by Sybil Bartel
Copyright © 2017 by Sybil Bartel
Cover art by: CT Cover Creations
Edited by: Hot Tree Editing
Formatting by: Champagne Formats
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Warning: This book contains offensive language, alpha males and sexual situations. Mature audiences only. 18+
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books
Synopsis
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Sybil Bartel
THRUST
ROUGH
GRIND June 2017
The Uncompromising Series
TALON (Book #1)
NEIL (Book #2)
ANDRÉ (Book #3) September 2017
ROARK (Book #4) December 2017
The Unchecked Series
IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE (Book #1)
IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE (Book #2)
IMPOSSIBLE END (Book #3)
NO APOLOGIES (The Rock Harder Series Book #1)
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ROUGH by Sybil Bartel
Jared
I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not the guy next door. I don’t even play nice.
My hands twisting in your hair, my whispered demand in your ear—I’m the fantasy you’ll wish you never had.
When I’m through with you, every inch of your body will know where I’ve been. You won’t crave more, you’ll beg for it, because I’m not just the cocky smile with military-hardened muscles you paid five grand for—I’m the experience you’ll never forget.
One night with me and you’ll know exactly why women pay me to be rough.
Mom, thank you for teaching me to follow my dreams…
and for not reading this book.
“Deeper.” My hand landed on her sexy ass with a loud slap.
Her tits spilled out of her bikini and she moaned.
My dick slid another inch into her mouth. “That’s it, baby.” I half-heartedly gripped a handful of her hair and pulled. “Suck harder.”
Her tongue flattened against my shaft and her cheeks hollowed out, but she didn’t listen to my instructions.
“Where’s the goddess you promised?” I slapped her ass again. “That all you got?”
Bracing herself on my thighs, her knees on the lounger next to mine, she was hot, but she wasn’t a client. I didn’t even remember her name. She’d sat down next to me at the hotel pool bar, and two drinks later, she told me she sucked dick like a goddess.
Game fucking on.
I took her to the closest cabana and told her to prove it. She’d licked her lips and dropped to her knees.
But now she wasn’t bringing it.
My phone buzzed and her gaze cut to the table where it sat. She sucked harder.
I smirked. “You motivated now?” I leaned close to her ear. “You worried I got somewhere to be?” I didn’t have shit to do. I’d driven to a hotel near my condo to have breakfast because I was bored. Then she’d sat her ass down next to me. I didn’t tell her women paid me to fuck them or that I’d had my dick sucked so many times, it all blurred together.
My phone buzzed again and she picked up the pace.
“Damn.” I didn’t give a fuck who was calling, but apparently it was spurring her on. “You like a little competition?” I was losing my touch. I should’ve pegged her as the type the second she’d said she was a goddess.
She wrapped her lips over her teeth and applied pressure.
“Fuck, that’ll work.” My head fell back and I was no longer wondering how long to drag this out.
My cell buzzed again and she deep-throated.
Inspiration struck. I glanced at the caller ID on my phone then stared at her as I answered. “What up, poser?”
“You booked tonight?” Alex asked.
“Is it Saturday?” What the fuck did he think? We were both escorts. Saturdays were always booked.
“Clear your clients. You’re gonna make fifteen grand tonight.”
“Bullshit,” I grunted and the self-proclaimed goddess groaned.
“Jesus Christ,” Alex scoffed. “Are you fucking a client right now?”
“No.” Not technically. “Ahhh, damn. Hold on.” I held the phone away and she moaned even louder. “That’s it, baby, right there.” I thrust once and she gagged. “Fuck.” My balls drawing tight, I was right there. Gripping her hair hard, I issued a command. “Take it deep.”
She relaxed her throat and I sunk to the hilt.
“Fuuuck.” Shooting my load into her mouth, I almost dropped my phone.
She swallowed like a champ then smiled up at me. “So?”
“Damn, that was good.” I’d probably even remember it, at least until the next time I got sucked off.
She grinned and ran her hand down my abs. “Told you.”
Releasing her hair, I pinched one of her nipples. “Thanks, goddess.” I tipped my chin at my phone. “I gotta take this.”
She adjusted the scraps of material over her tits. “Go ahead.”
“Later.” I tucked my shit back in my shorts, swung my legs off the lounger and turned away from her as I put the phone back up to my ear. “I’m back. Not a client.” I only told him that to fuck with him, because Alex Vega didn’t date, ever.
“You’re still fucking for free?”
