Sexy Bad Escort (Sexy Bad Series Book 5)

by Misti Murphy

  “Leave them on,” he orders.

  “Okay.” I stand up as his gaze sweeps me again. I swallow hard at the desire in his eyes. “How many times have you imagined you and I getting naked?”

  “Couldn’t say.” He reaches out and grips my waist, drawing me closer. “A lot. No. What’s more than a lot?”

  “Um.” I trail my fingers along the line that divides his chest, down the ridges of his abdomen. The fine trail of hair that starts at his navel is downy soft and tickles my fingers until the elastic of his boxer briefs cuts me off. “I’m not sure.”

  “It doesn’t matter. This is far better.” He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. “Which way to the bedroom?”

  “That way.” I point into the darkness past the living room. “Maybe I should turn on a light.”

  “I’ve got this.” He kisses me as he walks farther into the apartment. “Got you.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Can’t believe how many times he’s surprised me these past few weeks. He’s not as juvenile as he pretends he is. There’s more to him.

  Lowering me onto the bed, he shoves clothes and decorative pillows, European and sham, out of the way. “Are you sure you have enough of these?”

  Leaning on my elbows, I watch him. “Pretty sure.”

  Settling on the bed, he brushes his lips against the pulse point on my wrist, works his way to my elbow, my shoulder, before doing the same to my other arm. Everywhere he touches me heat spreads, interlocks with the next point of contact, an intricate web of sensation that slowly builds on itself. I inhale sharply as he wraps his lips around my breast and gently bites my nipple. My hands hover off the bed before he covers them with his own. He pays the same attention to my other breast. Then he moves between them, nipping and sucking, before trailing down to my navel.

  My body is on fire. My hips move of their own accord, begging for his touch. He ignores that area completely. Kneeling between my legs, he lifts one heeled foot onto his shoulder. Strokes a knuckle down the inside of my ankle. Plants a kiss in that same spot. Our conversation about foreplay and how he would make it last and last and last replays in my head as he kisses his way along my calf and up the inside of my knee.

  My sex clenches as his mouth gets so close. The heat of his breath makes me gasp and shudder. And then he draws back and does the same to my other leg. But, surely, this time, he’ll touch me. Every muscle in my body stretches toward him in anticipation. I start to pant.

  When he runs a finger along the outside of my panties, fireworks burst behind my eyelids, and I arch up off the bed with a moan. Oh God, I’m going to combust before we can get past the foreplay. And then he takes his hand away, and I’m overwhelmed with the need for more.

  He grabs my thong, and I lift my hips to help him remove it before reaching for his underwear. “These too.”

  “In a hurry to see what else I haven’t been joking about?”

  “Oh God, yes.” I moisten my lips as I sit up. “No more foreplay.”

  “Too much for you?” He climbs off the bed to shed his boxer briefs and snag a condom from the wallet in his shorts. He rips the foil packet open and rolls it over his erection.

  What did he say about his dick again? It was better than a motorbike. I’ve never needed this badly to ride a motorbike before. “Not too much. I just want...”

  “Got it.” He grins.

  “No, I don’t think you do.” I pounce on him before he can climb back onto the bed, and we go down in a pile of limbs and kisses among the pillows. Pushing him onto his back, I straddle him.

  “Easy. You can take advantage of me all you want.” He mock growls as he grips my hips with one hand and drags one of my fancy cushions under his head. His cock pulses between my legs, nudges at my entrance, slides home. I revel in the sensation and the groan that drags from his throat, the sudden tenseness in his grip, the roll of his hips.

  “Actually, maybe you should...”

  “Oh God,” I whisper, throwing my head back and riding him. All that build-up washes through me like a dam broke. Spots dance in front of my eyes.

  “Yeah, that.” He tangles his fingers in my hair and grinds into me while I orgasm. “Feels so good.” The sinew in his neck stands out as he arches underneath me one last time. “Fuck, Ronnie.”

