He took her hand and led her indoors. In the living area, two black leather sofas stood opposite each other while a terrifyingly thin LCD TV hung on the wall. A door opened into a short corridor with three rooms off it.

“Two bedrooms, each with tiny ensuites so I use the main bathroom,” he explained, opening a door. The bathroom was huge with a large Jacuzzi bath and a gigantic shower. “I’m not vain but I can lock myself away in here and just stand under the shower or wallow in the bath.”

“I like a good wallow, too.”

“That’s good to know.” He led her into the bedroom next door. French doors opened from his bedroom onto a Juliet balcony.

“Okay, that’s not fair.” She went to it and gazed down at the street. “A roof terrace and a balcony.”

“I can leave the doors open all night so I don’t melt.”

“I hope you don’t sleepwalk and stand there completely starkers for the paparazzi to see?” she teased, turning around.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“You have a lovely apartment,” she told him sincerely, noting the huge wooden-framed bed. “My place is a bit of a dump. The cottage is nice, though.”

“It’s lovely. More wine?”

“Yes, please.”

She let him take her hand again and lead her back out onto the roof terrace. She watched him pour two more glasses of red wine before putting the bottle down with a bit of a crash.

“I need you now.” Backing her up against the wall of the apartment block, he undid his trousers and freed his cock. He slid his fingers between her legs, pulled her panties to one side, and pushed into her. She moaned at the sudden stinging invasion of her pussy and he shook his head. “Shh,” he whispered. “You have to be quiet out here.”

He lifted her off her feet, his arms under her thighs, and her behind bumped hard against the brick wall with each thrust. Bumping towards him off the wall, forced him deeper into her, and she exhaled hot gasps into his ear. In the darkest corner of the roof terrace, they fucked as silently as they could until he thrust one last time and held himself inside her as he grunted and came. Her pussy clamped hard onto his cock as her orgasm ripped through her and she forced herself to pant so she wouldn’t scream.

He held her up against the wall until she lifted her forehead from his shoulder and he kissed her lips. “You can slap me now if you want?”

“Do you want me to slap you?” she asked mischievously.

“Well, no, not really. I have to make a statement in the House of Commons tomorrow and—”

She tilted his head up and kissed him back. “Okay, I won’t slap you.”

He gave her a grin. “Thank you.” He gently let her drop to her feet, slipping out of her, and she righted her panties.

She walked back to the table and took a sip of wine, hearing him zip up his trousers and follow her.

“Did you have a bad day at work?” she asked. “Is that why you had to have me?”

“Not particularly. Yes, I wanted you, but I was curious to see how long it would take you to get here, too. You look fantastic, considering the short notice.”

“Emma, my flatmate helped me get ready.”

He tensed. “So, she knows?”

“She thinks we’re dating.”

“Will she keep quiet?”

“Yes.”

“Make sure she does,” he commanded. “I’d rather no-one knew about us yet.”

“You summoned me here with less than an hour’s notice, I had to say something. I also had to borrow some things from her.”

“Oh?” He looked her up and down. “What?”

“These.” She raised the hem of her dress and showed him her stockings. “She also did my hair and makeup.”

“Useful flatmate,” he murmured.

“What would you like me to wear when we meet?”

“Variations on that outfit,” he replied immediately. “Show off those tits I love so much. I like stockings on you, too.”

“Jonathan.” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course, you can.”

“Why don’t you just find yourself a Stepford Wife?”

He shook his head. “No. When the time comes, I want to find a wife who I enjoy fucking. She also has to enjoy being fucked and she must quite like politicians, too.” He gave her a little smile, reminding her of her own aversion to them.

So, he didn’t know his mother was trying to turn her into a Stepford Wife for him. That was interesting to know. Bringing her glass of wine to the railings which surrounded the terrace, she gazed out over the rooftops.

“Do you have a secretary?” she asked as he joined her.

“I have a few secretaries. None that I’d want to marry, though. Come inside, I want to undress you.”

He led her inside, and she put her glass down on the kitchen worktop as he strode through the apartment and she almost had to run to keep up with him. He brought her into his bedroom, kicked the door closed, and reached for the hem of her dress. In one swift movement, he pulled it up, over her head and off her. Holding the inside-out dress in one hand, he looked her up and down before tossing the dress onto a chair.

“It was a nice dress,” he told her. “But I want to see what’s underneath now.”

“I want to see what’s under your clothes, too.”

He nodded and undressed until he stood naked in front of her with no hint of embarrassment or self-consciousness. Reaching out, she took his hard cock in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the tip. The cock twitched in her hand and she smiled, extending her rubbing to the entire head, and he exhaled a little groan.

She moved closer to him, holding his cock with her left hand, and smoothing and rubbing the head with the thumb and forefinger of her right. Pre-cum began to ooze from the tip and she used it to coat the head and then the shaft, gripping it and sliding her fingers up and down while continuing the smoothing and rubbing. He stood perfectly still, and she glanced upwards. His dark eyes were watching her hands intently. She gradually quickened her fingers, he closed his eyes, and she felt him tense. Jerking violently in her hands, he cursed, spurting cum over her fingers, panties, and stomach. She continued to slide, smooth, and rub his cock through his orgasm until he pulled away from her.

He sat on the edge of the bed with his head bent, breathing heavily. A minute or two passed before he looked at her. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up and I’ll call you a cab.”

