3 BOOK BOX SET The Escort Next Door Trilogy (Kindle Romance Box Sets)

by Clara James

  “Please, Arianna,” he groaned, his hips involuntary jerking.

  Taking a steady, slow inhale, I realized that there was no turning back. I had passed the point of no return. Of course, what I wouldn’t have admitted then was that I would not have turned back even if I could have. Forcing myself to breathe calmly, I slowly lowered my hips. David’s hands were sliding serenely over my lower back, occasionally dipping to caress the curve of my buttocks.

  I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, as I felt his domed tip begin to force its way inside me. I held still, giving my entrance a chance to adjust to the unfamiliarly significant girth. However, instead of the discomfort I expected to experience as he entered, the sensation was satisfying. Ready for him, my body wanted to be stretched and I instinctively sank deeper.

  “Ugh,” he groaned, his hands clasping my buttocks tightly. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “Hmm,” I moaned luxuriously, inching further and further until my outer lips met his firm pubic bone. Startled, I opened my eyes and snatched a glance down to our joined bodies. I was amazed that he was buried to the hilt, he was completely sheathed within me; filling me in a way that felt unbearably good.

  It obviously felt pretty good for him, too. His pupils were dilated, he was gasping heavily and his brow had a few beads of sweat. As he tipped his face to the ceiling, I watched his throat flex as he swallowed.

  Running my right hand down the length of his arm, I clasped his fingers between mine and lifted his hand to my mouth. Moistening my lips, I guided two of his fingers over my tongue, closing my mouth around them. When this caused his hips to thrust against mine, I sucked hard on them.

  “Arianna,” he whispered, his head thrusting forward. His tongue moved frantically between my breasts, following the curve of one before moving to the center and latching onto the nipple. He gently grazed it with his teeth before tapping it with the tip of his tongue. It grew harder under his attention, painfully so.

  “Ahh,” I cried, releasing his hand. Writhing, I rubbed my slick clit against his rigid body. I couldn’t hold back any longer. With a suddenness that surprised even me, I forced my thighs into action, lifting my body, before hurriedly slapping back down. This time, as his dick slid into my wet passage, it seemed to go deeper. “Ugh,” I grunted as my ass slapped against his thighs.

  David tried to keep his mouth on my breasts, lapping and sucking as best he could at the moving target.

  Needing the leverage, I put my hands back on his shoulder and began to bounce up and down on his thick, stiff shaft. As he buried his face in my cleavage, I wrapped my hands around his head, enjoying the feel of his panted breath against my skin.

  My own lungs were expelling air in excited shrieks and squeals. Soon, my legs no longer had the strength to lift me to the top of his penis. Instead, I could only manage feeble shallow thrusts.

  David began to help me, his hands guiding my hips and supporting some of my weight. However, his motions had become equally rapid and uncoordinated. As his grunts and my cries rose and combined, he lifted his face to mine.

  I peered down at his sweaty expression, my breasts jiggling around so violently that they were slapping against the underside of his chin.

  “Ugh, God. You’re so hot,” he panted. “Arianna, you’re...you’re so fucking hot.”

  “Ahhh,” I cried, an extra strong jolt against his pubic bone sending waves of orgasm through me.

  As my internal muscles spasmed and clamped him, David began to desperately buck beneath me. “Yes,” he groaned. “Ugh, Christ!” His hands tightened at my hips, fingertips digging into the thin flesh.

  Aftershocks caused me to jerk and writhe against him for several more seconds, while our pounding hearts began to slow. I could feel his pulse pressed against my right breast and remember marveling, just for a moment, at the fact our hearts seemed to be racing in time with each other.

  Eventually, I grew still. My butt falling to his lap and my sex pressed as close to his as I could get. My arms were wrapped tightly around him, unwilling or perhaps unable to let go. His softening shaft was still tucked snugly within me and I was in no hurry to break the spell of calm, comfort and serenity that had descended over the two of us.

  “Are you okay?” he softly asked, his hands making lazy patterns up my spine.

  With a ridiculous smile on my face, I nodded, knowing he would feel the movement against the side of his face. “I’m good,” I said, my voice thick and weary. “Was it okay for you?” I quickly added, remembering suddenly that I’d been moving to the demands of my own body; chasing an orgasm for myself without the conscious awareness that the only person that mattered was him – the paying customer.

  “Are you kiddin’?” he laughed. “God,” he sighed. “That was incredible.”

  “Are you sure?” I insisted, releasing my hold of him enough to tip back and look at his face.

  “Arianna,” he said, shaking his head with amusement. “I haven’t had an orgasm like that in a long time.”

  “Me neither.” The words slipped out before I had a chance to hold them back. “I mean,” I added, wanting to backtrack, but unsure how to without offending him. Giving up the search for something that would make me sound more experienced, I shrugged. “I guess, I mean exactly what I said,” I sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that.”