  I collapse on top of him while the tension slowly leaves his body and his chest deflates. His heart pounds underneath my ear, lulling me half-comatose. “We should go to bed.”

  He chuckles as he wraps one arm around me and sits up. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  ***

  Danny’s not in the bedroom when I wake up, though the other half of my bed isn’t cold yet. The scent of bacon makes my mouth water and my belly growl. Not surprising. It feels like I ran a marathon last night.

  The man has stamina. By the bucket load. Garrett’s always picking on him for being a slacker. Hell, it’s something Danny is happy to boast about, even when he’s put in weeks of work for each of my siblings’ weddings. And he’s worked a lot of hours since we started Rent-A-Danny too, so I’m not entirely sure where he got the idea that he’s a mooch from.

  There is certainly nothing slack about his bedroom skills. I scissor my thighs together. They’re a little sore, like I’ve spent some time at the gym. It’s a nice ache, the type that reminds you that you did something fun. Something that probably won’t happen again. After all, it’s fake, isn’t it? He was doing me a favor that got out of hand. He told me we could fake break up any time I wanted. He’s only in it for the chase anyway, and after last night I won’t hold the same interest for him. And that should be peachy. But I’m not sure it’s what I want.

  Climbing out of bed, I pull on a tank top and a pair of leopard-print, cotton shorts and make my way to the kitchen.

  Danny’s made himself at home, standing in front of the stove in his boxer briefs, cooking breakfast. Blueberry pancakes and bacon. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Sit,” he says, pouring a cup of java and putting it in front of me.

  I tuck one knee up on the chair and rest my chin on it while I watch him pile pancakes onto two plates. He sets one down in front of me and then pulls out a chair for himself. “Tuck in.”

  “Thanks.” I cut into a pancake and pop a bite into my mouth. I don’t know what to say. About last night. Or if I even should bring it up. Maybe if we ignore it, things will go back to normal. Because that’ll work so well.

  “About last night,” he says, putting down his fork and moving closer. He picks up my foot and puts it on his thigh. “Was that...were we getting the attraction out of our system so we can concentrate on being business partners?”

  “That’s what it was, wasn’t it?” I chew through the soggy mouthful that’s become quite floury. “You chased me. You caught me. We can concentrate on other things.”

  “We can.” He strokes his thumb in small circles on my ankle, making other parts of my anatomy wake up. “But I would rather keep doing this.”

  Getting out of my seat, I straddle his lap. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DANNY

  “Work,” I mumble between kisses. My back is pressed against the wall next to the door to Ronnie’s apartment while she attempts to climb me like a jungle gym. Her leg is twined around my calf; one hand is down my pants while the other is scratching up and down my back. I should mention we’ve only come down from the last set of orgasms maybe twenty minutes ago. And I’m about to be late for my next assignment.

  “One of the things she noted on the client dossier is her obsession with punctuality,” I remind my partner, who, for the last fifty-six hours, give or take, has been my lover almost nonstop.

  We haven’t left her apartment since the evening of Paynter and Chloe’s gathering. Since Abby caught me chasing a spider up Ronnie’s leg. After blueberry pancakes and sex that broke the chair we were sitting on, we retired to that outrageously soft carpet in her living room, snuggling and searching f
or porn on the television. Okay, maybe that was just me teasing her about checking out a porn flick, but either way, we didn’t even get to that part before we christened the rug.

  After a nap, we moved to the shower then ordered pizza. We sat on the balcony and split a bottle of red while devouring Chicago deep dish. I think Ronnie ate two-thirds of it. Apparently multiple orgasms make a girl hungry.

  Copy. Repeat. And again.

  Now it’s Saturday, and if we want to ensure Ronnie can afford to pay next month’s rent, I have to go to work.

  “Why don’t you go through the emails that have been piling up,” I suggest, untwining her leg and slipping out from between her and the wall. “Schedule my next two weeks. And don’t get dressed. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. We’ll do something crazy, like have sex again.”