Her heart plummeted. “You want me to go?”

“Clean yourself up and get dressed.” He reached for her dress and passed it to her.

She went into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the wash hand basin. What had she done wrong? He’d enjoyed it. She’d made him come. She washed her hands and body, yanked a towel from a rail, and dried herself. He could have stopped her at any time. She pulled her dress the right way out, put it on, and went into the living area. He was dressed and bringing their plates inside from the table on the roof terrace. The evening was over.

“When will my cab be here?” she asked.

“Five minutes.”

“I’ll wait downstairs in the foyer.”

Feeling his eyes on her, she left the apartment, closing the door behind her. In the lift, she rubbed her forehead. If only she knew what she’d done wrong. Was their agreement over now? What if he told The Bitch and the videos of her were uploaded to the internet? Fuck.

The cab driver’s eyes bulged as she left the apartment complex and got into the back of the cab bum first again.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes at this hour of the morning. Good evening, was it, love?”

“No.”

The flat was in darkness as she crept inside and went into her bedroom. She sat in front of the dressing table mirror, reached for cleansing lotion and cotton wool, then wiped away the makeup. Underneath, her face was as white as a sheet and she turned away from the mirror. Waking up her laptop, she accessed her emails and opened the video. She curled up on the bed watching herself kissing, licking, and sucking his beautiful cock. She put the video on repeat until she fell asleep.

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The Birthday Present’s Freya Thompson

Freya Thompson is thirty years old and recovered from a heart-transplant operation. Desperate to be rid of her embarrassing virginity, her best friends hire a male escort to sleep with her. So, ‘Samantha’ has sex with ‘Simon’ in a hotel room and, as she feared, he is freaked out by her enormous scar. She leaves the hotel never expecting to see him again.

A week later, she bumps into ‘Simon’ at her birthday party at a central London hotel. To her amazement, he is unable to keep his hands off her and they spend two hours having sex in a hotel room. When she leaves, she expects once more to never see him again, 

In the morning, she is curious to see where ‘Simon’ works. Discovering that the escort agency offices are in a nondescript 1960s office block, she decides to have a cup of coffee in a nearby coffee shop. When ‘Simon’ walks in, she is mortified. He must think she is a crazy stalker. Simon is a little disconcerted, but he confesses that he’d never wanted to see a client again until her. A combination of her vulnerability and the fact that he was the one who took her virginity, has made her irresistible to him.

He confesses that his real name is Jamie Watson and that he knows she is Freya Thompson, the daughter of a Conservative Member of Parliament. Jamie tells her that Simon is a fiction – a fantasy – an act – and he doesn’t date clients. They had both been pretending to be someone else, so he suggests that they both forget the fantasy and start again.  

Freya desperately wants to make up for lost time and is disappointed when Jamie says he doesn’t want to just fuck her. He asks her if she wants a relationship with him or just sex. Freya wants a relationship and to be fucked but she can’t have both. Jamie simply wants a relationship with her and to get to know her properly. He tells Freya to think about it and to call him when she makes a decision. To her astonishment, he then gets up and walks away from her. 

What is Freya’s response? Is she just a spoilt little rich girl looking for a bit of rough and now that Jamie has insisted on a relationship and not just sex, will Freya make up for lost time by going and looking to be fucked elsewhere? Read The Birthday Present to find out!

He’d been paid to have sex with her. She will never see him again. Or will she?

Recovered from a heart transplant operation, thirty-year-old Freya Thompson is desperate to be rid of her embarrassing virginity and is given a birthday present like no other. A male escort will take her virginity and she can then carry on with the life the new heart has given her.

But ‘Samantha’ isn’t prepared for ‘Simon’ – tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, and gorgeous. But even more important than that, he isn’t terrified by her huge scar. He doesn’t treat her like a freak, and she finds herself attracted to him. But he’s a male escort, he’d been paid to have sex with her, and she will never see him again. Or will she?

An Excerpt From Chapter Two

They returned to the hotel in complete silence and he led her inside through the kitchens at the rear. He’s done this before, she thought but didn’t care. Waiting in a storeroom while he went to the reception desk, she wondered if anyone was looking for her but, again, she didn’t care. He wanted her, and her stomach clenched with exhilaration.

Ten minutes passed before he returned to her. “I’ve persuaded them to let us have a room for two hours. It’s on the third floor.”

“All right.”

“We’ll take the service lift, come on.”

Leading her along a corridor, they went into the lift and he pressed the button for the third floor. The doors closed and the lift clanked its way upwards until it stopped, gave a little judder and the doors opened again.

“Number 325,” he muttered and they walked down the corridor until he stopped, inserted the keycard into the slot, and the door swung open. “Not beige, thank fuck.”

It was a lovely room, deep red was the predominant colour, and the bed was huge. The door closed behind her, and he put the key card on a table before turning to look at her.

“I’ll say it again if you don’t want to stay just say.”

“I want to stay,” she told him and he gave her a relieved little nod.

“What else are you wearing under the dress?”

“Undress me and find out.”

He stood behind her and slowly lowered the zip. The dress fell to the floor and she stepped out of it. His lips parted, taking in her blue high-heeled shoes, blue stay-up stockings, blue thong, and blue bra.

