Claiming His Call Girl Read online

  CLAIMING HIS CALL GIRL

  A FORBIDDEN ROMANCE

  S.E. LAW

  S.C. ADAMS

  Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Law and S.C. Adams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  CONTENTS

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Blackmailed By My Dad’s Boss

  Sneak Peek: Blackmailed in the Boudoir

  About S.E. Law

  About S.C. Adams

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  She’s a hostess at an exclusive gentlemen’s club. He’s a cop with a grudge. Sparks? That would be an understatement.

  * * *

  Michelle:

  I’m a hostess for an exclusive all-male clientele and it’s fun. I dance for the men. I sing, and even play my flute. But that’s where things get naughty because …

  … this isn’t just any flute. Instead, I sway under the hot spotlights …

  … my gleaming instrument in hand …

  … and soon, a different type of music is rising to the Heavens!

  But a dark man catches my eye one night. He’s sitting in the back with piercing blue eyes that take in every detail. He’s gorgeous with broad shoulders, a heavily muscled chest, and a smirk that makes me want to slap him and kiss him at once. Even more, he says he could use a woman with my talents.

  Please, handsome. Every man wants a woman with my particular skills.

  But then his true identity comes out …

  … and soon, my flute’s on the ground while he puts his baby is in my belly!

  * * *

  This story is a follow-up to Trapped By My Boss. Yes, Michelle was insane when we met her back then, but she’s fully recovered now and ready to play! But is the feisty woman in over her head when it comes to criminals, undercover cops, and an adventure that surpasses her wildest dreams? Read and find out! No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers. All of my books are standalones, and do not need to be read in order.

  1

  Ben

  * * *

  “Hey, my man. Can we get two Buds over here?”

  The young guy behind the bar with a messy blonde man bun and blue flannel shirt nods and scurries forward. Hell, I have nothing against man buns. So long as my beers are cold and the nuts warm, then he could dye his hair pink and tuck a daisy in his bun for all I care.

  I look around, leaning back against the scarred wooden slab. Patsy’s is a dicey country saloon that’s been re-done with some modern flourishes. It’s also old as hell, and illegal as hell too. I swear, there are ashtrays on every table and people sucking deep on their Juul sticks without their masks on.

  But I like it because Patsy’s is a part of New York you don’t see in movies or TV shows. The only people who visit are folks who know how to mind their own business, and as a cop, that’s important to me. I don’t want to be busting out my handcuffs at every turn. Plus, sometimes we boys in blue just want to relax and blend in, like everyone else.

  At that moment, my buddy Curtis strolls in, and sees me. I raise a hand, and the tall man comes over.

  “Yo,” he says. “What’s up?”

  I nod as the bartender returns with our drinks.

  “Not much. How are you?” I ask, sliding over one of the Buds.

  He sits his huge mass on a hard wooden chair and winces.

  “What the fuck is up with these stools? Do they find the hardest wood in the world to make these things? I swear, my ass always hurts after a night at Patsy’s. But I’m good. Nothing to report. You know how it goes in the city. Same old, same old.”

  We both smile grimly because nothing could be less true of New York. If anything, this city eats its young by swallowing them alive. But then Curtis takes a swig of his beer and shoots me a level look.

  “So, any progress on your newest job?”

  I shrug and then look around to make sure no one’s listening. After all, we’re both undercovers for NYPD, and it’s a tough life. But it makes sense for single guys like us because we have no family, and not even many friends to speak of. No one’s going to freak out if we disappear for a few weeks or months before resurfacing.

  “I’ve got a few promising items on the horizon. Actually, I’m heading over to Club Z after we’re done here.”

  Curtis throws me a knowing smile because fuck, we both know what Club Z is good for. The place is a den of sin but there’s a method to the madness, for us at least. Sometimes, the best way into a gang is through the girls, and certain female entertainers seem to have all the hook-ups. Even if they don’t, they often hang out with our real targets, and those guys aren’t exactly the most discreet people. They’ll blab ridiculous information with a girl perched in their lap, and as a result, we frequent Club Z to try to make connects with potential honey pots.

  “You got a specific mission tonight?” Curtis asks, one black brow rising.

  Twisting my beer bottle in my hand, I take another swig and nod.

  “Yeah, and we’ll see what happens. I heard there will be Russians, but that remains to be seen. You know how it is with the Russians too. They vet everyone in their circle high, low, and up the ass, so I’ve got to keep it straight if I want to get in with those dudes.”

  Curtis nods, his black brows lowering.

  “Have you gotten an invite to that party out in Long Island yet?”

  I know what he’s talking about. The mafia that we’re hunting has a stronghold in Long Island where allegedly, girls are put up for sale. It’s a dirty business filled with innocent young things who are starved and beaten before they’re “prettied up” for auction. But we’re going to put a stop to it all. We’re going to breach that fucking nest of snakes headed by the Sim brothers, and bring those sex traffickers in for the true punishment they deserve.

