Thrust Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Sybil Bartel

  Cover art by: CT Cover Creations

  Cover photo by: Greenowl Photography

  Cover model: Maverick Willett

  Edited by: Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting by: Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Warning: This book contains offensive language, alpha males and sexual situations. Mature audiences only. 18+

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Sybil Bartel

  THRUST (The Alpha Escort Series)

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bonus Scene

  ROUGH (The Alpha Escort Series)

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Sybil Bartel

  The Alpha Escort Series

  THRUST

  ROUGH

  GRIND

  The Uncompromising Series

  TALON

  NEIL

  ANDRÉ

  BENNETT

  CALLAN

  The Alpha Bodyguard Series

  SCANDALOUS

  MERCILESS

  RECKLESS

  RUTHLESS

  The Unchecked Series

  IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE

  IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE

  IMPOSSIBLE END

  The Rock Harder Series

  NO APOLOGIES

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  I know the game. I know the angle. I know how to make you beg.

  My hands on your body, my mouth hovering over yours—I’ll tell you everything you want to hear. Ten inches of real estate never felt so good.

  But don’t take my word for it. My client list is long and my motto is short—one single thrust and you’re mine. I’m not good at what I do, I’m fantastic. But satisfaction doesn’t come cheap. So open your wallet and prepare to forget your name. I’m about to ruin you for any other man.

  One single thrust and you’re mine.

  Dad, please don’t read this book.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” I pulled her hair just enough to get her red lips away from my dick. “You know the rules.”

  “Please?” she begged, pouting.

  Damn, she made it too easy. I half smiled and stroked myself. “You wanna wrap your mouth around this?” Fake tits, tight ass, she was hot for a cougar, but that wasn’t what was making my dick hard. Another grand on the table was doing that all on its own.

  “Yes,” she hissed huskily.

  My clients were all the same. They got off on the idea of blowing a male escort like they could do it better than I’d ever had it. And I was only too happy to capitalize on that. “You wanna suck me off, beautiful?” I frowned and stroked harder, as if I were close. “Because you’re gonna have to pay for it.”

  On her knees, she practically trembled. “Whatever it costs.”

  Music to my ears. I shoved the tip of my dick into her hot mouth. “Then show me what you got.”

  She sucked. Eagerly. I threw my head back and groaned like it was the best fucking blowjob ever.

  A half hour later, I filled the second condom and pulled out. “Damn, gorgeous, you’ve got me so worn out, I need to go home and sleep for a week.” I glanced at the clock. I had another client in forty. “You were fucking incredible.” She was decent. I slapped her ass so I didn’t have to kiss her.

  She giggled like a schoolgirl and batted her eyelashes. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  I smirked. She’d be texting me before the night was out to schedule another session. “How do you wanna settle up?” I tied off the condom and slipped it into my pocket as I pulled my pants up. Rule number one—never leave behind any evidence.

  Naked except for her heels, she got off the bed and sauntered to her purse. “How much?”

  “Four grand.” I smiled like I was checking her out.

  “Four?”

  I took two strides and tipped her chin. “Two rounds and oral. You want a third? I just got hard watching that ass of yours.” I could fit in another quickie before my next appointment.

  She smiled coyly. “Maybe next time.”

  I held back my laugh, just barely. I was hung as hell. If she wasn’t sore from all that pounding, my name wasn’t Alex Vega. “You know where to find me.” I dropped her chin. “Cash or credit?”

  She handed me her card and I swiped it through the small credit card reader attached to my cell phone. “Need me to text you a receipt?”

  She smiled. “Receipt?”

  “Deep tissue massage.” I was legit as fuck. I’d even gotten the damn massage therapist license. “Medical expense. You can deduct it on your taxes.” I winked. “You’re welcome.”

  She shook her head but she looked amused. The card went through and I got dressed ASAP. Rule number two—never stick around—unless they pay you.

  “So….” She twirled her hair like she was twelve. “What are you doing Saturday night? I’m looking for a date to this fundraiser that’s for—”

  I was already shaking my head. “Sorry, babe. I don’t do show and tell. Strictly bedroom scenes. But text me after if you’re bored.” I shot her my money smile and buckled my Ferragamo belt, then threw on the jacket of my custom-tailored suit. Stepping into my loafers sans socks, I was out. “Later, gorgeous.” Three steps backward, a wink for good measure and I turned. I couldn’t hit the door fast enough.

  On the elevator ride to the lobby, I checked my messages, scheduled three more clients and pulled up my E-Trade account balance. Nothing got me hard like seven digits in a row. It was already a twenty-grand week and I hadn’t even hit the weekend.