“I need to hang this up.” She picked up the dress and retrieved a hanger from a wardrobe. Hanging the dress on the front of the wardrobe, she turned to face him. He was standing in the middle of the floor just staring at her. “What is it?”

“You,” he said simply. “You’re incredible. I can’t believe I’m your first.”

“I can’t believe you’re my first. I always expected to get a sympathy fuck from someone.”

“You were anything but a sympathy fuck,” he said, pulling open his bow tie, and undoing his shirt buttons. “Anything fucking but,” he muttered, shrugging both the shirt and jacket off, before undoing his trousers. He let them fall to the floor before stepping out of them and kicking his shoes off.

His hard cock was straining against his boxer shorts as he reached for his jacket and pulled out a packet of condoms, put it on the table and threw the jacket onto the back of the chair. Would she be able to satisfy him, she wondered, as she unhooked her bra and let it slide down her arms. He came to her, cupped one breast, and she saw her nipples harden. Lowering his head, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, and she watched as his tongue swirled over it and then the other. Oh, God, in all her fantasies while she was ill in hospital, she had never expected anything like this. When he took her breast into his mouth and sucked on one and then the other, she groaned for the first time.

He released her and slid her thong down her legs and she stepped out of it before doing the same with his boxer shorts, her mouth forming an ‘O’ when his cock sprang free. Reaching out, she held it in her hand, finding her fingers couldn’t quite encircle it.

“You’re huge,” she whispered.

“Because of you. Would you like me to lick your clit?”

“Yes.”

“Go and sit in the chair.”

She did as she was told, opening her legs wide for him. Kneeling down, he slid his thumb over her clit and smiled when she sucked in a startled breath and arched her hips.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, doing it again, and her hips bucked.

“Yes,” she gasped. “But I think you do, too.”

“I’m going to make you come with my tongue. Open your legs wider and relax.”

“Okay… Oh, fuck.” He’d found her clit immediately, massaging it with his tongue in long, measured strokes, before flicking it with the tip. She struggled to breathe, holding onto the arms of the chair as the pleasure grew inside her. It exploded when he began to suck.

Opening her eyes, she let out a little groan.

“Samantha?”

“Oh, shit, I think I pulled your hair like the last time,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t matter. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I need some water.”

“I’ll get you some.” Kissing her lips, he got to his feet and went into the bathroom.

Gripping the arms of the chair, she pushed herself to her feet and smiled as he returned with a glass of water. “Thank you.” She accepted it from him and took a sip. “What do you like?”

“Watching you come.”

“And?” she prompted.

“Being inside you.”

“From a first time fuck? I can’t have been that memorable?”

“Yes. You were.” Taking the glass from her, he took a sip and put it down on the dressing table. “Slip those shoes off,” he added, picking up the packet of condoms. “And come to the bed.”

She kicked off the shoes, climbed onto the bed, and watched as he rolled a condom on. He followed her onto the bed and she opened her legs for him again. He entered her, stretching her pussy so tightly that she moaned.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Don’t stop. Please.” He nodded and gently moved inside her. “Yes,” she moaned into his neck, wanting to remember everything. The way he felt inside her, stretching her pussy. The way her nipples rubbed against his chest. The way he lifted his hips as he withdrew a little and the way her hips rose to pull him back inside her. His hips fell as he sank into her again, inch by inch, filling her pussy completely. Would any other man ever fill her like this again?

He began his rhythm slowly, pulling out and meeting her hips as he pushed in again. Soon, she needed more. She needed him faster and deeper, and she raised her hips more quickly to meet his, her moans getting louder with each thrust. Their hips were now crashing together and she felt her orgasm taking hold and he found his release with one deep thrust before he dropped onto her with a harsh groan.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself gripping his shoulders, and her legs were wrapped around him in an effort to hold him inside her. Their ragged breathing filled the room and she watched as he lifted himself onto his elbows. She lowered her legs and he withdrew from her.

“Want to be on top?” he asked. “Want to ride my cock?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and he re-appeared at the door, running his fingers along his already stiff cock. He walked to the dressing table and slid on another condom. How many were in the packet, she wondered. Three? Five? She smiled. Five, hopefully. “What?” he asked.

“How many condoms are in the packet?”

“Five. Want to use them all?”

“Yes, if we’ve time.”

He gave her a grin and climbed back onto the bed. He lay down and she stared at his cock for a moment. She straddled him, reaching for it. Holding it, she eased herself slowly down, expelling a long breath and making him groan. Fuck, his cock was huge.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “Not yet.” Sitting up, he took one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked on it gently before allowing it to slip out of his mouth and then doing the same with the other. “You’re unbelievable.”

“How long have we left?”

“Don’t think about that,” he urged, his hands sliding down to her hips. “Reception is going to call the room when it’s time to go. Don’t think about that. Just ride my cock.”

She raised herself up a little then sank down onto him again before doing it again. Soon she found a rhythm and he seemed to enjoy her tits bouncing into his face. She closed her eyes, letting her head roll back on her shoulders, her back slightly arched. His hands tightened around her waist and she clasped his face and kissed him as an orgasm took over her, feeling his body jerk upwards against hers. She collapsed against him, completely unable to stay upright.

When she opened her eyes, he hadn’t yet let her go. He kissed her lips before sliding her from on top of him and placing her on her side as he got up and off the bed. She followed him off the bed as he went into the bathroom and the toilet flushed again. Reaching for the glass of water, she sipped it, then picked up a condom and pulled it out of the packaging.

