by Adele Hart
Disappointment washes over me knowing that I’ll be stuck in the end office and not likely to see my sexy boss often. “Do your partners work here full-time as well?”
He turns toward me and walks backwards until he reaches the closed door at the end. “Andrew travels a lot. He’s an advertising specialist always out pimping our stuff. Brad oversees our production line for the exclusive items we make in the United States. It’s our goal to eventually manufacture everything here.”
“And I’m your satisfaction girl.” I give him a big warm smile.
He falls backwards against the door like my grin slapped him. It swings wide open. “And here you are.” He looks around the room. “If there’s anything you need beyond what we’ve provided, please let me know. Feel free to take anything home. In fact, you may prefer to do most of your work from home if that makes you more comfortable.”
My knees wobble as I look around the office. The entire perimeter is floor to ceiling shelves full of rubber cocks and sex toys.
I have made a huge mistake.
“Where’s the coffee?” I ask. My mind races to the ad. It said The Grynd, but I was certain the Y was a typo. I just said one wrong tap of a key changes the whole meaning. Holy hell. Each of the items sitting like Oscars on the shelf is intended for the Y between a woman’s legs not the i in I’ll have another cup please.
“I’ll find it in one of the boxes and get a pot started for you.” His demeanor is calm as if we aren’t standing in the center of a room full of dicks.
“Great.” My voice warbles a bit and I clear my throat to cover the sound.
I really should turn and run, but a flashback of the drunks on my doorstep keeps me rooted in place. Thankfully, Mr. Stark turns away from me and toward the wall of penises. I chew my lip and play with my hair until I’m sure I’ve worn a hole through my skin, and the long tendrils hang around my face.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He steps to the door and stops. “Your computer is hooked up. I’d like you to try to get through the long list of customer emails within the week if possible. Most of them are happy customers who want to tell us how satisfied they are with the product. Some are complaints. It’s the unhappy customers I worry about. One dissatisfied customer generally leads to a hundred missed sales.”
I open my mouth to speak but words escape me. What do I say? I’ll jump right on that? I look at the monster cock on the center shelf next to me and decide that’s not right. I say nothing.
“You okay?” He grips the doorframe making the muscles of his arms bulge. Even his pecs expand to stretch his baby blue T-shirt.
“Mmm hmm,” I hum.
“All right then. Have a…” he chuckles “satisfying first day.”
He pulls the door closed behind him. I collapse on the plush chaise in the corner. Still attached is the price tag. Probably to assure me no one has flicked their bean here. “All right, Pickle,” I say to myself, “you’ve really got yourself into one this time.”
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Also by Adele Hart
Thrill Me
Take Me
Tempt Me
Choose Me
Kiss Me
Devour Me
Alphas and Virgins Volume One
Alphas and Virgins Volume Two
Make Me Wet
Make Me Crazy
Make Me Yours
Make Me Wild
Make Me Happy
My Toy Boy
Make Me Volume One
About the Author
Adele Hart is a stay-at-home mom who secretly writes sexy stories whenever she gets a chance. After reading hundreds of romances, she decided to skip all the angst and ugliness, and just get to the good stuff. You know, the part that makes you say, 'Oh my!'
So if you're like Adele, and you want to indulge your guilty pleasures with naughty but nice, fast and fun stories about super hot, practically perfect men and the sweet women who love them, then you've come to the right place.
Adele's guarantee to you:
You'll have that loving feeling from start to happy finish. Nothing ugly, no BDSM, no cheating bastards, just fun, flirty, dirty goodness.
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Keep in touch
adelehart.com
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Copyright © 2017 by Adele Hart
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Also by Adele Hart
Alphas and Virgins Titles
Thrill Me
Tempt Me
Take Me
Choose Me
Kiss Me
Devour Me
Make Me Titles
Make Me Yours
Make Me Crazy
Make Me Wet
Make Me Wild
Make Me Happy
Make Me Love You
High Stakes and Hot Heroes Titles
My Toy Boy
My Cocky Cowboy
My Naughty Professor
Bad Boys and Good Girls
Slow, Hard Puck
Fast, Hard Ride
Slow, Hard Pass
Boxsets
Alphas and Virgins - 3 Hot Reads
Alphas and Virgins - 3 Sexy Stories
Make Me - 3 Hot Reads
Make Me - 3 Sexy Stories
Deliciously Dirty
Guilty Pleasures
Foreword
Hey Girl,
Did you ever spend a summer during your youth in a place like the Hamptons? You know, the kind of place where rich people go to holiday, and regular folks end up getting decent summer jobs by waiting tables or filling their yachts with gas? Do yachts need gas? I have no idea, having only seen one once from a distance.
Anyway, I've never holidayed like that, but I've seen lots of movies about it. Think Mystic Pizza or Dirty Dancing, where the divide between rich and poor is glaringly obvious, but romance blooms in spite of the objections on both sides of the happy couple.
