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Some connections can’t be bought—they have to be discovered.
Do you want to spice up your marriage? Or perhaps you have a cuckold fantasy? Whatever your desire or kink, call JD Pierce. Under his working name, Jasper has built a solid clientele and reputation. As JD Pierce, high-priced escort, he specializes in bringing bisexual fantasies to life. Sometimes a husband needs to be humiliated. Maybe a couple wants to be naughty and roleplay the seduction of an impressionable boy. Jasper, aka JD, is the man for the job.
Already experienced the story through Jasper’s eyes? Then maybe you’ll enjoy this bonus chapter from Nick’s perspective.
M.J. Edwards is the pen name for Robert Winter. Robert writes primarily gay contemporary romance. M.J. is the alter ego under which Robert gets to explore a more erotic side of romance, with combinations of characters along the LGBTQ spectrum. The stories are light on angst, heavy on sex, and a happy ending for all is my goal.
I love hearing from readers so please feel free to ask questions or make comments. You can email me at mjedwardsauthor@gmail.com or find me on Goodreads.
Excerpt from The Escort’s Tale, Chapter Two:
“Would you like to tell me how my name came up?” I ask, gauging that Alethia’s ready to discuss it.
She sets down her glass and darts glances left and right. Satisfied no one will overhear, she leans closer and speaks in a quiet, private voice. “Meredith is aware that my husband and I are facing some difficulties in our marriage. I mentioned to her recently over lunch that we’ve been struggling for a solution. She was very, um, detailed about her experiences with you.” Alethia blushes prettily. “And complimentary, as well.”
I smile at the circumspection. “Meredith has been a good client. I’m happy to hear she says nice things, since I don’t exactly ask for Yelp reviews.”
She snorts a little laugh, which I find charmingly awkward on such a chic woman. She puts a hand over her mouth to cover a grin. “I understand why, though that makes it tricky for, um…”
“Yes?” I prompt. “For someone in need of my services to find me?” I wink to show I take it lightly.
Alethia bobs her head in agreement. “I’d think in the internet age there’d be some sort of specialized rating service or booking site.”
There are a few actually, but I choose to avoid those. I don’t like the risk of zealous law enforcement having information about my working name or clientele. Word of mouth has always generated enough business for me anyway.
Since she seems more comfortable now, I dive in. “Why don’t you give me a general idea of what you’re looking for? We can discuss whether I’d be a good fit.”
Alethia inhales sharply and grabs her tea for a quick distraction. I wait her out again as she sips. Eventually, she places the glass back down with a sharp click and takes another glance around. She clasps her hands on the table top, as in prayer. I lean in, close enough to scent a trace of her delicate perfume. The essence of orange blossoms fills the air around her.
“My husband and I have been together for five years, nearly six,” she begins. “Nick has always been an avid rock climber. He played rugby, skied, competed in triathlons. Everything active like that you can think of. Eighteen months ago, he—”
She breaks off for a long moment to look at her entwined hands. Her knuckles gleam white, and I find myself reaching out to cover them with one of my own. She gives a shuddering breath at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.
“During a climb one afternoon on some cliffs, Nick had a bad fall when a handhold crumbled. The accident left him with a spinal cord injury. My husband uses a wheelchair now. He has paraplegia.”
I hear a sympathetic noise come out of me, entirely unplanned. She glances up to meet me eyes so I explain. “I’m sorry. I have a buddy from the Army who suffered an SCI. Rehab helped some, but it’s been a hard road for him.”
Alethia bites her lip and nods slowly. “It’s been…a learning process. Nick is strong-willed, though, and for the most part he’s adapted. We have home health aides to address his needs where he won’t accept my help. Also, we live in an apartment on a single floor that’s been made ready to accommodate his wheelchair.” She looks to where my hand still covers hers. “The problem is our sex life,” she whispers.