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This book is not for children or even adults of certain delicate sensibilities. You’ve been warned.

Excerpt:

The women were, in a word, gorgeous. On top of that, they were elegant as well, dressed to the nines in stunning gowns, heels that could double as weapons in a pinch, and made-up, not as the ladies of the evening that they so obviously were, but as sophisticated courtesans, with their hair piled high on the heads in elaborately styled dos of obvious expense.

All except for Monique.

She was pretty enough but she was lacking in certain ways that, at the time, annoyed me. Her hair was a fright; not styled at all - hardly combed, in fact - with bleach-blond ends and dark roots. Her lips were too thick, not that she could do anything about it but she didn’t bother trying. Worst of all, she was tattooed extensively on one arm - I believe it’s known as a sleeve in the parlance of that ilk - and she’d made no effort to hide it. She could have worn a long-sleeved blouse or dress and no one would have been the wiser until later in the evening when the sleeves and everything else came off. But even that was too much for her to bother with.

This summed up my biggest problem with her overall - her attitude. When the other ladies went out of their way to show their appreciation for the money they were going to be paid, Monique looked as if she was bored to tears - which, I came to know later - that she was. Where the others were all smiles and compliments, appreciative of our attention and the upscale nature of the accommodations, Monique looked unimpressed. Which kind of pissed me off. I told her as much, although I was somewhat polite about it.

“Why should I care?” she said in response to my mild protests. We were talking off to one side while the other women got to know the groom and the other men. I realize now that I was a diversion for Monique, a way for her to skip the introductory phase of the evening and more if she could get me to spirit her away from the party. Which, I’m embarrassed to admit, she ultimately did.

“Do you have a room in this hotel?” she asked me at some point in that sexy-as-hell French accent of hers. I was so enamored with the way she sounded and so frustrated with her attitude, that I told her I did indeed have a room at the hotel, even though I didn’t. I couldn’t fathom why she wanted to know but I wasn’t about to admit that I wasn’t ready for anything, so when she called me out with a look that told me she didn’t believe me, I excused myself and took her down to the lobby where I asked for a key to my room. Which I didn’t have. Not yet.

I know, I know. It’s absurd but that was just the beginning of the kind of effect Monique had on me. Right from the start. I should have known but alas, I didn’t.

I thought I had a decent enough relationship with the night clerk at the front desk that he might just front me a key and I could settle up with him at some point which is exactly what happened. He gave me a look when I asked but handed me a key and I whisked Monique back to the elevators and up to a room on a different floor. That she went along with it was rather surprising, and when we got to the room and I was obviously not checked in there - no luggage, no nothing - she didn’t comment or even look surprised. Again, a clear warning of things to come which I totally ignored.

I was too anxious to fuck her.

“Do you have the condoms?” she asked. I looked at her before I turned away and shook my head. She just stared at me with that same bored look she had up in the suite. “So, we go back upstairs, then?” I nodded but she didn’t move. “You want to fuck me?” she asked, incongruously. I nodded again. “If you eat me, you can fuck me.”

“Really?” I wasn’t sure I was willing to do that.

“Is up to you,” she said as she raised her dress and slipped her panties from her legs. “You understand?”

I nodded.