  She giggles. Unabashed bliss looks good on her. After our last shower, I finger combed her hair, leaving it 100 percent bedhead styled, and then we banged, mussing it even further, to the point that if anyone, no matter who they were, saw her right now, they’d say, “You just got laid.”

  Her eyes are bright, sparkly—all that sappy, fuzzy shit people think about someone else’s eyes when they enjoy looking into them, relishing it as the pupils dilate while they thrum said person’s clit, commanding her to keep them open so he can watch as the climax overcomes her.

  Her lips are swollen, red, and maybe a little chapped. Who knew exchanging so much bodily fluid would dry them out like this? “Chapstick,” I say, touching that fat lower one. She darts out her tongue to touch the tip of my finger then sucks it into her mouth, vividly reminding me how good that mouth felt wrapped around my favorite joystick.

  Maybe Karen can wait.

  “Go,” Ronnie says, pulling my digit out of her mouth and turning me toward the door. She slaps my ass and twists the knob. “Don’t do anything I would disapprove of.”

  “You mean like date other women?”

  She smirks. “Right.”

  I wander down the hall and out onto the street, hanging a right and heading toward the restaurant where I’m supposed to meet Karen, who is renting my time to save face while she lunches with her mother and aunt, who apparently take issue with her status as a single woman. They both live out of town, so she figures she can convince them we’re dating, and as they’re both heading home to Florida tomorrow, this will buy her time before the next visit. And maybe by then she’ll have found love and everybody will be happy.

  I shove my hands into my pockets and whistle while I walk, undoubtedly looking cheerful, but inside I’m conflicted. This thing between Ronnie and me, it’s the definition of complicated. First, her family. Yes, they love me—most of them—but that’s the Erin’s best friend me. Will they feel the same now that I’m Ronnie’s lover? I’ve adopted these people, I genuinely love the Frost family and their entourage of pets, and I can’t even think about the possibility that I might be cut from this clan if I do their daughter wrong.

  Which means I need to do this right, except I don’t know what this is. We didn’t get much talking done in the last few days. No conversation like, “Hey, so are we dating now?” Although I think it’s safe to assume that, in her mind, we are simply fucking. This is nothing more than a mutual physical attraction, and we will ride it out until one or the other gets bored or, God forbid, meets Mr. Right.

  And by one or the other, I mean her. Clearly, I’m not interested in Mr. Right, and I’m not good enough for Mrs. Right, so when that time comes, it will most certainly be Ronnie who ends up with her happily ever after.

  What’s working in my favor is her belief that she doesn’t want to find love. That means she won’t actively look for it, so this fuck fest could potentially last for quite some time.

  Cool with me.

  The restaurant is a small Italian place with floor-to-ceiling windows that open onto the street during the warm summer months. It’s loud, smells a bit like exhaust, but when you live in a cold climate, you take every outdoor minute you can.

  As I step into the lobby, I spot Karen, who sent a picture of herself with her dossier. Her dark hair is streaked with bright red, and there’s a tiny silver ring in her nose. She’s pear shaped and wearing a pair of painted on jeans that hug her ass.

  “Hey, baby,” I say, jumping into character and sidling up to her, slipping my arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.

  “Danny?”

  I freeze, my arm still in place, my lips puckered. That’s not Karen’s voice. I know this because I recognize that voice.

  Sliding my gaze to the side, I see Mama Frost seated at a table next to the windows. Across from her is a woman who looks to be her age, and between them is a bottle of red and two wineglasses, along with a platter of picked over appetizers. Cynthia says something to her companion and then stands, dropping her cloth napkin on the chair before heading my way.

  I swing my gaze to my client, who narrows her eyes and says, “Do not break character. That’s my mom and my aunt, about to step into this restaurant right now.”

  Shit.

  Karen clamps her hand on my arm as I try to tug it away from her waist. Mama Frost furrows her brow, purses her lips as she takes in the scene. “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Karen,” an older version of my date—sans the red streaks, nose ring, and painted on pants—calls out, breezing through the door and heading our way with her arms open wide, like she’s about to embrace both of us. Which she does, since my arm is still hooked around her daughter’s waist. “Is this the Danny you’ve been going on and on about? I’m so excited to finally meet him.”

