by Lilly Avalon
Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “Are you sure? What about dinner?”
“It can wait. This can’t.”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“I don’t want to be virtuous right now.” Tearing the dress shirt open, I expose his chest and press a kiss right over his heart.
Aiden practically growls as he lifts me into his arms, carrying me to the bedroom. I giggle the whole way, then pull him down with me onto the bed. We begin kissing and within a matter of minutes all our clothes are on the floor.
After rolling him onto his back, I lift myself over his hard cock and slowly sink onto it. We moan together, enjoying the feel of our connected bodies. When I start to move against him, he brings my face down for a kiss. Smiling, I straighten up, my hands pressed against the planes of his chest to allow for the best angle as we move together.
We’ve learned each other’s rhythms, and know what sets the other off, but sometimes we like to slowly build to the climax. Draw out the pleasure until we can’t take it anymore. Then there are those other times when no matter how hard we try to extend it, it just feels too good to postpone.
Or impossible to stop.
Our rhythm quickens, and the friction against my clit becomes too much to bear. Aiden feels it and tells me to come because he’ll be right behind me. Within a matter of seconds I’m pulsating around him, calling out his name and practically collapsing on top of him. He follows almost immediately after I say his name, moaning in pleasure.
After we clean up, I snuggle next to him on the bed, tracing hearts over his chest. “I’m so glad I met you the night of the bachelorette party.”
“Same, my love,” he says, pressing a kiss to my lips.
THE END
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Thank you so much for reading Desiring the Dancer! If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a short review. Don't forget to keep reading for an early look at Enticing the Escort, the second book in The Risqué Series!
Acknowledgements
Thank you so much to everyone involved in making Desiring the Dancer a reality.
First of all, thank you Kyle, my wonderful husband. You're always there for me when I need you, cheering me on and supporting me unconditionally.
Thank you to Stephanie for being the best editor.
Thank you to my beta reader, lordcoledemort, for your great notes.
Thank you Stephy for being my best friend forever.
Thank you to all my readers and everyone who gives this book a chance.
You're all AMAZING and I love you SO MUCH.
XOXO,
Lilly Avalon
About the Author
Lilly Avalon is the thirty-something author of the RESIST series and other romance books. She started to pen her first erotica at twelve years old, but her mom found the “dirty story” and threw it away, which was just as well because it wasn’t that good. At all. Luckily, she continued to write stories for years until she rediscovered her love of sexy tales in her late twenties.
Lilly currently resides in Ohio with her husband and pet rodents. Lilly Avalon is a pen name.
Enticing the Escort Chapter One
I’m in a pickle. A dilemma. My worst nightmare.
There’s only three days left before my friend Valerie’s wedding and I don’t have a date.
Of course that’s not the end of the world and under normal circumstances I couldn’t care less. Here’s the problem, though…
I told everyone I would be bringing someone.
Now, why would I do such a thing if I didn’t have a date? I’ll tell you why…
Because I’ve completely lost my mind.
Ever since most of my friends began entering serious relationships and getting engaged, things have been changing. The dynamic of our friendships is different. We used to have so much more to talk about, but now that they’re in committed relationships our conversations have shifted. Instead of gossiping about meeting a guy at the bar, they’re chatting about finding the perfect house or the perfect venue for the wedding.
I’m lost in the midst of all this. And it doesn’t help that some of my friends keep asking me if I’ve found someone to get serious with or if I’m flying solo at the next wedding. The questions caused me to reach the boiling point, and I lied. I lied about having a date because I was tired of being singled out as the loser of the group. Not to mention tired of being hit on by the most annoying single men at these soirees.
So now… I’m panicking all day every day because I’ve yet to find someone suitable to use as arm candy for a night.
“You know, darling, I may have the perfect solution for your wedding date debacle.”
I turn to my mind-reading boss, the Instagram-famous interior designer Luna Quinn. Leave it to her to not only know what I’m currently stressing over, but to come up with something that can be done. I haven’t even been working with her for more than a year—she just has that kind of intuition. “What’s that?” I ask her.