“Can I?” she asked as he stood at the bathroom door.

Nodding, he walked forward, and she crouched down. His cock wasn’t quite hard yet, so she lifted it and ran her fingers along the underside before smoothing a thumb over the tip. Feeling it harden, she rolled the condom on, before kissing and taking the tip into her mouth.

“Don’t,” he said suddenly, backing away from her.

“Why?” she asked, a surge of disappointment flowing through her. Wasn’t she doing it correctly? “Why not?”

“Just don’t do that. Please.”

“But I made you come earlier with the tip of my tongue.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I just don’t like it, so, please?”

“Okay.” She got to her feet. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” He kissed her lips. “Please don’t be embarrassed. In time, you’ll discover things you don’t particularly like.”

“I suppose so.”

“What about on there?” He nodded to the dressing table and she smiled and nodded. “Okay.” He lifted her and sat her on the edge before parting her legs, entering her and settling inside her with a little grunt. “I could stay inside your pussy forever,” he whispered, sliding his hands up her thighs.

Lifting her legs, she locked her ankles around his waist and her hands around his neck as he began to thrust hard into her pussy, only pulling out a little before slamming back into her. To her surprise, it didn’t hurt. She was going to come quickly this time. She could feel it building already and she dug her nails into the back of his neck and squealed, feeling him jerk against her.

Sinking back against the wall of the room, she pulled air into her lungs and let her legs fall from his waist.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, peeling the condom off in front of her for the first time.

“No.”

“Two left,” he told her, holding the used condom up. “So tell me what you’d like.”

“I want you to fuck me in my lingerie and then I want us to get dressed so you can fuck me in my dress in that tux.”

He began to smile, went to the bathroom with the used condom and flushed it down the toilet. Reappearing at the bathroom door, he gave her a grin. “Sounds good.”

“I hope it’ll be a bit better than good,” she said, sliding off the dressing table and reaching for her thong. Stepping into it, she pulled it up and put on her bra before stepping into her shoes. Straightening up, she felt him standing behind her, his hands cupping her breasts and gyrating his hips against hers. She began to move with him. In her heels, she was almost as tall as him and moulded her body against his as they rotated their hips. “I like this,” she murmured. “Don’t stop.”

“But my cock’s getting hard and I want to be inside your pussy.”

“Okay.” Turning around, she looked down, feeling his cock pressing into her stomach. “Bigger again. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I should be saying that to you.” He smiled, reaching for the fourth condom and sliding it on.

“Over here?” She walked to the dressing table and bent over it, legs apart and her hands gripping the edges.

“Perfect.” He spread her legs a little further apart and pulled the thong to one side before entering her. She sank back against him, taking all of him in and heard him expel a long breath. Holding her hips, he withdrew before thrusting into her again, quickly building up a rhythm. His balls were slapping hard against her but it didn’t hurt. Resting her forehead on the dressing table, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the pleasure.

“Samantha?” She felt herself being raised to her feet. “Come and sit on the bed.”

“Why?”

“You were screaming.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Leading her to the bed, he sat her down and passed her the glass of water.

“Drink that while I get dressed.”

“All right.” She sipped at the water, watching as he retrieved his clothes and put them on. “Is that a tailored tux?” she asked as he left the bow tie loose and the top button of the white shirt undone.

“Yes. I treated myself. Like it?”

She nodded. “Mummy says that a man should always have one good tux and one good suit because you never know when you might need them.”

“Does she now?”

She felt herself redden. “She’s a bit old-fashioned.”

“No, I completely agree.” Going to the wardrobe, he lifted the dress down and removed the coat hanger. “Let me help you with this.”

She got up and put the glass on the dressing table. He held the dress open and she stepped into it, pulled it up and he raised the zip. Turning to face him, the telephone on one of the bedside lockers began to ring and she stared at it in dismay.

“It can’t be two hours already,” she said, as he answered it.

“Hello? Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you.” He put the receiver down and sighed. “They need the room.”

“Now?” she asked, hoping she wouldn’t cry.

“Now. We’d better go.”

She nodded. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He laughed kindly. “I should be thanking you.” He led her to the door then kissed her lips. “Goodbye, Samantha.”

“Goodbye, Simon,” she said as calmly as she could as he opened the door for her.

She went out into the corridor and the door closed after her. Blinking furiously, she went down to the ground floor in the main lift and hurried to the ladies toilets. Fixing her hair and makeup as best she could, she took a deep breath and went out into the foyer.

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The Birthday Present’s Jamie Watson

Jamie Watson works as a male escort using the name Simon Harrison and is paid an obscene amount of money to relieve a thirty-year-old woman of her virginity. He has never slept with a client before and, expecting a geek or a woman with a beard, he is astonished when he meets the beautiful ‘Samantha’. 

He does the deed and he expects to never see ‘Samantha’ again but they bump into each other at her birthday party at a central London hotel. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they spend two hours having sex in a hotel room. When she leaves, he expects once more to never see her again, especially when he discovers that she is, in fact, Freya Thompson, the daughter of a Conservative Member of Parliament.