  Another woman steps into the restaurant behind her. They could be twins given how similar their facial features are. I’m guessing this is the aunt.

  “You are?” Cynthia says, staring down her nose at the other matriarch.

  “Mama Frost, what a pleasant surprise,” I say, still fighting to extract my arm from my date’s grip. “Didn’t expect to run into you on this side of town.”

  “I’m having my monthly lunch date with Hazel. I think I’ve told you about her. We’ve been friends since second grade. Can you believe we still keep in touch like this?”

  “Well, it’s only been twenty years, so sure,” I quip. Predictably, she chortles and swats my arm.

  Karen’s mother and aunt are watching our back and forth with far too much interest. “Is this your mother?” the aunt asks me.

  “Not yet,” Cynthia says with a chuckle and mischief sparkling in her eyes.

  “Oh?” Karen’s mother says, looking from me to her daughter while the wheels clearly churn in her head. Karen is staring at me like I’m going to single-handedly be able to get us out of this mess. And I have no clue what to do.

  “Mama Frost, can I speak to you for a minute? Over by the bar?” I suggest, finally shaking off my date and reaching for her arm.

  “Karen, I’m sorry, but I can’t take it anymore.”

  We all turn in the direction of the new voice; a woman with a dark complexion and goddess braids in her hair strides toward us from another section of the restaurant. Her lips are painted a deep burgundy. She’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and there’s a silver chain hanging from her belt loops.

  Uh-oh. I don’t recall reading about a lover on Karen’s dossier. Specifically not a female one. I glance at Karen to confirm my suspicion. She’s staring at the woman heading our way with a combination of fear and longing on her face.

  Forgetting Cynthia for a moment, I step forward to waylay the intruder. “Hey. I’m Danny. Can I buy you a drink at the bar?”

  I reach for her, and she snatches her arm away like I’m about to light it on fire. “Do I look like I swing your way, pretty boy?”

  “Nope, not in the least. Clearly, you don’t like guys who wear khakis.”

  “I don’t like guys at all.”

  “Well, now that we’ve established that, how about I buy you a drink?”

  “What do you not understand? I d
idn’t come over here to talk to you. I came to—”

  I clap my hand over her mouth and push her backward toward the bar. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly why you came over here, which is why we’re going over there.” I point over her shoulder with my other hand.

  She slaps my hand away, hard enough that I shake it a couple of times to relieve the sting. Damn.

  “I know what you’re doing, and it’s bullshit,” she says once we’re cozied up to the bar, out of sight and earshot from the rest of the group. God knows what Mama Frost is telling Karen and her mother and aunt right now, but I can’t think about that. I gotta fix this first.

  “I agree,” I say and then ask, “What’s your poison?”

  She glances at the bar and rolls her eyes. “What a stupid way to say, ‘What do you want to drink?’”

  “Damn, bust my balls over the way I offer you a drink.”

  “Fine. Goose Island IPA.”

  “Excellent choice,” I say and then lift two fingers to the bartender. “By the way, these are going on your girlfriend’s tab. She is your girlfriend, right?”

  Her eyes widen and then she nods. The tender places two chilled bottles before us, and I clink the neck of mine on hers and say, “To fucked up love.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” She takes a long drink, swipes her hand across her mouth, and says, “I’m Tiesha, by the way. I’m guessing you’re Rent-A-Danny.”

  “Yep. Nice to meet you, Tiesha.”

  “As much as it pisses me off, I admit, this gig you’ve got going is pretty genius. Karen’s been stressing about her mom coming into town for a month now. It’s really affected our relationship.”

  “And you decided to make it a hundred times worse by barging in on this fake date and making Karen confront her worst fears?”

  Tiesha glances down at the bottle in her hand. “Well, it’s stupid. My parents know I’m a lesbian. And they’re cool with it. They love Karen. I don’t get why she can’t tell hers about us.”