Third Wheel

by Lynn Burke

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Lynn Burke

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-286-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For my fellow EP authors who inspire and encourage me to no end. Love you all!

  THIRD WHEEL

  Elite Escorts, 1

  Lynn Burke

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  Reid

  Same as before, Mrs. Kimball answered the door, a sheer nightgown falling mid-thigh offering me an eyeful of large, dark nipples and the trimmed patch of hair between her thighs.

  “Reid.” She breathed my name and stepped back, the slight lines around her eyes crinkling with her smile.

  “Mrs. Kimball,” I said, stepping past her. I’d been in that particular hotel suite before—every first Friday of the previous four months since signing on with Elite Escorts.

  I sold myself for sex. Or, rather, Elite paid me to satisfy the customers whose requests fit my profile: Tall, dark, and handsome … and a professional third wheel. Easy, enjoyable money, every time.

  I followed Mrs. Kimball into the sunken sitting area where her husband lounged, butt naked on the white leather couch, a tumbler of scotch in hand. A good twenty or so years older than me, Mr. Kimball kept himself in good shape. Tanned, still ripped, a full head of hair, and in no need of little blue pills. The old man always gave me a run for the money with his wife moaning between us, but while he had stamina, I bounced back ten times faster. Youth, he explained. He often enjoyed watching the second time around, a similar finger or two of scotch in hand.

  “Mr. Sullivan,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Tina has been panting for you all week.”

  “Is that a fact?” I quirked a brow at his wife while sitting. Cheeks flushed and nipples poking out in greeting, she lowered her head, hands clasped in front of her.

  “Mmm.” Mr. Kimball swallowed some of his liquor. “That’s a fact.”

  I loosened my tie before settling back into the leather seat. “On your knees, Buttercup.” Mrs. Kimball hardly resembled a little yellow flower, but that’s the pet name I’d been supplied with. Her dark hair and eyes and maiden name of Romano betrayed her heritage.

  I rested my forearms on the chair’s armrests while she sank to her knees between my thighs and unbuckled my belt. Before she even reached her slender hand into my slacks, my cock thickened, swelling to attention.

  God, could the woman give a blowjob like no other. Her warm, wet mouth closed around me, and I let out a groan.

  “Talented little whore, isn’t she?” Mr. Kimball asked with a chuckle.

  My agreement came out as a grunt as Buttercup’s teeth scraped along me with the perfect amount of pressure.

  A voyeur like few I’d met, Mr. Kimball got off on watching his wife submit to another man. He’d never raised a hand to her, no matter how much she’d begged—or so they’d told me—and that was when their marriage counselor suggested an unusual form of therapy.

  I’d been given their file, and upon seeing the forty-something Italian beauty, I’d said “hell yes” to a night of debauchery with her and her willing husband. The three of us had eased right into a comfortable involvement that they booked me for the next six months.

  Mrs. Kimball’s dark hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and I tangled a hand in the strands, taking control before I blew my load. She reached inside my slacks and grabbed hold of my balls, rolling and squeezing in time with the bob of her head and wet mouth.

  “So good, Buttercup. Your mouth feels fucking amazing.”

  She hummed her pleasure over my praise, and my balls drew up, straining my cock deep in her throat. Within thirty seconds, I yanked her up by her hair, and her mouth came off me with a pop. Lips parted, they glistened with saliva and pre-cum. Even though I’d jerked off two hours before to ensure I’d hold out as long as Mr. Kimball, his wife’s talented mouth took me to the edge faster than any woman I’d ever met.

  “Your husband looks a little lonely.” I forced her head around toward him. “Go suck his cock.”

  Like a good little sub, she crawled across the plush rug between us men, her nightgown rising above her round ass. Wetness coated her pussy and upper thighs.

  I tugged my tie off and started on my shirt’s buttons while Mrs. Kimball’s head nestled between her husband’s thighs. He swigged his scotch, face impassive, seeming unmoved as he watched her.

  “You can do better than that, Buttercup,” I said, standing to shove down my slacks. One yank freed my belt, and I dropped the pants to the floor, folding the leather strip in half. “Hollow those cheeks and suck him hard. Lube him up good.”

  Mr. Kimball’s gaze rose to me as I drew near, arm lifting. I let loose, the crack of leather on skin causing both Kimballs to jump.

  A shudder rippled down the missus’s body, and she moaned around her husband’s cock.

  “Like that do you?” I asked, my cock jerking as she groaned her agreement. Two more quick swats and her ass reddened like a cherry.

  A sheen of sweat rose on Mr. Kimball’s brow and he clenched his jaw. He sat still like a fucking pro, though, as his wife worked him over.

  “Enough,” I said.

  An explosion of breath left Mr. Kimball as his wife backed off, rocking onto her heels.

  “Take off the nightie,” I said, gaze on Mr. Kimball as his wife stood and slipped free of the silk covering her lush curves. He stared at her like a man possessed, longing and something beyond mere lust in his eyes. A flame of jealousy licked at my chest. I wanted what they had—commitment, honesty, and passion.

  I’d never been lucky in love, though.