Long, Hard Pass is about a rich college boy who's about to be recruited by a pro-football team (think NFL without me saying it and getting my ass sued). Anyway, he meets a poor girl who works at the boat dock in the town where his family vacations. It’s sort of a Romeo and Juliet meets Friday Night Lights only with a whole lot of sex and a very happy ending. Wink. Wink. (Oh, and you’ll need to forget what you know about cell phone voicemail systems and just go with it, okay? Because this is really just for fun, right?)
Okay, so that's it for me. Bend your knees and get your arms out because Ethan Harris is about to make a long, hard pass at you and you'll need your center of gravity to be real low so you don't fall over. Oh, wow. That was my least sexy innuendo yet. But fear not, this story will make up for it.
Peace out,
Adele (Drops mic and stares at the cover of this book for an hour.)
One
Jess
I stand and stare at my boss, Frank Reese, as he goes over the instructions for pumping gas for all the employees. I don't listen to him but I nod every once in a while, and try to maintain eye contact with him, even though he has some sort of scary growth just to the right of his left eye. What is that thing?
Anyway, I don't really need to listen because it's my fourth summer working at the Gas ‘n Go here in Cape Williams, Long Island. I already know not to try to top it up, even if the moron whose yacht I'm filling wants an even dollar amount on his Black Amex statement. I know that I need to smile and ask everyone how their stay in ‘paradise' is going. I know that I'm not allowed to engage in lengthy conversations ‘no matter how cute their daughters are.' (I'm the only girl that works here, so Frank usually forgets to warn me not to talk to their sons. Either that or he thinks I'm a lesbian.
I'm really not sure.) No flirting, no taking my shirt off to sunbathe on the job—I must wear my uniform. (Oh really? Please, can I take my top off like one of those Girls Gone Wild girls? Please, Frank? Eye roll). No negative comments about the food in the Sugar Shack (the attached restaurant and bar where my sister works). No jumping off the dock to cool off in the water. That one I take seriously. You never know when a boat is going to zip over to the dock and, if you’re in the wrong place, it’s game over for you or one of your limbs.
Anyway, I'm nineteen, and every year, I apply here hoping to get on in the restaurant like my big sister, Carla, who has a much larger set of tatas and a much smaller waist than me. She gets on in the restaurant and I'm stuck out on the dock.
Carla's been waiting tables and bringing in the big tips for eight years now. Mind you, she has to bring in a lot more money than me. She has a son, Ben, who is about to turn six. They live with my mom and me, and we both help support Ben—a fact which my mom reminds us of every single day. Poor Carla. She met the guy of her dreams, they spent a steamy summer together, and when he left, he changed his cell phone number. She actually drove to Boston to find him and tell him that she was pregnant, only it turned out he lied about his last name the entire summer and likely where he was from. Bastard.
So, for the past six years, my mother has shaken her head in disgust at Carla, and me, just in case I ‘get any ideas that one of those rich boys will ever fall in love with me.' She should talk. Carla and I have different fathers (apparently hers had women with fabulous, huge yet perky breasts in his lineage and mine had frizzy blonde hair, so that's fair). Anyway, both guys were ‘richies' who came to town looking for fun then escaped without a trace. So, now she spends all her time warning us against the evil rich people. My mom works at the post office. She's known as the ‘grouchy one.'
“Wow, this guy is really serious about us not taking our shirts off.” The fourteen-year-old boy, Wyatt, next to me nudges my arm as he says it, bringing me out of my thought bubble. He’s my best friend Dina’s little brother and I got him the job.
I nod and put my finger on my lips to silence him. If there's one thing that sets Frank off, it's his workers talking when he's giving them the big speech.
Josh leans into me. "What the hell is that thing next to his eye? Fuckin' scary, man. I feel like it's going to jump off his face and attack someone."
I snort out a laugh, then get it under control, but it’s too late. Frank is glaring at me and now I have to stare at the purplish red lump. I shake my head and say, “Sorry, Frank. Won’t happen again.”
Twenty minutes later, the summer in Cape Williams has officially opened and I’m standing on dock number one. That’s the gas pump reserved for the largest yachts. I’ve really moved up in the world because only the most experienced gas jockey gets to ride pump number one. I settle myself onto the wood planks, let my toes drag in the water, and grab my phone so I can read a dirty book on my Kindle app. Dirty books are really the only escape I have.
A lot of people think that it would be wonderful to live in a place as beautiful as this. And in some ways, it is great. It’s really pretty here and the weather in the summer can’t be beat—lots of warm sunshine and a nice cool breeze to keep you from getting overheated. I can go to the beach for a swim whenever I want, that’s true. But everything else in the town is for the rich folks. I can hardly afford to go for pizza downtown. Not since it turned into an organic, artisan pizzeria a few years back and they charge a whopping forty-dollars for a 10.” If I’m paying for 10 inches, he better be hot and ready to go. Haha. Just kidding. I’d never pay for sex.
