Twisted Affair
The Complete Box Set
By M.S. Parker
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.2
Copyright © 2015 Belmonte Publishing LLC
Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Twisted Affair Vol. 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Twisted Affair Vol. 2
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Twisted Affair Vol. 3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Twisted Affair Vol. 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Twisted Affair Vol. 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue: Six Weeks Later
Other book series from M. S. Parker
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Twisted Affair Vol. 1
Chapter 1
Blayne
My life was fuck-freaking-tastic. Seriously. I was rich and not bad on the eye, or so I’d been told. I didn't have to give a damn about responsibility or anything that even smelled like it. And none of that was in my head. It was all true.
Chiseled good looks that women said resembled some of Hollywood's hottest. A naturally muscular build that I didn't have to spend hours at the gym maintaining. I was tall, but not freakishly so. A nice six-three. And I was more than well-proportioned, or so I'd been told. I was still a year away from thirty, no signs of gray in my sandy brown hair and no thinning. I spent all my time getting high, drinking and either watching naked women dance, or fucking them.
Like I said, I had a fuck-freaking-tastic life.
Case in point, I was currently in Philadelphia's hottest strip club. It was exclusive, so only people like me got in. The place was packed with the gorgeous, the rich or the famous. A lot were more than one of those things, but only a few were like me and all three. Okay, so I wasn't stop-on-the-street famous, but there were plenty of people who knew who I was, especially here.
“Hey, Blayne,” a man called out over the music.
I looked up and grinned as my friend held out his hand. We shook and I felt cool plastic slide against my palm. My grin widened.
“Thanks, Neal.” I palmed the bag as I pulled back my hand. The cops didn't exactly frequent Exotica, and the club's security tended to look the other way, as long as people were discreet and no one caused problems. Every once in a while, someone would do a little too much coke, get a bit overly excited and have to be asked to leave, but most of the time, things were pretty calm.
Me, I didn't do cocaine or any heavy shit. Pot to relax. X when I wanted to party. Tonight, I wanted to party. I'd already had a couple lap dances out in the main room, but my goal was to get a private one.
I popped a pill into my mouth and waited for it to take effect. I turned my attention toward the stage where the newest batch of girls were coming on. Exotica only hired the best, which was one of the reasons I enjoyed coming here. These weren't tired old hags who'd been gyrating for years, picking up tricks on the side, or whatever track-marked girls they could find on the streets. Exotica's girls were in their early to mid-twenties, or at least looked it. And there was variety. Dark skin, light skin, blondes, brunettes, red-heads. Tall and skinny, short and curvy. Various combinations of body sizes. Innocent. Sultry. Wild. A little something for everyone.
I liked it all. I didn't really have a particular type when it came to women. I enjoyed them all.
And I was particularly enjoying one seriously hot brunette who was dancing at the front of the stage. She was tall, with gloriously long legs I wanted to feel wrapped around me. Her hair was shoulder length, perfect for grabbing during sex. And those tits. Fuck, they were gorgeous. Big and firm – there was no way they were real, but I wanted them in my hands anyway.
“Her name's Angelique.” Another buddy of mine shouted in my ear. Tommy and I had been friends for years, mostly because I had the money and he had the connections. Whatever I was in the mood for, he could get. And none of that knock-off shit. He only worked with premium grade. Worth every penny.
“You asking around?” I didn't take my eyes off her as she swayed, teasing the audience by exposing tanned skin one inch at a time. “Don't want to step on your toes.”
“Naw, go ahead.” Tommy leaned back and stretched his arms out along the back of the couch where we were sitting. “Rumor has it she's a real tiger in the sack.”
I looked over at him and he grinned at me.
“You know me,” he continued. “I prefer the passive ones.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to Angelique as she came toward the part of the stage closest to me. I never understood Tommy's preference. While I liked to be in charge in the bedroom, I didn't get the appeal of a woman who just laid there and took it. Where was the fun in that? I mean, she didn't have to be kinky or anything, but I at least wanted a response, someone who made it clear she was enjoying herself. I may not have been the kind of guy who'd call a girl the next day, but I prided myself on my reputation that I never left a partner unsatisfied.
I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. I usually tipped with twenties, but I wanted a private dance and hopefully more. The women who worked at Exotica weren't prostitutes, but the club didn't really enforce the 'hands off' rule if the ladies didn't complain. It was basically up to the women what they did and with whom. It wouldn't be the first time I'd headed to the back with one of the dancers.
Angelique's top was off by the time she bent over to let me hold out the folded bill. She glanced at it and then looked at me. I raised an eyebrow in question and she nodded. And that was that. As soon as she walked off the stage at the end of her show, I stood. I was already hard and everything had that nice, fuzzy edge that came with quality X.