  “You know,” he said, with his lopsided smile. “Coming from any other woman who does what you do, I would think that you were just telling the client what he wants to hear,” he continued. “But I believe you. And I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.”

  “Really?” I asked, cocking my head to one side. The fact that we were still joined, still naked, entwined in each other’s arms didn’t seem in the least bit odd. Instead, talking to him like that felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was more relaxed than I’d been all day, more relaxed than I’d felt for months, maybe even years.

  “A woman’s orgasm,” he began, his eyes drifting to a spot on the wall behind me, “is beyond beautiful. It’s beyond sexy. It’s one of those rare special, fleeting moments when life seems to make sense; my life seems to make sense, you know?” he finished, nervously searching my face for understanding.

  “Yeah,” I offered quietly, “I guess I do.”

  “What are we all here for if it’s not to give and receive pleasure from each other?” he added. “I don’t mean just sex, and I don’t mean seeking pleasure when it’s going to hurt someone else. But those moments that make us feel alive, those are what are precious.”

  I nodded silently, ruminating on what he’d said. In a nutshell, he’d summed up the job of an escort. Companionship was a form of pleasure; sexual gratification was quite obviously a source of it, too. The role of an escort was to bring some of those precious experiences to another human being.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all men who hired call girls were as nice or as affectionate as David, but maybe they weren’t all as sex-crazed and selfish as I’d assumed either.

  “Anyway,” he said, nudging my thoughts aside. “I guess, I’d better,” he muttered, tilting his head toward his groin, “take that off.”

  “Oh, right,” I blurted, suddenly remembering the condom that was still covering him and now filled. “Then, I guess I’d better get up,” I stated obviously, sliding my hands back onto his shoulders, which were clammy with drying sweat, and pushing my lower half off his lap.

  His hands remained securely on my waist as I rocked back and placed my feet on the ground. “I...umm,” he grinned, his eyes moving appreciatively up and down my body. “I hope to make you come like that again before the night is out.”

  “Huh?” I quizzically muttered, glancing at the digital clock on the bedside. There were another three hours of David’s time with me. Did it make me even more of a whore that I smiled like the Cheshire cat when I realized that?

  ***

  It was almost three in the morning when I eventually got
home. I’d ended up staying an extra half an hour with David. It was time I’d assured him he didn’t need to pay for, especially since he’d promised to hire me again next time he was in town. In fact, he’d even suggesting flying me across the country to spend evenings with him elsewhere. With the kids and trying to keep my moonlighting secret, out of state trips would have proven difficult. However, I was certainly keen and said I’d think about it. In any case, he insisted on paying for the additional thirty minutes, and while his hand was in his wallet he grabbed some cash for my cab fare.

  By the time I wandered into my kitchen and poured myself a mug of herbal tea, the effects of the alcohol had well and truly worn off. However, I was not as tired as I’d expected to feel. In fact, quite the reverse, I was wide awake. I felt energized, I was on a strange kind of high, the like of which I’d never known.

  Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to actually enjoy selling my body. Never had I imagined that a man who pays women for sex, could be a more tender, considerate and affectionate lover than my own husband. David was possibly better in bed than Paul had ever been; sex with him had definitely been better than the last few years with Paul.

  More importantly, I told myself, I had a little over two thousand dollars in my purse. I’d need much more to be completely free of Paul, but it was a great start.

  The positive experience with David had renewed my enthusiasm for the idea. Not all clients would be like him, that was obvious. But I’d learned something important about myself; I could do it. I could have sex with a stranger, sex with no real attachment. If I’d done it once, I could do it again. And, there was a chance that there were more David’s out there; more men who wanted an uncomplicated evening, but who still treated women with respect. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that men who use escorts do view women with respect. It’s men who pick up any girl in a bar, tell her what she wants to hear, then disappears in the morning and spends the next month dodging her calls, who have little or no respect for women.

  An escort’s clients are, at least, honest; they’re frank about what they want and they’re willing to pay a fair price for a girl’s time. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t anything like as sleazy and degrading as I’d first assumed. Perhaps I was just trying to make myself feel better, because I was now one of those women I’d considered degraded, but I truly believe that my eyes had been opened that night.

  And that wasn’t the only thing.

  Sex had never been a particular preoccupation of mine. During the first stages of our adult relationship, Paul and I had sex quite frequently and I enjoyed it. I especially liked the fact that it seemed to make him so happy. However, I didn’t ‘get it’. I could not understand why women craved sex, why they would put themselves in dangerous situations to seek it out. It was fine; it was nice, but it wasn’t the earthshaking experience so many people seemed to think.