Anyway, I’ll sit here and read my books all day and wait for the first of the vacationers to show up. We might get one or two today but things won’t get busy until Thursday when everyone leaves the city early to get here in time to throw fabulous Independence Day parties.
“Jess!” Wyatt calls to me from way down at dock number four. “Jess!”
“What?” I holler back.
“This is really boring!”
I cup my hand over my mouth so the sound will travel directly at him. “I never told you it wasn’t! Bring your phone tomorrow, you meathead.”
“My mom took it away from me for a month!”
“Were you looking at dirty videos again?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin.
“Then bring a book!”
Wyatt’s shoulders drop at the thought of reading and I shake my head at him, then text Dina that her brother is already bored. I get an answer back immediately from her. Well, tell him he shouldn’t have been looking for rimming videos then.
I giggle, then write back that he’s three pumps away and I don’t really want to shout about anything to do with rimming at the moment.
Dina has two more days until she starts work as a nanny. She’s been working for the same family for three years now. They have two very spoiled, bratty kids, a father who only shows up two weekends of the summer, and a mother who looks tighter and more like a lizard every time she comes. She’s a stressed-out ball of rage who guzzles expensive wine like it’s the fountain of youth. Dina says she needs to get laid. Don’t we all?
Two
Ethan
I get out of my Audi a7 SUV (well, my parents’ actually, but they let me use it). I stretch my arms out and roll my neck from side-to-side to get the kinks out from the three-and-a-half-hour drive from Philadelphia. The sun beats down on me and I smile at the thought of two months of rest, relaxation and fun before I buckle down for my last year of college.
Well, the truth is, along with the fun, I have to keep up with my strict training regiment. One hour of running, followed by a grueling weight routine every morning. After a huge, nutrition-packed lunch, I alternate daily between ninety minutes of swimming or cycling.
And if I make the AFL, it’ll all be worth it. Every workout, every broken bone over my football career, which started at the tender age of five. My dad played for the Raiders for eight glory-filled seasons and he wants his boys to follow in his footsteps more than anything. Me first, then my little brother, Teddy (Theodore after our grandfather—I dodged a bullet by being named after my mom’s favorite author). Poor kid. He’s next. He finishes high school this year and starts at Penn State in September where I’ll be either in my last year or will have to go back to finish my degree when my AFL career ends.
Our dad is a financial advisor now and he does really well at it. There’s no end to the number of people wanting to give him their money just so they can say they know him. Our mom is a professional wife and mother, and she’s a real hard-ass at both jobs, but I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without either of them. I’ve had the world handed to me on a silver platter and it’s up to me to make the most of every opportunity I’ve been given.
Ted, who made the trip with me, balls up an empty potato chip bag and tosses it at my head. “Heads up!”
I catch it with one hand and roll my eyes at him. “You better get rid of all the evidence of our road trip food before Mom sees it.”
“You do it.”
"I drove, you clean up," I say before I toss the garbage back to him and jog up the steps to the back porch of our home away from home, a six-bedroom ocean-front cottage at the end of Buxley Lane.
I open the door, knowing it’s not locked, and call out hello, knowing my mom is in the kitchen cooking up a storm for her boys. A second later, she comes around the corner, arms out for a hug, dish towel slung over her skinny-bones shoulder. “There you are! I was starting to get worried.”
She pulls me in and I tower over her as we hug.
“Where’s your brother? Getting rid of the junk food wrappers?” She pulls back and puts one hand on her hip.
I burst out laughing. “Who? Us? Never.”
Shaking her head, she says, “All right, but that’s it for the junk until Independence Day. Now, come on. Lunch is on the deck.”
I follow her through the house, admiring the
view of the ocean out the wall of windows along the living room and kitchen. It’s a perfect day to start summer vacation—hot and sunny.
As I step through the sliding glass doors to the feast of salads, brown rice, and chicken breasts waiting, I grin, happy to be here and wondering what the summer has in store for me. There’s really only one thing missing from my life, and that’s the right girl to spend it with. Maybe she’s here this year.
Three
Jess
I’m almost five hours into my shift and it’s been a steady stream of boats since eight in the morning, not that I’m surprised. It is the Friday of the long weekend and all the rich kids are in a big rush to get over to Party Bay before all the spots next to the beach are taken.
I watch as a big, shiny white speedboat pulls up. I get ready to catch the rope from the driver and when I do, I'm blinded by the most gorgeous smile I've ever seen.
“Hey, there,” he says, his voice confident and low.
My knees go a little weak and I blush with embarrassment at having to serve this insanely hot guy. He tosses the rope to me and I miss.
"Whoops," he says, hopping down from the boat in one graceful move. He grabs the rope himself, then ties it to the post.
“Sorry, I’m a bit of a butterfingers today,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up now that he’s standing right in front of me.
“My fault. It was a bad pass.” He holds out his hand. “Ethan Harris.”
“Jess.” I take his hand and warmth flows through me as he grips my fingers. I risk a glance at his perfect face and almost melt at the look in his eyes.