“Best kind of fucking.” Or it used to be. I hardly remembered anymore. “What’s going on tonight?” He’d never asked me to take his clients off his hands for an entire night. “I don’t do bachelorette parties. Or any kind of party,” I reminded him as I stood. Fuck that shit.
“No parties. I got three clients tonight.”
I glanced behind me, but the goddess had taken a hint. She was a
lready gone. “What’s the matter?” I smirked as I walked past the pool to the parking lot. “Losing your stamina in your old age?” Vega was one year older than me and I never let him forget it.
“Fuck no. I got a scheduling conflict. You’re taking all three and I get thirty percent.”
The hell he was. “Ten.” I unlocked my Mustang and slid behind the wheel.
“Twenty,” he countered.
I didn’t want to do it, but he’d never asked me to help him out. I owed him more than I could ever repay him, but I had my limits. I sighed. “I’m not fucking your old-ass cougars for eighty percent.”
“Define old.”
I cranked the engine. “Fifties and shit.”
“Stop being a pussy. You’re off by a decade, and the second client tonight is young.”
He said young like it was a warning. “She hot?”
“She pays five grand, what do you care?” he evaded.
I laughed without an ounce of humor. “I don’t.” I’d never had an unattractive client. It was a common misconception that women who sought out an escort were hard up, but mine were just rich and bored.
“That’s what I thought. And don’t be an aggressive dick with her, she’s shy.”
Jesus Christ. “Come on. You know I can’t hang with that shit. I’m not a fucking pussy.” My game was control and I liked it rough.
“Just take it easy and don’t scare the shit out of her.”
Was he fucking serious? “She should fuck a woman if she wants gentle.” I wasn’t going to fuck missionary, not even for five grand.
“Suck it up.”
I chuckled without an ounce of humor. “Maybe I will.”
“I’m texting you the details now. Stick to the script and don’t be late. Let me know if you have any issues.”
“I don’t have issues.”
He didn’t call me on my shit. “Catch you tomorrow.”
“Hey.” I stopped him before he hung up. “What’s the real deal? You haven’t taken a night off in years.”
“Business dinner.”
“You branching out?” I’d be a fucking liar if I said I didn’t think about getting out. I didn’t need the money.
“Looking into a charity,” he admitted.
I fucking laughed. “What kind of charity does a hustler front? The boyfriend experience for needy chicks?”
“Fuck you. It’s for veterans.”
The muscles in my back tensed and my scars felt tight. “Since when do you give a shit about veterans?”
“I’m talking to you, asshole, aren’t I?”
I snorted. “Fair enough. What chick got you involved in this?” There was no way he’d think of this shit on his own. He was all about making money. It fucking drove him like the need to control drove me.
“I didn’t say a woman was involved,” he hedged.
“What restaurant?” I asked casually.
“Pietra’s.”
I laughed, hard. “You fucking dog, you’re going on a date. Does she know how you pay the bills?” No chick would put up with that.
“Just take care of my clients tonight,” he bit out.
“I do that and they won’t want to come back to you,” I taunted.
“Give it your best shot. I’ll still collect my twenty percent.”
“No way, one-time deal only. After that, I keep my earnings. Unlike you, I don’t do charity. Later.” I hung up and pulled into the underground parking of my condo as three texts came in from Vega. Each one was a name and number, but only one of the texts had two extra words. I stared at my cell.
Shy client.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with a shy client?
I pushed my car door open and bypassed the elevator for the stairs. Seventeen flights later, I’d graduated into obsessing about her. It wasn’t that I couldn’t think what the hell I’d do with her, it was that I could. A hundred fucking fantasies were working their way under my skin. I didn’t make it five feet into my condo before I’d tapped the number in the text to call it.
I walked to my balcony and stared at the ocean as it started to ring.
“Where are those files?” Coach yelled from his office.
“I’m sending them now.” I re-sent them for the third time. My boss was useless with a computer, which was fine because it kept me in a job. “Check your e-mail.”
The glass door to my office suite flew open.
Miami’s six-foot-four quarterback stomped in and slammed his hand down on my desk. “Here.”
I stiffened in my chair. “Mr. Ahlstrom.”
“Cut the bullshit, Sie. This is yours.” He lifted his hand to reveal the small turquoise blue box I’d mailed to him last week after he’d refused to take it back. “Don’t send it to me in the damn mail. Wear it.”
I hated the nickname almost as much as I hated my ex. And the fact that he was coming into my office where he could expose us and cost me my job only made me angrier. I glanced over my shoulder, but my boss was thankfully on the phone with his back turned. I lowered my voice. “Not only will I not wear that, it’s no longer mine.” He could take his stupid ring and throw it out for all I cared.