  “No, I’m not in yet. But we’ll see what happens because I’m expecting an invitation any day. Maybe one of the girls from Club Z will get me in,” I drawl.

  Curtis nods.

  “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of them are already in tight with the targets. Wouldn’t hurt to have an accessory with you if you do get invited out to Long Island,” he hints.

  I nod because my buddy’s not talking “accessory” like a hair accessory, or an accessory to murder. Instead, these assholes often have “pets” with them, meaning sexy, nude women who trail behind the mafiosos like well-bred kittens. If I had one with me, it would lend to my street cred, and yes, Club Z has a couple girls who’d likely play the part beautifully. But I just shrug.

  “We’ll see,” I grunt. “Let’s see what the club has for me tonight.”

  But then Curtis frowns, his blue eyes darkening. I swear, the dude is handsome enough to be a movie star so I have no idea why he’s a UC like me. But some guys want real action, and not the kind made up with prop guns and toy whistles.

  “You ever consider using a female UC to play the part? Could be worth trying. She’d be
backup in case things go haywire, and we’ve got some cute girls on the force. Fuck, those Russians aren’t anyone to mess with and you need someone who can handle herself.”

  I shrug.

  “Yeah, but you know our co-workers. They’re upstanding women who are professionals. Too professional, in fact. They aren’t going to degrade themselves the way a trained pet would, and these mafia guys would spot even a hint of defiance a mile away. They’ve been in the business of breaking and selling women too long, and you know what would happen if they broke cover. Hell, our co-workers would be sold into sexual slavery God knows where, never to be seen again.”

  My friend harrumphs.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he growls. “NYPD would shit themselves, and then the FBI and CIA, not to mention who knows who else would have to get involved. Besides,” he joshes, clapping me heavily on my shoulder. “Hell would freeze over before one of our female co-workers would take orders from an asshole like you.”

  I shake my head ruefully.

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Curtis shrugs.

  “Well, enjoy yourself regardless. I mean, those parties at Club Z are fucked up, but that’s the best part,” he winks. “In fact, I hope to get out there next week myself,” he adds. “For my case, of course.”

  I guffaw at that.

  “Yeah, right,” I snark. But then I shrug. “Hey, it’s all in the line of work. We’re the boys in blue, after all.”

  We both get a good chuckle from that because we’ve risked our lives in the line of duty more times than we can count at this point in our careers. But it is what it is, and I didn’t sign up to fly a desk. No, I get off on the excitement, the rush of adrenaline, and most of all, putting fuckers away behind bars. If a few assholes get hurt in my line of work? Well, it’s pretty much par for the course, so I just shrug.

  “Yeah, I’ll be headed over to the club in an hour or so. I’ll let you know how it is.”

  With that, our conversation devolves into less serious topics, and I josh around with my buddy. Curtis is a great guy, and we always enjoy catching up because who knows when I’ll see him again? Undercover work is hazardous to maintaining a man’s sanity, and we come and go without notice much of the time. But even though my body language is relaxed, I’m on edge because I’ll be at the club in a couple hours, taking a hard look at the nubile female flesh on display.

  2

  Ben

  * * *

  One of the benefits of working undercover as long as I have is that I’m established. I’ve got the mannerisms of a billionaire down, as well as the accoutrements that accompany a supposed playboy who revels in NYC nightlife. I’ve got the car. The apartment. The gilded credit card. And most of all, a highly coveted membership to Club Z, where many of the most beautiful female entertainers gather for the pleasure of rich assholes like me.

  Obviously, Club Z’s not open to everyone. Instead, there’s a rigorous screening process, and membership is only by invitation. It took a couple years to even get that invitation, but once I did, I was in like Tim. Now, I frequent Club Z on a regular basis, not only to keep up my façade, but also to make connects. Again, it’s not just the male criminals who belong to the club; it’s the women who work there, and their ability to pass on valuable information as they see fit.

  Pulling up in front of the massive building, a valet immediately opens my door and I hand over my keys for him to park. To an outsider, the club looks exclusive, but normal. There’s nothing to set the compound apart from any of the other members-only organizations in the city.

  Plus, when I enter, the first floor appears to be relatively tame. This could be the Continental, or the Meridian, or even the Mandarin. There’s plenty of plush leather seating, glass top tables, and of course, a concierge only too happy to help. The floors are polished marble, and huge chandeliers sparkle brightly as well-dressed men enter and exit the premises. I’d call them gentlemen, but we all know that they’re not

  But once you get upstairs, things start getting funky. Tonight, I’m headed to the top floor where the lounge awaits. The golden elevator doors open at the penthouse level, and I step into a dimly lit hallway as the bouncer nods and greets me.

