Booty Call (Forbidden Bodyguards #2) By: Ainsley Booth
I know what I’m doing when I text Scott at four in the morning.
He knows what I’m doing, too.
That’s why he shows up twenty-three minutes later, freshly showered with a condom in his pocket and a barely dissolved breath mint on his tongue.
I smirk as he looms over me. “You are such a dirty old man.”
“We need to stop doing this.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re twenty and I’m not. Because I want to take you on a f*ck
ing date and you won’t. Because we wind up yelling at each other half the time.”
“But the rest of the time you’re inside me and it feels so good, right?”
His eyes darken and I don’t need to look down to know he’s hard for me.
I love that.
This isn’t me. That’s the crazy part.
I’m taunting my sister’s ex-bodyguard, working him into a lather in the hopes that he’ll f*ck
me so hard I won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.
It’s a dangerous game—my new favorite, because it’s secret. This pleasure? I hold it close.
I haven’t told my sister, and she’s my best friend.
I never will, either. Because when I do, this will end.
And I’m definitely not ready for this to end.
We’ve only just gotten started.
— —
Booty Call is a standalone romance in my Forbidden Bodyguards series (previously called The Horus Group series, but the world has gotten bigger than that now!). If you haven’t read Hate F*@k, then this will be your first time meeting Scott and Alison. You can pause here and go back and read Hate F*@k—it’s pretty good!—or you can circle back to that once you’ve enjoyed this.
This is not a dark romance (the hot pink cover might have been your first clue), but it is dirty. Super dirty, in places. So consider this your fair warning. I won’t apologize for the number of F-bombs or depraved acts, they entertain me too much.
And finally, if you’ve read dirty in the BANGED anthology, yes, Wilson’s story is next. These books take me a while to write, and I appreciate your patience. (If you haven’t read that, grab it now! Limited time availability, and it won’t be releasing on its own until Dirty Love comes out in the summer)
If you like these books, I highly recommend you give my contemporary romance alter-ego a try. As Zoe York, I write men in and out of uniform, and the heat level is pretty high. Not “how hard can I take you there” high, but still pretty scorching. I recommend you start with Fall Fast, a one-night stand at O’Hare Airport, or Where Their Hearts Collide, which features dirty phone sex and a heroine who discovers the power in super-dirty blow jobs.
All the best,
Ainsley
www.ainsleybooth.com
—dedication—
For everyone who has ever wanted to put pen to paper and bring their fantasies to life, with a special nod to all the dirty men and women who’ve published stories on Literotica
And Tumblr—we can’t forget about the filthy GIF makers, too! I ? exhibitionists! Be sure to check out the postscript at the end for my secret Tumblr inspiration page.
BOOTY CALL
part one
NEW YORK
—one—
FEBRUARY
Alison
Happy birthday to me.
I’m supposed to be having an epic shop-a-thon with my sister in SoHo, but now we're stuck at the Apple store because Hailey needs someone to fix her phone. Her fiancé Cole will have a fit if she’s off the grid.
God forbid. It’s not like she isn’t being shadowed everywhere by her bodyguard—big, brooding Scott Mayfair, of the dark, dirty looks and annoyingly consistent hands-off-Alison attitude—for our “girls weekend”. But her phone stopped working at lunch, so now Hailey’s waiting for a so-called genius to help her fix it.
Me?
I’m going to take advantage of the fact that Scott can’t leave Hailey’s side and go buy myself a present.
“I’m just heading around the corner,” I murmur to my sister. She knows where I’m going. Every time we come to the city, I visit the Mercer Street Agent Provocateur. It’s become my little ritual.
Alison Dashford Reid, all grown up and secretly wearing something naughty beneath her studious university student uniform of yoga pants and hoodies. Although that’s not what I’m wearing today—while it works for Washington…New York City, not so much. Not at the level that Hailey and I are playing this weekend.
I’ve got my Jimmy Choo f*ck
-me boots zipped over my skinny Sevens, and a wool jacket over a silk camisole, because it’s February and there’s only so much cold my nipples can take in the name of fashion.