“I bought it for you. That’s what a man does for his girlfriend.”
“I’m not your girlfriend. I never was.” The cheating jerk.
“Who do you think you’re talking to? Do I look like some stupid farmer?”
Blond hair, blue eyes, designer clothes, he didn’t look like he was from Oklahoma. He looked like every other rich guy in Miami Beach. Except this rich guy was a quarterback prodigy on Miami’s professional football team, and he was throwing a temper tantrum.
“Keep your voice down.” I pretended to type something important on my laptop.
The anger in his tone bled into frustration, but he lowered his voice. “I picked that ring out for you.” He shoved the box right in front of me.
I ignored it. If he’d known me at all, he wouldn’t have picked an eight-carat monstrosity. It didn’t matter that it was lilac tinted or in a rose gold setting, the ring looked silly on my small hand. Maybe some women liked that sort of thing, but I wasn’t one of them.
I kept typing. “I’m sure you can take it back.” I wasn’t petty enough to tell him to give it to one of his cheerleader girlfriends.
“I don’t want to take it back. That’s the whole point.” He scrubbed a hand over his head. “I want you.”
Except he didn’t say he wanted me like he really wanted me. He said it like the words were a strain to push out, and I was done having this conversation.
“Should I let coach know you’re here?” I pretended to check my boss’s schedule. “I don’t see you on his calendar, but he might have a few minutes.” We both knew he had no reason to talk to the defensive coordinator.
“Sie—”
My cell phone rang quietly from my purse.
“Who’s calling you?” he demanded.
Unfortunately, he knew as well as I did that someone calling when it wasn’t him was rare. I kept to myself. Or I had until I made a stupid mistake four months ago and gone on a date with who I thought was a nice boy from Oklahoma.
“No one.” I took my phone out of my purse to turn it off, but Dan snatched it out of my hand.
Swiping his finger across the display, he held it to his ear. “Hello?” he barked.
“Dan,” I whisper hissed.
He smirked and tossed my phone on the desk. “Hang up.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond.
Coach stood in the doorway that separated his office from the small reception area where my desk was. “What do you want, Ahlstrom?”
My stomach bottomed out as I shoved the ring box into my purse.
Dan straightened with a smirk. “I had some plays I wanted to talk to you about, Coach.”
Coach looked between us and my breath caught. We all knew a quarterback had no reason to talk to the defensive coordinator about plays.
Coach tipped
his chin at Dan. “All right, you got five minutes. You can walk to the fields with me.” He barely spared me a glance. “Go home, Montclair. It’s Saturday.” He closed his office door.
I didn’t bother pointing out that he had me work seven days a week starting a month before the season and all the way through until the last game was played. Off season was a different story, but now, a few weeks before the season started? I was here every day of the week and half days on weekends. “See you tomorrow, sir.”
He grunted a response and ushered Dan out as my phone lit up with a new text.
I glanced down.
Sienna?
The text was from a number I didn’t recognize. I hesitated, but then I typed a response in case it was work related. All the defensive players had my number.
Who is this, please?
The three little dots that meant someone was typing a reply popped up, disappeared, then popped up again.
Jared Brandt. U had an appt with Alex tonight. Not anymore. I’m taking over.
My hands started to shake. I was barely able to type a response.
I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I knew exactly what he was talking about. After my fiasco with Dan, in a moment of weakness, I’d hired a male escort. I didn’t think it would lead to sex, but it did. Emotionless, no strings attached, no-demands sex. And when it was over, I didn’t feel dirty or tawdry or even regretful. I felt empowered and my heart hurt a whole lot less from the betrayal of a certain quarterback.
The escort, Alex, said we should meet again in a week. I’d said I was busy because I hadn’t planned on meeting him again. He’d casually mentioned he was free in two weeks, kissed my cheek and walked out of the hotel room I’d booked and paid for. That’d been exactly two weeks ago.
The dots appeared again.
Seriously. U need a picture?
A photo popped up and I sucked in a shocked breath.
Oh. My God.
With incredible light brown eyes with streaks of gold, and chiseled features any modeling agency would die for, Jared Brandt didn’t look a thing like the dark-haired, blue-eyed Alex Vega. He didn’t even smile like him. In fact, Jared didn’t smile at all. His dirty-blond hair was just messy enough to say he didn’t care as his intense gaze dared you to question it. He wasn’t merely handsome, he was striking.