The following morning, he is disconcerted to see her sitting at a table in a coffee shop near his apartment. She confesses she wanted to see the offices of the escort agency he works for and he confesses that Simon isn’t his real name and that Simon is a fiction – a fantasy – an act – and he doesn’t date clients. They had both been pretending to be someone else, so he suggests that they both forget the fantasy and start again.  

He confesses he’d never wanted to see a client again until her. A combination of her vulnerability and the fact that he was the one who took her virginity, has made her irresistable to him. He knows she wants to make up for lost time but he doesn’t want to just fuck her, so he asks her if she wants a relationship with him or just sex. She can’t have both. He wants a relationship with her and to get to know her properly. Before he can give into the urge to bring her back to his apartment, he tells Freya to think about it and to call him when she makes a decision. He then gets up and walks away from her. 

What is Freya’s response? Was she just looking for a bit of rough and now he has insisted on a relationship and not just sex, will she go looking elsewhere? Read The Birthday Present to find out!

He’d been paid to have sex with her. She will never see him again. Or will she?

Recovered from a heart transplant operation, thirty-year-old Freya Thompson is desperate to be rid of her embarrassing virginity and is given a birthday present like no other. A male escort will take her virginity and she can then carry on with the life the new heart has given her.

But ‘Samantha’ isn’t prepared for ‘Simon’ – tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, and gorgeous. But even more important than that, he isn’t terrified by her huge scar. He doesn’t treat her like a freak, and she finds herself attracted to him. But he’s a male escort, he’d been paid to have sex with her, and she will never see him again. Or will she?

An Excerpt From Chapter Three

Her route back to the underground station brought her within two streets of the escort agency Simon belonged to. Making a spur of the moment decision, Freya turned down a street in its direction, suddenly curious to see it. It wasn’t as if she’d bump into him again, or anything.

Standing across the street, she gazed up at the office building. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an ugly concrete monstrosity built in the 1960s. A little disappointed, she walked away and went into a coffee shop a few doors along the street, eager to rid her mouth of the taste of Anthony’s cold and milky coffee. Buying an Americano, she brought it to a corner table and sat down.

This was ridiculous, she thought, stirring milk into the coffee. You shouldn’t be anywhere near here. It was two hours of fantastic sex but you’re never going to see him again. Just drink your coffee, go home, and make a decision on what you’re going to do with your life.

“Samantha?” Hearing the voice she jumped and looked up. It was Simon – a rather scruffy Simon – heavily stubbled and dressed in a grey hooded sweatshirt, faded blue jeans, a newspaper under his arm, and holding a cup and saucer. “What are you doing here?”

“I, er, I was visiting a friend who lives nearby.”

He pulled a sceptical expression and she stirred her coffee again, noting how her hand was shaking a little with embarrassment. She’d wanted to see him again but now she just oozed crazy stalker.

“Can I join you, Samantha? Or, should I say, Freya?”

She froze. How had he found out? “Yes.”

Placing the newspaper and the cup and saucer on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “There’s a picture of you in one of the tabloid newspapers. ‘Freya Thompson at her thirtieth birthday bash at the plush Connaught Palace Hotel.’ Do you like slumming it with the likes of me?”

She flushed as a woman at the next table began to eavesdrop shamelessly. “Could you please lower your voice?” she asked him.

“Why?”

“Okay, I’ll just let everyone here know how you don’t like having your cock in my mouth.”

The woman at the next table inhaled her coffee and began to cough but Simon didn’t even glance in her direction and Freya met his blue eyes defiantly.

“All right,” he said finally. “Outside.”

“What?”

“I think we should sit at one of the tables outside. Come on.” Getting to his feet, he put the newspaper back under his arm and picked up his cup and saucer, then walked out of the coffee shop.

Following him outside, with her own cup and saucer, she put it down on the aluminium table and hung her handbag over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“A friend?” he began sitting in the chair opposite hers. “You have a friend who lives around here?”

“Yes, Anthony. He’s just moved into one of the new apartment blocks overlooking the Thames. Mummy wants me to be a good girl and marry him. I’ve just been round to tell him it’s never going to happen. He was relieved.”

Simon frowned. “Relieved?”

“He’s the brother of one of my best friends,” she explained. “He’s practically a brother to me. The whole idea makes me cringe.”

“So your mother wants to see you settled down?”

“Yes. But it won’t be with Anthony. Anyway.” She took a sip of coffee, reached for her handbag and went to get up. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You’re going?” he asked. “But you haven’t finished your coffee.”

“No, but—”

“Stay.” Reaching out, he laid a hand on her arm. “Please.”

“But you must think I’m a crazy stalker or something.”

“You were the last person I expected to see here, but now that you are here, please stay?”

“All right.” Hanging the strap of her handbag over the back of her chair, she sipped her coffee. “I just wanted to see where you worked,” she admitted. “Well, not worked…” Tailing off, she squirmed.

“The office is across the road. But it’s only an office. Look,” he said. “The first thing I need to tell you is that my name isn’t Simon. Simon is a fiction – a fantasy – an act. He isn’t me. My name is James Watson – Jamie – well, James. I’m getting a bit old for Jamie.” Shaking his head, he reached for his cup and took a gulp of the black coffee.

“Oh.”

Putting his cup down, he gave her a humourless smile. “Please don’t tell me you were naïve enough to believe that Simon was my real name?”

“You seem to be quite annoyed that I’m not called Samantha.”