  “Face me, but straddle him,” I said, moving toward the couple. “Sit on his cock. Take him balls deep.”

  Gaze on my jutting hard-on, Buttercup started to sit, lower lip between her teeth. Mr. Kimball grabbed hold of her flared hips and slammed her down onto him. Both of their groans ricocheted through me, and I palmed my cock, rubbing my thumb over the bead of pre-cum at its tip.

  I stepped closer and held out my thumb. Buttercup licked it clean.

  “More,” she whispered as her husband moved her up and down, her full tits bouncing with each thrust.

  Shaking my head, I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t deserve more.” She pouted, but I ignored her pleading look. “Mr. Kimball told me you’ve been a naughty girl this week.”

  Her mouth opened but snapped shut as I ran my belt along her cheek and down her neck to her breasts. Eyes closing, she moaned over the wet sucking noises of their fucking.

  I flicked the leather against one bare breast then the other, and she jerked back against her husband’s chest.

  Perfect.

  Dropping the belt, I kneeled, eyeing her protruding clit. “No coming until I say so.”

  Mr. Kimball’s thrusts slowed, and I leaned forward, latching my mouth onto his wife’s clit. I sucked, nibbled, and licked her senseless. She thrashed, and Mr. Kimball released his hold on her hips, arms wrapping around her to still her movements.

  The slow gyrations of his hips and my lips and tongue had her panting and whimpering. “I’m going to come.” She gasped, but I pulled back and swatt
ed her clit. “P-please.” Her heated, glazed eyes met mine. “Please, Sir.”

  I stood. “On the floor, Mr. Kimball. Buttercup is going to ride you like it’s her last day on earth.”

  They both complied, Mr. Kimball stretching out on the plush rug, abs tight, soaked cock pulsing. His wife impaled herself without hesitation, her deep groan tightening my balls. I grabbed the lube and condom Mr. Kimball had set out per my instructions in an earlier text.

  Gaze on Mrs. Kimball’s sweet, jiggly ass, I sheathed myself and kneeled behind her. A little reach around action and a pinch of my fingers, and she whimpered another, “please.”

  “Has she earned her reward yet, Mr. Kimball?” I asked, squirting lube onto my hand and slicking my cock.

  “Yes.” He ground out the word, and I pushed Buttercup forward to lay over his chest.

  I’d learned the first time with the Kimballs that the wife preferred a brutal fucking rather than slow and easy, so I grabbed her hips to still her jerky movements against her husband’s cock and slammed into her tight ass until my balls brushed against Mr. Kimball’s.

  She cried out and tried to move, but I held her in a vise grip and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Your pleasure belongs to us, Buttercup.”

  I nodded at her husband, and on his thrust, I backed off, leaving only my mushroom tip within her tight ring. I plunged back in, Mr. Kimball retreating in perfect harmony with my movement. We fucked her hard and fast, heavy breaths, groans, and the wet slapping of skin filling my ears.

  Mr. Kimball’s jaw clenched, sweat dripped down his temples. His wife gasped with each exhale as I slammed into her tight ass. I slapped both cheeks to take my mind off my seized-up balls begging to explode. One more slap and I reached my limit.

  “You have my permission to come, Buttercup.” The words rasped from my throat and Mrs. Kimball’s guttural scream brought a satisfied smirk to my lips—and a massive explosion of cum into the condom.

  ****

  Showered and redressed, I crept down the hallway past the open bedroom door to let myself out. Mr. and Mrs. Kimball lay entwined beneath a thin sheet, her head on his chest, lips parted as soft snores emitted between them. At Mr. Kimball’s mouthed “thank you,” I dipped my head. He sighed and closed his eyes, his arms wrapping around his wife, a smile relaxing his face.

  A few minutes later, my truck roared to life beneath me. I pulled out of the parking garage and into Boston’s downtown, discontent washing over me as rain splattered the windshield.

  For four months, I’d been having a shit load of sex in every way and every place imaginable. I’d lost count after the sixth week of how many orifices my cock had become well acquainted with. Living every man’s dream, I should have been riding the top of the world.

  Fucking empty. The thought pinged between my ears with each rain drop.

  Seeing the Kimballs lying together in satiated contentment, sharing a bond I’d never experienced, twisted my stomach like a knife stab. I heaved a breath as the darkness of the Sumner Tunnel surrounded me, cutting off the pounding rain.

  Jealousy, pure and simple. I craved what my favorite clients had. An open, honest relationship, but I’d never been any good at them with a single woman. A countless heap of failed relationships littered my past, broken promises of picket fences and rainbow-colored roses for a lifetime.

  “Face it, Sullivan,” I mumbled to myself as rain once more slapped at my windshield, “you weren’t made for that kind of life.”

  Chapter Two

  Jessica

  Praying the transferred call was for a sale, I put on my headset and smiled while clicking on the insurance quote shortcut on my work computer. “This is Jessica Lindy. How can I help you today?”

  “Sorry to bother you at work, Jessica—”

  I heaved a breath, my eyelids closing.

  “—but Skye is running a high fever, and someone needs to come pick her up.”