“You need anything else?” Tommy asked.
I shook my head. I still had one tablet left and if Angelique didn't want it, I'd take it later. I may have been approaching thirty, but I was far from a 'one and done' kind of guy. I was hoping to get laid at least one more time tonight.
“You looking for a private dance?” Angelique was dressed again, if the skimpy thong and bra she was wearing could be considered dressed. Neither one seemed adequate enough to contain her considerable assets. Which, thank the fuck, was the purpose.
“And anything else you'd be willing to provide.” I smiled at her, watching as she looked me up and down.
“Follow me.” She walked toward the back where the private rooms were located.
Less than five minutes later, my shirt was off, she was naked and my cock was straining against my pants. Her body writhed against mine, her ass pressing down on my pants almost hard enough to hurt.
“Feels like you have a lot to offer,” she practically purred as she leaned back against me.
“Oh, I do.” I slid my arms up her stomach and grabbed onto those gorgeous tits. I pulled on her pierced nipples. “And I can give you something I'll bet few clients ever have.”
“Really?” She looked over her shoulder at me.
“I can make you come harder than you ever have before.” I gave her my cockiest grin.
She stood up and turned toward me. Her feet pushed at mine, nudging my legs apart. “Why do you think I agreed to come back here with you?” She dropped to her knees. “I know who you are, Blayne Westmore. You have quite the reputation. I just hope it's not all talk.”
I gestured toward my crotch. “Why don't you find out?”
“Condom?”
Smart girl. I reached into my wallet and pulled out one of the several I always kept there. I had two more, just in case. I handed it to her and waited.
She opened my pants and I raised my hips enough so that she could pull them and my underwear down enough to free the rock-hard erection I'd been sporting for a while.
“Now that's a nice piece of work,” she said as she tore open the condom wrapper.
“I haven't had any complaints,” I said.
“I'll bet not,” she agreed as she wrapped one hand around the base of my cock, her fingers unable to touch until she'd slid her hand a third of the way up my length.
“Fuckin’ yeah,” I swore as she lowered her head and used her mouth to roll the condom onto my shaft. Damn that was hot! She was hot. Her hand. Her mouth. Her confidence. She didn't waste any time either, using her hand on what she couldn't take into her mouth.
Her hair brushed my thighs as my cock disappeared and reappeared before me. Her tongue worked around my cock and I wondered how it would feel without the latex between us. I never fucked bareback – no way was I going to risk knocking up some gold-digger or catch something that laughed at antibiotics – but I never insisted on a condom for oral. It was always the woman's choice.
Her free hand cupped my balls and I moaned in appreciation of her talent. She really knew what she was doing. When she took me as deep as she could without gagging, I gave her hair a little tug, my if-you-don’t-stop-now-I’m-going-to-come signal. If I was going to fulfill my promise and make her come, I needed her to stop right then or I was going to let her suck until I came. That would be a shame, since coming from oral when wearing a condom was pretty pointless in my opinion.
“Now let's see if you can keep up your end of the bargain,” she said as she climbed onto my lap, facing me this time. She straddled my lap, her pussy hovering over my throbbing cock.
I raised an eyebrow. “No foreplay? That's an awful lot to take.”
She reached between us to firmly grasp my cock. “I'm good.”
I wasn't going to argue, especially when she began to lower herself onto me. I grabbed her hips and she gripped my arms to steady herself. She may be on top, but I was in control. I dropped her down a little more and she moaned. Fuck, she was tight. Not as tight as I'd expected since I hadn't done any prep work, but she was still tight and hot inside. I was halfway in and held her hovering over me, waiting until I snapped my hips up, burying the rest of me inside her. She cried out, her eyelids fluttering. I began to move us together, pulling out of her even as I lifted her, then slamming her down as I moved up, driving into her hard enough to make her swear.
“Wrap those gorgeous legs around me,” I said. I wrapped my arms around her waist and stood. She automatically latched on, arms around my neck, ankles crossing just under my ass.
I didn't do it often, but there was something to be said for fucking standing up. Gravity was a wonderful thing. Her breasts bounced delightfully and her pussy gripped my cock as I drove into her over and over.
“Fuck!” she screamed loud enough that I winced, but she was coming so it didn't matter. She shook in my arms and I flipped us around so she was on the couch and I was over her, slamming into her even as every cell in her convulsed.
“On my tits,” she demanded, squeezing the glorious globes in her hands.
That’s as good a place as any. My balls tightened – I was close. I pulled out and stripped off the condom. Her hand joined mine as I jerked off. I groaned as pleasure exploded through me, intensified by the drugs in my system. Cum spurted across her chest, coating her bronzed skin. I pumped my cock until every last drop was splashed across those magnificent breasts and then I rolled onto the couch next to her.