“Touché.” He laughed.

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” she asked. “Anyway, I didn’t give your actual name much thought, I just wanted you to fuck me. And you did. And I loved it. Anyway, I like the name Jamie and, yes, I suppose it is safer for you to use a false name. Like it was safer for me to use a false name. You must have encountered women even crazier than me.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Just a bit weird?” she suggested and they both smiled. “I must get it from my weird inbred family.”

“I went home and looked you up on the internet after I saw the newspaper photo of you in the newsagents. Daddy a Conservative Member of Parliament. Mummy the eldest daughter of an earl. Educated at Oxford and the London School of Economics. Had the heart transplant operation in a private hospital, which ruffled a lot of feathers.”

“I still had to wait for a heart to become available like everyone else,” she informed him. “Just because I’m a spoiled little rich girl doesn’t mean I was automatically entitled to one.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied and she could hear the humour in his voice. “So, what now?”

“Now?”

“Are you looking for a bit of rough or something?” he asked as she raised her coffee cup to her lips and took a sip.

“I hadn’t had a bit of anything until you. Or rather, Simon. And he didn’t come across as rough. I don’t know a thing about you. Are you a bit of rough?”

He began to laugh. “Yes, I am compared to you. I live around the corner in a one-bedroomed apartment. I do own it, though. Owning my own home is very important to me.”

“I still live at home,” she mumbled.

“Well, that’s understandable in the circumstances. Freya, Simon doesn’t exist. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“It’s the same with me.”

His eyes dropped to her casual but hugely expensive white shirt and blue jeans. “I doubt that very much.”

“I don’t understand?” She frowned.

“Well, are you going to bring me home and introduce me to your incredibly rich and well-connected parents and tell them how we met? How a man using a false name took your virginity in a hotel room, and how you now love being fucked?” She began to cough and he sat back in his seat. “I thought not. I don’t date clients, Freya.”

“Not even ones you’re attracted to? Ones you love fucking? Or was that an act, too?”

“I’d never slept with a client before until you,” he told her instead of answering. “I did it for the money – a huge amount of money. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is it? Unless you are also an Oscar-winning actor, I know you enjoyed it. You enjoyed it so much you were completely freaked out. I thought it was my scar but it wasn’t the scar at all. You couldn’t keep your hands off me down at the Embankment. I made you come with the tip of my tongue, then you couldn’t wait to lift my dress and get your hand between my legs. You were the first to mention getting a room. We fucked in that hotel room for two whole hours.”

“It was a fantasy, Freya,” he reminded her. “We were both pretending to be someone else.”

“So, what now? Do you want me to get up and walk away?”

“Do you?”

“No,” she replied quietly and saw relief flood into his face.

“I’m glad because I don’t want you to either.”

“So, what now?” she repeated. “What can we do?”

“We forget the fantasy and start again?” he suggested. “I give you my number? And maybe you could give me yours?”

“Are you married?”

He shook his head. “No. And I’m not seeing anyone at the moment either.”

“If you’re caught with a client will you get fired?”

“Yes, but the booking was made in your friends’ names and your name was given as Samantha.”

They swapped phone numbers then sat silently for a few moments finishing their coffee.

“Would you like me to call you James or Jamie?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what do your parents call you?”

Sighing, he ran a forefinger around the rim of his cup. “My parents are dead,” he told her in a flat voice. “They died when I was four so I have little or no memory of them. I was a care home kid and I was fostered out from time to time.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and he shrugged.

“It’s just the way it was. My parents were heroin addicts and they both died of an overdose. Because of it all, I don’t even like taking aspirin for a headache.” He gave her a little smile at her shocked face. “I can delete your number if you want?”

“No,” she replied firmly. “No, don’t. Can I call you Jamie?”

“Yes. I’d better get used to calling you Freya now.”

“It’s a bit pretentious.”

“No.” He smiled. “I like it. I didn’t think Samantha quite suited you.”

“Liz and Amanda came up with the name,” she explained. “I think they got it from the Sex and the City character.”

“I’ve never watched it. Look, if, at any time, you just want to walk away, just do.”

“Why would I just walk away?” she asked. “I’d never just walk away,” she added, realising as she spoke that, from a child, no-one had wanted him. “If we feel that it isn’t working, then, we’ll discuss it like adults. I’d never just walk away,” she said again.

“Thank you.”

“Can I see your apartment?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Her heart sank. “Why?”

“Confession time, Freya. I’ve never wanted to see a client again until you. There’s just something about you and I don’t you what it is – your vulnerability maybe – and the fact that I was the one who took your virginity. But I’m so fucking attracted to you that it’s scaring me and if we went back to the apartment, I know exactly what would happen.”

“But I want that to happen,” she admitted.

“I know you do. And I know you want to make up for lost time, but I don’t want to just fuck you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want a relationship? Or do you just want sex?” he asked and she stared at him. Couldn’t she have both? “No, you can’t have both. We can either have a proper grown-up relationship, which includes sex. Or we can just meet up to fuck each other. I want to have a relationship with you. I want us to try and get to know each other.” Lifting his cup, he drained it and got up. “Think about it and call me when you make a decision.”

Open-mouthed, she watched as he picked up his newspaper got to his feet and walked away from her.