  I palmed a hundred and shook hands with the concierge on my way out. Another hundred and the valet had my McLaren 570S waiting. I slid behind the wheel of my silver beauty and hit the gas. This car was a fucking orgasm on steroids.

  Weaving in and out of Miami’s traffic, I made it to my penthouse on Collins Avenue in record time and rushed through a shower and a change. Fresh suit, pressed dress shirt, I picked out a new belt and shoes. Then I used the cologne I remembered my client saying
she liked because it was all in the details. A half hour later, I was pulling up to the W in South Beach.

  I checked the room number one of my regulars had texted me and greeted a valet I hadn’t seen before. “You’re new.”

  “Yes, sir. Checking in?”

  Blond hair cut with a buzzer, he couldn’t have been much younger than me. A few years ago, I was him. Different uniform, but the end result was the same—I was watching life from the sidelines and fucking for free.

  “Meeting friends.” I tipped my chin at my baby. “Keep her close and there’ll be something in it for you.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d fucked for free.

  The valet kid stood taller because in this town, money and fast cars talked. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. Two hours.” Fucker better not nut himself on my leather seats.

  “Two hours,” he repeated, practically drooling as he got behind the wheel.

  I took the elevator to the fourteenth floor and strode to the room like I was a king. Goddamn, a flush bank account and a ten-inch cock were a winning combination.

  I knocked and a few seconds later, Irina opened the door. Tall, blonde and model thin, she’d been one of my first clients and I’d seen her every week since.

  “Hey, baby.” I stepped in and kicked the door shut behind me. Gripping two handfuls of her hair because that’s what she liked, I cocked my head and looked down at her like I gave a shit. “You wait for me this week?”

  “Alex,” she said breathlessly in her Russian accent. “I always wait for you.”

  “Right answer.” I kissed her.

  Hot and hard, I bit her bottom lip and aggressively took control. She was the only client I ever kissed anymore. I’d learned after I’d already broken the rules with her that kissing clients was a recipe for disaster. They got attached, every damn time. Except Irina. I couldn’t tell if she just didn’t give a shit or if she was too practical to fall for a guy. Either way, she sucked my dick like a pro, so I didn’t give two fucks about breaking the rules and swapping tongues with her. I did it because I could. But if I ever stopped to think about it, which I absolutely didn’t, I’d be a fucking pussy and say I missed kissing a hot chick.

  I stroked my tongue deep, sucked hers into my mouth, and she melted into me. I cupped her ass and squeezed, but then I yanked her hair back. “Hey.” I scanned her body. “You lose more weight?” I didn’t mind models, but Irina was thin to begin with and I had a steel-trap memory. She’d definitely had more substance the last time we were together.

  Her disinterested expression washed over her features and she sighed. “I am stressed.”

  Fucking familiarity threw me and I asked why before I could rein it in. “About?”

  “The Third is divorcing me.” She strolled through the suite like a lazy cat and went straight for the balcony and a glass of wine she had waiting. “Want some?” She held her glass up.

  I knew she was married to some prick twice her age who came from old money but I’d never asked details. She called him the Third since he was one, and she claimed he knew we fucked because he stopped being able to get it up long ago. I didn’t know how much was truth or bullshit, but I suspected it was all true. Irina couldn’t be bothered to lie. She didn’t have to. She was fucking loaded and gave even less of a shit about decorum than I did.

  I took the glass from her hand and set it back on the table. “I’m ordering food, then we’ll talk.”

  She sank down onto the padded chair on the balcony and threw a leg over the arm. “Whatever.”

  I went inside, ordered steak, fish and a pasta entrée from room service because I didn’t know what the hell she ate. I added a bottle of Jack, a bucket of ice and told them to throw in two desserts. I kicked off my shoes, stripped out of my jacket and shirt and made my way back to the balcony.

  With her head back and her hair falling down the back of the chair, she looked young as hell but I didn’t know how old she was. Her body was that of a twenty-year-old but the dead look in her eyes made her seem fifty.

  “Get up,” I ordered.

  She glared at me then got up real slow, as if she had all the time in the world.

  I smirked and slapped her ass. “Brat.” I sat in the chair she’d just vacated. “Now sit.” I held an arm out.

  She lounged across my lap. Her legs were over the side of the chair like before, but her head was now resting on my shoulder. She curled toward me and placed a hand on the abs I worked my ass off in the gym for. “I don’t want to talk. I want to fuck.”