  “Mr. Culver,” he says, opening a massive black door. “Welcome. The party will be starting in just a few moments.”

  Inside, there’s an enormous bar, sparkling with multi-colored lights. Large leather couches are scattered about the room, and there’s even a gleaming dance floor off to the back left, as soft Muzak pumps through the room. To inexperienced eyes, the lounge looks normal, but when the party starts, I promise it’ll be anything but normal.

  I take a seat at the bar, and ask a waitress to bring me a bourbon. Ah ha, this is the first sign that we’re at Club Z because the sweet girl isn’t wearing a regular top and skirt. Instead, she’s wearing a one piece that’s so short that her pussy flashes with every movement of her thighs, and when she scribbles her order, one breast “accidentally” pops out. But instead of being embarrassed, the red-headed girl merely smiles coyly at me before tucking her boobie back into her corset top and scampering away. Fuck, I’m getting hard already. I do love Club Z, and the benefits of this particular job.

  Plus, looking around, I see there are already another dozen men seated and waiting for the night’s entertainment to begin. They seem to be fairly decent looking guys clad in dark suits with expensive watches flashing on their wrists. Even the ones who aren’t handsome seem to be well-dressed and well-groomed, so there’s something to be said about what money can buy.

  Meanwhile, the waitress returns with my drink, and goddamn, but doesn’t that boobie pop out again. Still, the girl isn’t embarrassed and instead of tucking it back in right away, she literally lifts it up and sucks the nipple for a few seconds while making eye contact.

  “Do you want a taste?” she coos. “I can dip it in bourbon first if you like, Mister.”

  But I merely shake my head.

  “No thanks, sweetheart. Maybe later though.”

  She just winks at me and sashays away as I adjust myself in my pants. Fuck, the night hasn’t even started yet and I’m already fucking horny. Goddamn, I need to get myself under control because there’s work to be done and I have to stay on my toes instead of getting distracted by tits and ass so early in the evening.

  With a harsh chuckle, I sip the bourbon, savoring that top shelf burn as it glides down my palate. If Club Z even carries cheap liquor in this place, I’d guess they’re just using it to scour the floors in the bathrooms or to light a couple fires. Nobody here would be caught drinking anything you can buy from the local liquor store.

  A couple more dudes trickle in, and soon, there’s a roomful of guys milling around, savoring their drinks. The testosterone is palpable, and we’re getting antsy. No one wants to be at a sausage fest. But just when I think of getting up to leave, a door opens at the far end of the lounge opens and women begin gliding into the room. They’re stunning, and dressed in skimpy, form fitting dresses with heels so high I wonder how they can even walk. They mince in, all smiles and long hair, and my body hardens in anticipation.

  Of course, this is what we came for, and soon enough, the women have scattered about the room, talking with various gentlemen. They twirl their hair and bat their lashes, and quite a few guys look ready to pounce. The heavy musk of testosterone has only grown thicker in the air, and I swear, the sultry scent of arousal fills the room, powerful and cloying.

  But I’m not here for just anything. I don’t want an airhead who can’t put two and two together, so I look around. The girls are uniformly outstanding, and incredibly attractive in their revealing outfits. But there’s no one who stands out, at least not until a woman in red approaches me. She’s curvy with a narrow waist, wide hips and thick thighs, the kind I love sinking my teeth into. Her tits are huge and with every step she takes, they bounce, nearly spilling out her décolletage. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they both bounced out in the n
ext second if she’s not careful. But as she approaches me, I can’t tear my eyes away from her ass. It’s big and juicy, and I immediately picture my dick sliding between her cheeks as she moans with pleasure.

  “Hi big boy,” she coos, her eyes sliding appreciatively up my suit-clad form. “How are you tonight?”

  At first, I can’t even answer because those sapphire eyes have me spellbound. Paired with long, raven tresses and a plump pink pout, and I’m about ready to bust a nut right now. This woman is as sexy as hell, and I know on the spot that she’d be perfect as a pet. Imagine it: sass and obedience, all wrapped up into one perfectly bow-tied package.

  But the women at Club Z aren’t shy. Before I can even answer, she comes right to me and rubs those big tits against the hard wall of my chest.

  “Is your night better now?” she purrs while batting her lashes. “I certainly hope so. I’m Michelle, by the way.”

  Hell, two can play at this game. My cock’s rock hard, but I make myself smile back, my blue eyes gleaming.

  “My night is going great. But you know what would make it even better? A touch of this,” I say, sliding one big hand between her legs. She doesn’t even resist. Instead, Michelle throws her head back, showing off the long line of her creamy throat and literally parts her thighs a bit to grant me better access.

  “Mmm, that feels good,” she moans as I drag my palm through the wetness there. Fuck, she’s swollen already and I stop to niggle her tight bud as she clings to my arm with pleasure. “Mmmm!” she moans again.