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The Birthday Present by Lizzy Grey

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He’d been paid to have sex with her. She will never see him again. Or will she?

Recovered from a heart transplant operation, thirty-year-old Freya Thompson is desperate to be rid of her embarrassing virginity and is given a birthday present like no other. A male escort will take her virginity and she can then carry on with the life the new heart has given her.

But ‘Samantha’ isn’t prepared for ‘Simon’ – tall, brown haired, blue eyed, and gorgeous. But even more important than that, he isn’t terrified by her huge scar. He doesn’t treat her like a freak, and she finds herself attracted to him. But he’s a male escort, he’d been paid to have sex with her, and she will never see him again. Or will she?

An Excerpt From Chapter One

The doors opened, he brought her out of the lift and along the corridor to room five hundred and three. Letting her arm go, he reached into his jacket’s inside pocket, extracted the key card and inserted it into the slot.

“After you,” he said, as the door swung open.

“Thank you.” She went in, feeling a flicker of disappointment at just how ordinary the room was. The carpet was beige, the bedcovers were beige and so was the furniture and curtains.

“I hope you like beige,” he said, closing the door.

“It is very beige,” she replied, forcing a smile.

“Would you like a drink?” He gestured towards the mini bar.

She should have had a few drinks long before this but it was far too late now. “No, thank you, but you go ahead if you want.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine, thanks. Look, Samantha. I know you’re feeling awkward, so if you don’t want to go ahead with this…”

“No.” Without thinking, she’d grabbed his arm and stared down at her hand in horror, before quickly letting him go. “Sorry. No, I do.”

“Okay, but if at any time you want to stop, you just have to say so.”

“I will.”

“Good. Now,” he added in a lighter tone. “Can I see your scar?”

Putting her handbag on a chair beside the door to the ensuite bathroom, she reached under her arm for the zip of her black dress and slowly lowered it. Sliding the dress down and off her arms, she let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. He could only be horrified by the scar which extended from just above her navel to her cleavage and completely detracted from the black bra, panties and stay-up stockings ensemble Amanda and Liz had persuaded her to wear. His eyes widened a little and she cringed.

“It’s horrible, I know, I’m sorry.” Bending down, she reached for her dress.

“No.” She felt a hand on her shoulder and she straightened up. “No, it’s not horrible. Let me see.” She stood while he ran a forefinger down the scar until it reached her bra. “Can I undo it?” he asked and she nodded, feeling his hands at the hooks and eyes. The bra opened and he slid it gently down her arms before dropping it onto the chair. His finger returned to the scar and he traced it all the way down between her breasts. “I have a scar, as well, but it’s a bit pathetic – appendix – when I was twelve.”

“Can I see?”

Nodding, he opened his suit jacket and shrugged it off before laying it on the arm of the chair. He opened his shirt buttons, then undid his trousers, and showed her the small scar. “You can touch it if you like?”

She smiled and ran her own forefinger along his scar. “Did it hurt?”

“Well, it almost burst so, yes. But it must have been nothing compared to this.” He touched her own scar between her breasts again, before sliding his hand under her left breast and running a thumb over the nipple. It sent an electric shock through Freya’s body and she gasped, feeling blood rushing to her face. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said softly. “Touch me, if you want?”

“Okay.” Pushing his shirt off his shoulders, he let it drop to the floor and she felt him watch her hands exploring his chest. He clearly worked out as his pectoral muscles were toned and she encircled his nipples with her fingers, fighting an urge to lick them, before tracing a line of hair down to his waist. “Can I?” she whispered, indicating his trousers, and he nodded. She pushed them down, uncovering white boxer shorts and pushed them down, too. His cock, springing out of the boxer shorts, startled her. Bloody hell, he was hard already. How? She didn’t exactly have a supermodel’s body. Her mouth formed a questioning ‘O’ as she looked from it up to his face.

“You did this,” he told her, taking her hand and running her fingers along its length. It was flattering to be told that but, no doubt, he said it to every woman he slept with. “There’s just something about a beautiful woman in stockings. Sit in the chair.”

She did as she was told, sitting on top of his clothes and he knelt down reaching for her panties. Lifting her hips, he eased them down her legs and over her black high heeled court shoes before gently easing her legs apart. Oh, God. She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry as he bent forward.

Feeling his warm breath on her pussy lips, she sucked in her own breath, as his tongue pushed between them and began to explore. Another electric shock began shooting through her body as he licked then sucked strongly on her clit and it began to throb. Her hips started thrusting into his face of their own accord but he just kept sucking. Fuck. This was just too much, too intense. Her back arched violently and he was forced to hold her down as she moaned and then yelled incoherently before collapsing back onto the chair, panting, her body drained.

When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling on one knee, watching her. His erection seemed even bigger and he looked from her down to it and then back up at her, clearly noting her interest.

“Are you okay?” he asked and she nodded.

“Did I hurt you? I think I might have pulled your hair.”

“No.” He lowered his eyes and she followed them. Her legs were still wide open and she found herself not caring, just wanting him inside her. “But I need to do something with my cock,” he added, stroking its length. “Want to help me?”

“Yes.” She dragged her eyes away from it and he smiled.

“Good. Take those shoes off but leave the stocking on.”