“Wow,” she said, breathing hard. “The girls weren't kidding.”
I winked at her and reached over to drain the last of the beer I'd brought with me.
“If you want to make this a regular thing, just say the word.” She pushed herself into a sitting position.
Dammit. Why'd she have to ruin things? “Sorry, babe,” I said as I tucked myself back into my pants. “I don't do regular.”
“Do you do more than once?” she asked as she stood and began to gather her clothes. “Even off the clock?”
I stood and grabbed my shirt. “Maybe, I'm always up for a good fuck.” I pulled on my shirt and ran my hand through my hair. Right now, I didn't want more sex. I wanted something harder than beer. A couple shots would be just the thing to kick off the weekend. Maybe more than a couple.
Chapter 2
Blayne
I groaned as the pounding in my head woke me. Judging by the stabbing pains in my temples, I'd had a hell of a night. I raised my hand to my face, grimacing at the stubble. I usually didn't stay clean-shaven because it pissed my father off, but I was starting to think it was more trouble than it was worth.
I shifted, wincing as springs poked into my back. What the hell? I had the presence of mind to shield my eyes before opening them, but I slammed them shut again when I heard a loud clanging that went straight through my head.
“Westmore!”
Fuck. That couldn't be good.
I started to sit up and my stomach rolled. It definitely didn't like that idea. And judging by the taste in my mouth, it wasn't the first time. I opened my eyes again, hoping I wouldn't find vomit all over my clothes. They were rumpled, but void of anything nasty, so that was at least one positive thing.
As my surroundings started to register, the fact that I hadn't thrown up on myself became less important. Institutional lighting. Gray concrete floor and walls. Thin, lumpy mattress. Stainless steel toilet and sink. I would've figured it out even if I hadn't seen the bars or the uniformed man standing on the other side of them.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Your brother's here,” the guard said. The look he gave me said he didn't think I deserved to be bailed out. What the hell had I done?
I stood, took a second to make sure I wouldn’t pass out, and then began to walk. It was more of a shuffle, actually, but one foot in front of the other would get me where I needed to go.
I didn't need to ask which brother was waiting for me. There was only one of my siblings it could be. I was the youngest of five, the afterthought baby of the family. There were eight years between me and Ashlyn, the closest one to my age. Thirteen years separated me and my oldest brother, Benjamin Franklin Westmore, Jr. And, yes, he always introduced himself with his entire name.
He was an ass.
Our family was distantly related to Benjamin Franklin through my paternal grandfather and my family always made sure no one forgot it. Ashlyn had double the fun since her geriatric husband was distantly related to President Taft. He looked like him too.
Ashlyn was the trophy wife
who was now edging closer to forty than her mid-thirties and worried that Gerald was starting to look for a younger model. If she hadn't always been such a bitch, I might've felt sorry for her. Rumor had it that her oldest stepdaughter was expecting again, but I knew I wouldn't hear that news from her. She didn't particularly like Gerald's three children from his previous marriage. She especially hated being thought of as a grandmother.
Benjamin wasn't much better. He'd married for prestige as well, though I actually sort of liked Delphine. She was a good mom to their three kids, or at least as good as she could be with my asshat of a brother pushing prep school and all that shit.
I didn't see much of my oldest sister, Cecily. She'd actually gotten her MBA, but when it became obvious that Dad was grooming his namesake to take over the family businesses, she'd married an old Philadelphian, Hamilton Baird, and used her skills to make him even richer. Between that and her two kids, she was always busy.
No, I knew the only person who would've bothered to come get me out of jail was Samuel. Ten years older than me, we looked the most alike with the same color hair and features. His eyes were more gray-blue than my dark gray, but when I looked at him, I got a good idea of what I'd look like pushing forty. He'd married well, of course, but Hannah was a sweetheart and their kids were all great. How he'd managed to get five without a single hellion was beyond me, especially considering how the rest of us turned out.
“Sammy!” I called out as soon as I saw him. He didn't smile and that's how I knew I was in deep shit.
“Thank you, Officer,” Samuel said and turned to me after the cop walked away. “Let's go.”
I squinted against the bright winter sun, my head throbbing as the light glinted off of the fresh snow we'd gotten at some point.
“Thanks for getting me.” I broke the silence. “Guess I'm going to have another drunk and disorderly fine to pay.” I grinned at Samuel. His expression was still grim.
He opened the passenger's door of his minivan and shook my head as I climbed in. No Westmore should drive a minivan. Our parents had five kids and never even considered a minivan. Then again, we never really did the whole family outing thing either. Samuel made sure his family did stuff together all the time. Maybe that was how he'd gotten such good kids.
Twisted Affair: The Complete Series Box Set Page 1
