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'Tis the season to be naughty...
The only thing worse than the annual office Christmas party is attending the stinkin’ thing alone. Refusing to consign herself to that fate yet again,
Marissa Wagner throws her normally sensible self aside and does what any newly adventurous—okay, desperate—woman in her shoes would do—she hires a male
escort. But when he arrives for their pre-party introduction her situation goes from problem solved, to one holy whopper of a complication. Her paid-for
dream man...is also her best friend’s brother.
Trig Campbell has been in the escorting biz long enough to realize there’s a risk of being set up with someone he knows. Never in a million years did he
count on that person being Marissa. Out of all of Jane’s friends, Rissa’s always been the less wild of the bunch. Now that fate’s in his corner, he’s more
than game to help her explore her bad girl side and play out every kinky fantasy they can. Getting past her doubts is no easy feat. Fortunately he knows a
thing or two about cranking up the carnal heat, and soon he and Marissa embark on a week-long intensely erotic journey that leaves them both shaken and
craving more.
As their time together draws closer to an end, Trig is haunted by a question he’d never expected to face. What possible future can a gigolo offer a woman
like Marissa? And can he let her go when the time comes?
Warning: This book contains a player well-versed in the fine art of sin, a good girl who’s about to find out how delicious it is to be bad, enough kinky
uses for a candy cane to make an elf blush, and verifiable proof that Santa does indeed come more than once a year.
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Author Links:
website http://jodiredford.com/
Group Blog http://www.lustwithalaugh.com
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Facebook profile https://www.facebook.com/jodi.redford.3
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jodiredford
Trig positioned himself on his mark behind the curtain. Frank signaled the DJ and gave Trig a thumbs-up before shuffling out of sight.
“Ladies,” the DJ’s voice boombed through the speakers. “How many good girls do we have in the house tonight?”
A smattering of catcalls echoed beyond the curtain.
“Dirty liars.” The DJ’s retort was met with raucous laughter from the crowd. “All right, now let’s hear it from all the bad girls out there.”
The entire club damn near shook under the exuberant “Woohoo’s” and “Hell yeahs” from the women.
“That’s more like it. Fortunately for y’all, we’ve got a special guest who flew in all the way from the North Pole to tantalize you with his own pole.
Which one of you sexy bitches wants to sit on his lap and tell him about the big package you want stuffed in your stocking?”
More rowdiness erupted from the patrons.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
The volume of the ladies’ shouts and all around insanity increased by a thousand fold as they vied with each other to be the one picked. The hoopla was all
for show and to get them worked up and their wallets loosened. The woman had already been chosen, thanks to James’s perpetual boner.
“He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake and fucking hornier than hell.” The improvised line triggered the loudest series of hollers
yet. “He knows when you’ve been bad or good. So you better be baaaaad, for goodness sake. Because we have the one...the only...Kinky Claus in the house!”
The velvet drapes lifted with a dramatic swoosh and the deafening cheers of the crowd nearly drowned out the opening bars to Santa Claus Needs Some Lovin’.
Their excitement energized him, filling him with the heady rush he always experienced when he was in performance mode. In that moment, he was Kinky Claus.
Strutting to the center of the stage, he worked the ladies, teasing them with dirty hip rolls and promised flashes of skin he didn’t completely deliver on.
The women ate it up, and several of the more rambunctious ones up front shook their tatas in encouragement. He’d been in plenty of strip clubs throughout
his life, both as a performer and an occasional patron. He had to admit that women were hella more wild and crazy than his male counterparts.
From the corner of his eye he spotted Frank approaching one of the tables. Damn. He’d completely forgotten to check out Miss Five ahead of time. Not often
he got the opportunity to do that before the female was hauled up onto the stage.
“Looks like we have our lucky lady.” The DJ’s announcement drifted over the cacophony of music and boisterous female chants of, “Kinky Claus! Kinky Claus!
Kinky Claus!”
Taking that as his cue, Trig pivoted and claimed the chair set up to the left of him. In other routines he typically started off with the female seated,
but this particular act initially called for a bit of role reversal. He glanced toward the stairs leading up to the stage, fully expecting to see Frank
with the woman in tow. Nada.
Frowning, Trig peered toward the table to determine the holdup. Frank’s burly frame blocked most of the view, but from what Trig could detect, Frank was
dealing with some reluctance from Miss Five. Occasionally they got a shy one. Not often, but it did happen. Usually everything worked out fine once they
got up here and Trig put them at ease. Hell, half the time they ended up not wanting to leave the stage. It was always the quiet ones who surprised him the
most and he had the best fun with.
The other women at Five joined in Frank’s efforts to coax their tablemate into abandoning her seat. Their encouragement must have done the trick, because
Frank suddenly stepped aside with a pleased grin. That’s when Trig had his first unobstructed view of his soon-to-be lap partner. He stared at Marissa,
shock punching him dead center in the solar plexus. Damn good thing he was sitting down, otherwise he’d be flat on the floor.
What the hell was she doing here?
Duh, you invited her, moron. Never in a million years would he have thought she’d take him up on it. Not after the way they ended things last night.
Shit. How was he going to get through this routine? All of the full-on body contact and suggestive grinding.
The candy cane.
Oh sweet Jesus. Not the candy cane.
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