So he liked stockings, did he? “Okay.” She slipped the shoes off before getting up, her clit still throbbing and hoping her legs would hold her. They did, and he picked up his jacket, taking a packet of condoms out of the inside pocket. Extracting one, and opening the foil package, he turned around so she could see exactly what he was doing. He rolled the condom on before pinching room into the tip. “Shall I..?” She motioned to the bed and he nodded. Without pulling back the bedcovers, she climbed onto the bed and lay down. Following her, he propped himself up on an elbow before leaning over her.

Expecting him to kiss her large breasts, she was astonished when he kissed the length of her scar first then licked and pulled at her nipples. Giving a little grunt, he lifted himself over her and she opened her legs for him. He lowered himself so his weight rested on his forearms before settling between her thighs, and she felt the tip of his cock resting against the entrance to her pussy.

“You okay?” he asked and she heard the effort to control himself in his voice.

“Yes.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He nodded and she felt him press forward, slowly entering her. She tried not to tense but it was impossible not to because he felt enormous. She let out an embarrassingly loud yelp as he pushed further into her and she fought hard to relax and accept the huge cock filling her pussy.

“Sorry,” he whispered and she gave a dismissive shake of her head.

She felt him withdraw a little and push into her again, and then, again and again, pushing further into her each time. She gasped as more electric shocks raced through her body as he continued pulling back and pushing forward, his cock hitting an ultra-sensitive spot deep inside her pussy. He was breathing heavily now, his eyes closed and his face drawn tight with concentration.

“Faster,” she urged, and he began to thrust into her more quickly. An orgasm ripped through her as his cock hit the spot over and over again. He was groaning now and she moved to meet his thrusts before arching her back with a shrill cry as his body stiffened then jerked against hers.

Withdrawing from her, he lay beside her on the bed and all she could hear for a few moments was air being pulled desperately into their lungs.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You sure?” He rolled onto his side, hoisted himself up onto an elbow, and she saw him gazing anxiously down at her. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No.”

“Good.” His blue eyes travelled down her scar, he seemed to be fascinated by it, and she moved uncomfortably. Well, he had done The Deed and she wasn’t a virgin anymore. Should she go now? Or wait a couple of minutes? “I thought I might have,” he murmured, smoothing his fingers around and over her nipples. They were sensitive and it made her gasp. “You like that.” He smiled and bent his head. He pulled at one with his lips, making her moan and he moved up to her lips.

Freya felt the electric shock pulse through her body again when their lips touched and he slid his tongue inside to caress hers. He explored her mouth gently but thoroughly, she responded hesitantly with her own tongue and he rewarded her with a groan. He pulled away and came back, clasping her top lip between his and running his tongue along the edge. He did the same with the bottom then sucked it grunting softly. She reached for his cock, finding it surprisingly heavy and began rubbing her thumb around and over the tip, just as his fingers had done with her nipples.

“No.” He broke away from her, breathing hard, and got off the bed.

“I’m sorry.” She sat up, blood pumping into her face, as he went to the dressing table and leant heavily on it. What had she done wrong? Had he been paid only to have sex with her once? “I’m really sorry.”

“Would you like a drink?” he asked breathlessly, glancing at her, then quickly turning away. “Or a cup of tea or coffee? There’s a kettle over there.” The thought of a cup of tea sounded nice but ridiculous at the same time. He was probably asking to avoid any embarrassment but it wasn’t working. She’d clearly done something to agitate him and she simply wanted to get dressed and run. “I don’t know about you, but I’d love a cup of tea.”

“A cup of tea. Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. I won’t be a moment.” He went into the ensuite bathroom, returning a couple of minutes later dressed in a white towelling bathrobe, and laid a second robe across the bottom of the bed for her. He checked the electric kettle for water then switched it on. Reaching for the bathrobe, she slid off the bed and put it on before joining him at the kettle. “Green tea or?” He held the teabag up. “Breakfast tea?”

“Green tea, please.”

“I think I will, too.” He put a teabag into each of the cups. “Milk and sugar?”

“Neither, thank you.”

The kettle clicked off and he poured the water over the teabags, left them to brew for a couple of minutes then lifted the teabags out with a spoon. He stirred the steaming liquid before passing her one of the cups and saucers.

“Thank you.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll drink this and then I’d better go.”

“Yes, it’s getting late and your friends are waiting.”

“Oh.”

“I saw them in the foyer on our way to the lift,” he explained.

“You’re not—” she began.

“Offended that they came with you and checked me out first?” he finished. “No, not at all. I’m glad they did. You can never be too careful.”

“No.” She took a sip of the scalding tea before putting the cup and saucer on one of the bedside cabinets. It was time to leave. Retrieving her bra and panties from the chair then her shoes and dress from the floor, she got dressed. Straightening up, she glanced at him, but he was standing at the window with his back to her and she reached for her handbag. Bloody hell, could she possibly feel any more uncomfortable? “Simon,” she called and he turned. “Thank you.” Going to him, she reached up and kissed his cheek, feeling him flinch. She quickly backed away, her stomach constricting in mortification.

“Not at all.” He gave her a smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “It was good to meet you, Samantha. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Get out, she ordered herself. Just go. Hurrying to the door, she opened it. “You too, Simon.”

Stepping out into the corridor, she closed the door behind her and covered her face with her hands. Like she’d feared, she’d completely freaked him out, but at least The Deed was done.

The Birthday Present AMAZON LARGE 1

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