  Worry overshadowed my disappointment. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I disconnected the call and pulled off my headset. “This is when having a family close by would be a huge help,” I mumbled to myself, spinning around in my chair.

  Christine, Gemberling Insurance’s future owner and my immediate boss, sat in the large cubicle behind mine against the building’s back wall where she could oversee the agents—myself included. Her father, the business owner, had offered her one of the glass-enclosed offices to my right, but Christine liked to keep an eye on her ‘flock’ as she called us. I knew the truth about my friend, though. She loved being in the thick of the action.

  I caught her attention over the counter hiding her desk from view and waited for her call to end.

  “What’s up, Jessica?” she asked, after disconnecting.

  “Skye is running a fever again.”

  “Damnit.” She tossed down her pen. “You don’t have any sick or personal days left.”

  “I know.” I bit the inside of my lip.

  “Since my dad hasn’t retired yet, I’m not officially the boss and can’t help you out.”

  My heart sank at the prospect of a cut, much-needed paycheck, but at least Christine wouldn’t fire me. “I understand.”

  She glanced up at the clock over the front door. “It’s close enough to your lunch break. I’ll make sure you get a half day’s pay.”

  Tears stung my eyelids. “Thanks.”

  Compassion softened her green-eyed gaze. “Go get your little bossy-boo and give her some cuddles. Hopefully, she’s feeling better by Monday so you won’t have to miss any more work.”

  Still choked up, I nodded and spun back around in my chair to shut down my computer and gather my things.

  The cold spring day in Massachusetts had required a heavy coat when the office had opened at eight, but I draped it over my arm when stepping out into the bright sunshine. My twelve-year-old Camry hesitated, spitting and sputtering before coming to life. Heaving a huge breath, I shifted and left my saving grace behind.

  Stomach in knots, I pulled onto the highway and headed north on Route 1, mind on the medicine cabinet in my apartment. I had a little children’s Tylenol, but not much. The drug store came into view ahead, and I decided I’d better stop just in case Skye ended up being sick for a few days.

  Two minutes later, generic grape Tylenol and a granola bar for my lunch in hand, I headed toward the cash register. The local newspaper caught my eye, and I stumbled.

  Attempted Prison Break.

  I shifted my gaze to the pictures of the two convicts, their black and white mugs taking up most of the front page. Heart thudding in my chest, I grabbed one.

  Attempted prison break … Devon Martin … foiled by fellow inmate…

  “Thank God.” The ragged whisper ripped from my throat. I crumpled the paper in my hand and let out an unsteady breath while putting my items on the counter. My fingers shook as I handed over payment, my mind a buzz of flitting thoughts, my emotions tumbling over the other.

  My ex had been found guilty of bank robbery two and a half years earlier and had spent the time since then behind bars—thanks to me.

  We’d been together for five, rocky years, the early ones of which I’d spent trying to help him grow out of his spoiled, controlling nature. Unfortunately, he turned to drugs to ease his woes, and like a blind idiot, I stayed in the hopes of healing the only man who had ever claimed to love me.

  Broke and needing a fix, he’d robbed a bank and would have gotten away with it if I hadn’t recognized his face on the fuzzy security picture the news showed a day later. By that time, I’d felt enough of his barbed words and the occasional fists that I decided turning him in would be for his own good.

  Three days after he was thrown into prison, I’d found out I was pregnant and decided to write him with the news. He’d scrawled a reply—a few half-ineligible words about my being a whore and that he wasn’t the father. The final line about getting back at me for what I’d done to him had choked the air from my lungs, prompting me to
uproot and go into hiding.

  Once inside the privacy of my car again, I allowed my tears to fall. Skye had become my reason for living. My toddler mini-me filled my life with joy even if I had ended up like I said I never would … just like my mom. Single and trying to raise a kid on my own. Throw in a jaded heart, and I reminded myself of her too much for comfort.

  Barely scraping by on a small paycheck, and having to cut my hours short…

  Pull up your big girl panties.

  I swiped the tears from my cheeks, gritted my teeth, and started the car. Feeling-sorry-for-myself time was over. I needed to focus on the important things in life.

  ****

  Skye ran a raging fever over the weekend and ended up so exhausted that I had to take two more days off work without pay. I’d planned on doing my budget and bills the following Saturday, but when Christine handed me my check right before my lunch break on Friday, I peeked to find it wasn’t anywhere near enough to cover what needed to be paid. Playing catch up always sucked ass.

  Skye and I will be eating box mac and cheese all next week, I thought while stuffing my check in my purse and heading to the tiny lunchroom down the back hall.

  I wanted Skye to have a better life than me, have opportunities my mother couldn’t afford to provide. Bad enough, my daughter didn’t have a father—and I wasn’t interested in finding her one, either.

  Sitting down at the square table, peanut butter and apricot jelly on wheat in hand, I blew out a breath between my lips. Men. Dating.

  What a joke. I tore a bite off my sandwich and stared at the water cooler. I’d tried a dating site once but gave up after a week. It seemed every guy on there was only out for a hookup—certainly not a ready-made family.

  I hadn’t broken the cycle, but Skye would. Even if I had to eat ramen noodles for the rest of my life.