  In the most unexpected of places, my earth had been shaken. I understood it now with a clarity I could never have believed. I had left David completely satisfied, relaxed and happier than I’d felt in months. But in the quiet of my kitchen, the desire was building already. Yes, I wanted the money, I wanted to secure a future for me and the children – those were my prime concerns.

  But I’d be lying if I said the thrill of what I’d done hadn’t sparked a sort of addiction. I wanted more sex, uncomplicated sex with no attachments; pure pleasure without hurting anyone else.

  The Escort Next Door: Captivated

  by

  Clara James

  Copyright © 2013 by Clara James

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Escort Next Door: Captivated

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

  This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Clara James, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Clara James prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Prologue

  Julia Hayes thought she'd married the perfect man; her high school sweetheart, the only guy she'd ever loved. The pair married young and within two years, Julia had given birth to their first child. Eight years and another two children later, Julia's husband has been made CEO of the successful family business.

  The couple now seems to have everything; a beautiful little family, dream home and absolutely no financial worries. However, Julia had started to notice a change in Paul, something she initially put down to the long hours and extra stress of taking his father's place as head of the company. But what she believed was just a phase dragged on into weeks and, eventually, months.

  Then, during one of his frequent business trips, she found something that explained his coldness and disinterest in intimacy: an empty condom wrapper. Desperate to find out what had been going on, she searched his things and discovered that he hadn't just been having one affair. For several months, he'd been having a string of one-night stands every time he went out of town.

  Devastated, Julia determines to leave him. But before she's able to pack a bag, she realizes there's a problem. She has no job, no money of her own; she'd been a stay-at-home mom ever since their firstborn had arrived. Worse still, she'd signed a prenuptial agreement that ensures she gets nothing if she and Paul divorce. With three children to support, she was trapped. That is until her best friend proposed an interesting suggestion: stripping.

  Exotic dancers can make a lot of money, in a relatively short time. Against her better judgment, Julia seriously begins to consider this is an option. However, she's forced to abandon the idea when she realizes her chances of getting caught are too high. Soon, a new idea surfaces. The clients of escorts are much more discreet than men who frequent strip clubs, and she could earn at least double what she would have done dancing.

  It seems like the perfect solution. The only drawback was the thought of selling her body to strange men. Until the night with her first client, Julia had never slept with anyone other than her husband. She was nervous, petrified, in fact. But, as she begins to lose herself in the role, she learns there is a side of her that she hadn't ever really explored; a sluttish and sensual side.

  With her first $2,000, she goes home and is already eagerly anticipating her next 'date'.

  Chapter One

  Pretend

  When Paul arrived home later that afternoon, it was difficult to look at him. The images of him with that blonde girl loomed heavily in my brain, and my imagination was fertile in picturing what he'd been up to on his latest trip. The only thing that stopped me from clawing the walls was the knowledge of what I had done in turn.

  I would not have dreamed of being unfaithful to him before. But 'before' seemed like another lifetime ago. He was different, I was different. Everything had changed.

  As I made dinner, he drifted into the kitchen, picking up a raw chunk of carrot and chewing on it noisily. “Kids said they spent last night at my parents,” he noted, his words muffled with the crunching.

  “Yeah,” I replied, casually. “Your mom thought I was having a tough time coping, didn't think I was keeping the house in order.” I didn't bother to look at him as I spoke; my head was dipped to the sink, my gaze focused on the potatoes I wa
s peeling. What I'd told him was the truth. Carole had been only too happy when I called and admitted I needed help. Of course, she gloated for the better part of thirty minutes, but that was a small price to pay.

  “Oh, right,” he said disinterestedly. “So, you spent the night cleaning?” It was spoken skeptically and I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was glancing around the large open plan kitchen and dining area.

  Carefully placing the knife down on the edge of the sink, I lifted the bowl of peelings and slid it on the counter. “The children have been back for six hours,” I explained, shrugging. “Trying to keep a home clean with three under ten year olds, is like brushing your teeth at the same time as eating an Oreo,” I informed him, swiping at the bangs that were getting a little too long and falling into my eyes. “You should try it sometime,” I added a little tartly, flashing a sarcastic smile at him.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he said, not looking at me but focusing on his finger as he drew invisible circles on the granite island in the middle of the room. I realized as he did that that he looked just like Dylan. Our son hadn't copied him, because Paul didn't use to behave evasively and sulkily like that. No, he'd regressed since our children came into the world.

  “What?” I sighed, still focusing on my task.

  “You've been...” he hovered over the words, waiting for another to come. “You've been different,” he mumbled, “since I got back.”

  “I don't know what you mean,” I breezily replied, reaching up to open a cupboard.

  “You're usually happier to see me,” he responded, still moodily staring at his hand.

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the gravy powder and placed it on the counter. “I am happy to see you,” I told him flatly, realizing when the sound hit my ears that it was probably the least convincing thing I'd ever said. “I'm just busy.”