“There’s this service I like to use when I require someone to accompany me to an event.” She strolls over to her desk, her long blue paisley skirt flowing behind her as she walks. After flipping through a few drawers, she pulls out a datebook. “Ah, here we go.” She snatches a pen and a sticky note, furiously writing something down. “These people will be able to hook you up with the perfect date.”
When she hands it over, I ask, “Are they a dating service?” I’ve tried the online dating route before, but it hasn't been successful. Maybe I just need a better company, one that can weed out the dick pics and horny college boys who only want booty calls to add to their little black books.
Luna sort of purses her lips to stop a laugh from escaping. “Not quite.”
I look at the sticky note. Elegant Escorts. Eyes widening, all I can say is, “Oh.”
“Don’t worry, darling. It’s not what you think.”
Furrowing my brows, there’s only one thing I’m thinking at the moment. “You mean they don’t...”
“Oh, they do, but it’s optional.”
“Optional?” When I hear the word escort, the last thing I think of is sex not being included.
“Yes.” She straightens up, smoothing out her skirt. “These men are there as companions. They can do whatever you desire. That could be accompanying someone to an event, somebody to simply talk to, or something more intimate.”
“Huh. I guess I didn’t realize that this was an option.” I guess my preconceived views weren’t exactly correct when it comes to escorts. That’s what happens when society uses the word interchangeably with less politically correct ones.
“If I’m being completely honest, I prefer men who want to sleep with me without being paid. While I’m sure some of the ones at this service actually do want to sleep with me, because well...” She gestures to herself with a smirk. “I’d rather not have my money tied to sexual favors. To each their own, of course, but that’s my personal choice.”
Even though I have a clearer understanding of what escort service can entail, I’m still unsure about utilizing it. I don’t want Luna to think I’m unappreciative, though. “Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll look into it.”
I tuck the number in the back of my notebook. Out of sight, out of mind. I appreciate her willingness to help me in my time of need, but the last thing I need right now is to be calling some service to pay a man to pretend to date me. I’m not that desperate.
Or am I?
-----
At the end of the workday, I make my way through rush hour traffic to my humble abode, a large studio apartment a few blocks from the ocean. It was originally going to be a temporary thing, living in such a small place, but when I couldn’t find someone to share my life with, it ended up becoming my sanctuary.
I set my notebook and purse on the kitchen island so that I can get myself a drink. It’s been a long day of going over client requests and matching fabrics. A nice glass of pinot ought to do the trick. After I pour it out
and take a sip, I sit at the barstool next to the island and open up my notebook to go over what needs to be done over the next couple of days before the weekend.
Oh, right. The weekend.
Flipping to the back of the notebook, I peel the sticky note from the hidden place I put it earlier. The phone number for Elegant Escorts.
While I have the utmost respect for Luna, I can’t see myself using a service like this. I don’t judge anyone who does, but it’s just not for me. I can’t imagine paying for a date…
Or doing something more with a stranger…
Crumpling the tiny square of paper, I toss it into the trash can. There’s got to be another way, one that doesn’t require a company to set it up.
I make myself some angel hair pasta and whip together a simple alfredo sauce to go with it. After topping it with some parmesan cheese, I take my wineglass and plate and wander over to my big comfy couch. While watching a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy, I scroll through the contact list on my phone. There’s bound to be at least one man I know who would be willing to take me to a wedding reception. However, each one I come across isn’t available in one way or another.
In a serious relationship.
Is a friend’s ex.
Recently got married.
Tossing my phone to the other side of the couch, I groan in defeat. It’s hopeless. I’m either going to have to face the music and show up stag, facing the ridicule of all my peers...
Or…
Or I can suck it up and make a phone call.
I pick up my empty plate and glass, placing the dirty dishes into the sink. Then I pick the glass up again, filling it with more wine. After taking a gulp, I reach into the trash can for a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing it out, I sigh.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
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