Titolo: Blurred Lines
Autore: Breena Wilde
Genere: New Adult, romance, erotico
Trama: Hooking has four important rules.
1. Cash only.
2. Use protection.
3. Carry mace.
4. Don’t fall in love.
Twenty-year-old Cadence is a prostitute and she lives by the rules. They keep her alive and they keep her heart protected. But when she agrees to take one last job to get out from under her pimp, she discovers some of the rules might be worth breaking.
1. Cash only.
2. Use protection.
3. Carry mace.
4. Don’t fall in love.
Twenty-year-old Cadence is a prostitute and she lives by the rules. They keep her alive and they keep her heart protected. But when she agrees to take one last job to get out from under her pimp, she discovers some of the rules might be worth breaking.
Breena Wilde has been writing for more than ten years. She’s sold more than half a million books in the last year under another name. Breena’s had a lot of jobs. She’s flipped burgers, worked in a hotel, and spent time managing people in customer service. She’s lived everywhere, from Taiwan and New York, to California and Virginia, but Wyoming is home. Writing is the best job ever!!! BLURRED LINES is the first of many in her erotic new adult series.
#1
My pimp told me to wear a party dress.
The only one I have is tight, lacy red, and cuts about mid-thigh. I style and
dry my hair until it’s shiny and curls gently at the ends. When I’m finished I
walk out of the bathroom.
“What do you think?”
Jessica, who’s still sleeping, rolls
over and groans. She pushes her hair off her face and smiles. “You look smokin’
hot. Dayum. I’d tap that.”
“Thanks. Which shoes though? The red
ones?” I hold up seven-inch platform shoes. “Or these black ones.” They’re also
seven-inch heels and patent leather.
“The black ones, for sure. They’ll look
perfect with your outfit and hair.” She climbs out of bed. She’s wearing a
black thong and a white tank.
I slide on the shoes and grab my black
bag.
“You got enough condoms?” she asks,
taking her shower bag into the bathroom. “I bought a new box yesterday. They’re
under my bed, or maybe on my bed.” She shakes her fingers through her hair.
“They’re somewhere over there.”
“Thanks, Jessica. I’m still good.” At
the door, I pause. Jessica turns on the water. The automatic coffee pot—our one
splurge—kicks on and I sigh contentedly. When I come home in the morning, I’ll
no longer be someone’s bitch. I’ll be my own person, obligated to no one. That
one thought pushes out any worry about what Fileze has in store with the man
I’m seeing tonight.
#2
John turns and smiles, flashing a dimple
in his right cheek. I can’t get over how hot he is. My knees weaken of their
own volition and I curse myself. Gorgeous doesn’t mean good. He could be a
total asshole.
“Everything’s taken care of. My only
rule is you must always wear a condom.” The way he looks at me, like I’m a new
and exotic bird, makes me nervous. But no matter what, I can’t break that rule.
“Is that acceptable?” I hold my breath, waiting. Hoping, even.
He steps forward. “Works for me. Do you
mind if I shower first, um… what’s your name?”
When I first started this whole
prostitute thing I debated going with different names with every guy, and I
usually do. Just whatever name that comes to mind. But when John asks, the only
name that comes to mind is my own.
“Cadence,” I blurt, and blush.
He steps forward and I realize he’s
still a head taller than me, even with my seven-inch heels. I glance up.
“You’re John, right?”
He chuckles warmly. “That’s me.”
“Awesome,” I say and breathe. John seems
really nice.
“I’m going to shower now. Make yourself
at home. There’s wine and cheese on the table over there.” He points toward a
wall, but it isn’t a wall at all. It’s windows. The curtains are open and I can
see the glow of the lights from the city.
John turns away and walks through a set
of double doors.
“Okay,” I respond. It’s strange that he
seems nice. And I can’t help but wonder where the catch is. Fileze wouldn’t
have made this easy on me.
I check my phone. There’s another text
from Fileze: You there yet?
I quickly text back: Yeah. Gonna sign off for the night. Don’t
worry. I’ll take good care of him.
Once my phone is off, I set down my
purse and walk to the window. The view is kick ass beautiful. Dark sky against
the bright city lights. It’s amazing and takes my breath away. I stare at the
scenery, lost in my thoughts. Then notice the cheese platter. I take a piece
and chew slowly. It’s good. Creamy.
It seems like John has been in the
shower for a long time. I walk to the entrance of the bedroom. There’s a
king-sized bed with luxurious bedding and pillows covering it. The water from
the shower is still running and I make a decision.
Running back into the living room, I
grab my purse. Then I kick off my shoes and unzip my dress, sliding out of it.
I walk into the bathroom feeling bold. This is my last night as the bitch to
Fileze the Sleaze. I’m going to rock this guy so hard there won’t be any
excuses.
I gently open the door. It’s steamy. The
mirrors and the glass on the shower door fogged over. I place my purse on the
counter and walk over to the shower. I can see his head. His blond hair
darkened by water. I pull the door open. He turns my direction and his blue
eyes slowly drink me in.
“Mind if I join you?” I wait, suddenly shy for
him to agree, wondering if he’d rather have some privacy.
#3
“So how are we going to do this?” I ask,
feeling slightly woozy.
“I’ve got that worked out too.” John
puts an arm around my waist and helps me into the waiting wheelchair. He pushes
me down the hall. “We’re going to go out the back door. There’s a limo waiting.
I’ll drive you back to the hotel so you can get your stuff and then we’ll drive
you home.”
“You rock.”
“So do you,” he responds.
We reach the doors and he struggles to
push them open.
“I can walk,” I say, feeling frustrated.
“No, I promised the doc I’d wheel you
all the way to the car. It’s hospital policy.”
“Fine,” I grudgingly agree.
As soon as the doors are open, we’re
swarmed with paparazzi. Apparently going out the back door doesn’t deter
anybody.
“What happened?” one shouts.
“Is it true she’s a prostitute?” another
asks.
John doesn’t say anything. He whispers
in my ear. “Keep your head down.”
I’m already doing that. I’ve no desire
to be on the cover of some tabloid.
“John, there are millions of women who
would happily spend time with you. Why did you feel it was necessary to pay a
whore?”
We’re at the limo and a guy has the door
open. John locks the wheelchair and helps me in.
I study his face, worried. He looks
angry.
“You okay?” I ask him quietly.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento