Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Chantilly Lace
ISBN # 978-1-78184-888-3
©Copyright Em Woods 2013
Cover Art by Pamela Sinclair ©Copyright December 2013
Edited by Jennifer Douglas
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2013 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.
This story contains 36 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 7 pages.
CHANTILLY LACE
When appearances aren’t everything…
Shea Laporte is a twenty-four-year-old professional twink. He gets his way with a bat of his eyelashes and a swish of his hips. Coffee bars, nightclubs and late, lazy mornings in bed are routine for him. He’s never regretted being who he is—after all, his lovers know what they’re signing up for—but he’s keeping a secret. One he’s more than happy to keep to himself until he meets Murdock ‘Murk’ Rouse, the new tenant in his apartment building.
Murk has been watching Shea flounce in and out of their shared complex for months. At first glance, he thought Shea was nothing better than the whores down on Eight Mile, but after one brief run-in with the spunky blond, he knows all Shea needs is a firm hand and a man who sees him for everything he is—smart, kinky and sexy as hell.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
Chantilly Lace: Jerry Foster, Bill Rice, The Big Bopper
Chapter One
The lights were too bright. The restaurant was too busy. The room felt like a damn sauna. And life could suck.
Shea Laporte knew that better than most.
Here he sat, on the two-week anniversary of his break-up with his previous lover and said lover’s bank account, on a blind date from hell. He sighed and wiped the spilled coffee from his arm. It was a good thing he had rolled his sleeves up or he would have been seriously angry. The sloppy Joe—what was his name?—across from him, trying to slide his way into Shea’s bed, couldn’t keep from talking about himself. To top it off, the idiot had managed to knock over Shea’s drink.
If he had not been filthy rich, Shea would have been long gone. But Shea had suffered a lot worse than a bad date for the kind of comfort a man like this could provide. Recently, in fact.
“When are we going to fuck?”
The question caught him off guard. Shea blinked his way back to the present. “Excuse me?”
The man across from him leaned back in his seat, his pale blue shirt stretching dangerously tight at the buttons over his round belly. He twisted his chubby fingers together and rested the whole meaty lot behind his head, revealing the sweat stains under his arms. “I wanna get dirty. How long are you going to hold out?”
Shea allowed one carefully manicured eyebrow to drift up. “Who do you think you’re having dinner with?”
“A whore.” His date leered for a split second before a spit-slick tongue ran over dry, cracked lips. “A high-dollar one, but still a whore. When are we gonna get to the fucking?”
“That’s right. A high-dollar whore.” Taking his time to gather his thoughts, Shea harnessed his anger. He had cultivated that image carefully—buying only the finest things with his lovers’ money, preening under the attention of the wealthiest man in the room—so he could hardly complain when confronted with it, now, could he? “A high-dollar whore, in fact, who requires certain things, an agreement, a contract of obligations, if you understand. But if what you’re looking for is an on-command piece of ass to get dirty with, there are a few I can recommend, because as of this minute I can say with utmost certainty you won’t be getting a piece of this ass any time soon.”
“The hell I won’t. I bought your damn dinner. I got a room at the hotel on the corner. Jamie said—”
“First, I don’t give a shit what Jamie said. Second, a five-dollar burger hardly counts as a dinner date to anyone older than a six-year-old. And third, I haven’t stayed in a pay-by-the-hour room ever, and tonight will not be the start.” Shea slapped a ten on the table and handed the waiter another ten for a tip before grabbing his coat on his way out. A crash, his botched date cursing as if he were a sailor on three-day leave and the waiter apologizing repeatedly for tripping over his own clumsy feet all faded into the background as the door swung closed behind him.
He took a deep breath of the night’s crisp air, pausing to count the stars he could see in the sky before heading to his car. Shea slid into the driver’s seat, murmuring to himself, sighing at the slight rub of lace against his back. He rolled his shoulders to release some of his tension, or maybe just to feel the scrape of the camisole under his dress shirt again.
The rest of the awful evening slipped away as he pulled into traffic and navigated his way toward his favorite coffee shop. That was what he needed. Caffeine. And laughs. He needed his friends at the Java Jam.
Five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot with the flashing neon coffee mug, climbed out and entered with his customary grin. “Hey, Patrick!” His favorite barista was, of course, working. The guy was a workaholic and here nearly every time Shea came through the doors. Which was a shame. The man’s dark, rustic good looks drew several men in multiple days a week and he could have had a date for every day he wasn’t scheduled. He just didn’t take any days off.
“Shea, my man, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be getting laid by now?” Patrick grinned at him as he slapped him on the arm. “Must have been a real loser.”
“You have no idea. The guy thought he could buy this ass for the price of a burger with golden arches on the box.” Shea mock-shuddered, giving an eye-roll for good measure. “And personal hygiene was not a high priority for him.”
“Oh, man. Got to have standards.” Patrick shot him a sympathetic look across the length of the counter as he wiped a table nearby. “Must have been loaded, though.”
“You wouldn’t have known it. I’m going to kick Jamie’s ass for setting me up with him.” Highly recommended, yeah, right. Bastard.
“Should have known better. Jamie is still hoping you’ll see the light and come back to him.”
Shea shook his head. “More like he’s having a good laugh.”
“Maybe that too. Your usual?”
“To go, please.” Shea sank into a chair nearby, resting his head on the wall behind him. “I can’t wait to sleep a few hundred hours. This shit is exhausting.”
“Yeah, must be tough vetting future boyfriends.”