  My dick hardened because it knew just what her pussy felt like. “After you eat. Why’s the Third divorcing you?” I didn’t give a shit why, I just didn’t want the steady income to stop.

  She traced a finger down my stomach, toying with me. “He says I am not happy.”

  “He’s met you, right?”

  She slapped my stomach. “Don’t be an ass.”

  I laughed but I wasn’t entirely kidding. “Come on, you know I’m playing but he’s not that far off. What do you ever get excited about?”

  “Your cock.”

  I grinned and thrust my hips up just to fuck with her. “Besides that.”

  “Nothing.”

  Except she didn’t say it on a sigh like she did when she was being her usual disinterested self. Her voice went quiet and the single word was soft and low like she was confessing. My shoulders dropped and I leaned my head back.

  Shit.

  I never thought I’d have to deal with this from her. “I’m not for keeps, Irina.” I didn’t do attachments, or any other shit that tied you to another human being.

  She got even quieter. “I know.”

  “You sure?” Damn it, I didn’t want to lose a steady client but I also didn’t fuck clingers or stalkers.

  “Yes, yes,” she huffed. “I know. No boyfriend, no husband, just fucking.”

  “And paying,” I reminded.

  The side of her mouth tipped up a rare smile.

  I smiled back. “Good, now that we got that settled, you’ll eat some damn food so I can enjoy fucking you.”

  “You will like it anyway.”

  She was right. She was one of the few clients I enjoyed fucking just for the sex. “You’ll like it more.” I grinned as a knock sounded on the door. “Up you go.” I lifted her off my lap and went to meet room service. Two strides before the door, I felt it.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Sure enough, she was watching me like an abandoned puppy.

  Fuck.

  I blinked. Then I blinked again. I couldn’t stop it, my hand went up in the universal you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me gesture. “Okay, wait. You’re saying the piece can’t be hung here because the wall is what?”

  The greasy-haired artist shook his head like a pendulum on speed as he stared at his feet and walked in a circle. “It’s not grounded, man. It’s just not grounded. This wall, it’s no good.” He stopped and suddenly threw his arms up and tilted his head back like he’d just discovered the sun. “It needs to breathe.”

  Oh my God. I pretended to study the painting that was a mess of colors with shit brown dripping off the bottom half like he’d dunked it in an overflowing toilet. “It looks pretty grounded to me.”

  His arms went down and he cocked his head. “You think so?”

  I nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, totally.” Not.

  He scratched his beard. “Maybe it needs more effervescence. You know, to match the space?”

  I wanted to rip my hair out and trust me, that was a big fucking deal. I’d spent a week’s income on getting my hair cut and styled for this fundraiser. “I think we’re good, Franklin. The opening is tomorrow and this piece will be the star of the show.” I didn’t know what painting would be the star of the show and I didn’t care. The only thing I knew about art was that rich people paid top dollar for trendy shit and whacked-out artists like this guy made more on one painting than I did in a
year.

  Franklin abruptly stepped back and made a sweeping motion with his hands that was directed at the baseboard. “Can we, you know, anchor this wall somehow?”

  “Anchor it?” It’s a wall.

  “Yeah, something heavy—to keep it down?” He peered at me, completely serious.

  “We’re twenty-five stories up and the wall is attached to the floor. Pretty sure it’s not going anywhere.”

  “Sandbags?”

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “Sorry, fresh out.” We were in Miami Beach in a penthouse, for Christ’s sake.

  He snapped his fingers. “Potatoes! Like those sacks, man. The big ones!”

  “Sorry, building codes—this space isn’t zoned for commercial food service.” I didn’t know what it was zoned for. All I knew, my best friend had hooked me up. He was in construction and this penthouse was one of his current projects. The floors were still bare concrete and the walls were framed and drywalled, but nothing else had been done. Floor-to-ceiling windows, recessed lighting everywhere, it was a perfect spot to showcase the eleven artists I’d painstakingly convinced to participate in my fundraiser for Canine Watch.

  “It needs something, man.”

  I sighed. “You do realize I’m a woman?”

  His head popped up and he looked at me funny. “What?”

  “You’re familiar with them?” I didn’t know why I was wasting my time.

  His face scrunched up. “Who?”

  “Women.” Was I speaking French?

  He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, yeah, totally. You’re that dog chick.”

  Kill me now. “Dog chick?”

  “You like, give dogs to people with bad juju.”

  Seriously? He was equating PTSD with juju? “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “And you say juju?” I didn’t even bother to explain the difference between that and PTSD. He looked like he was a decade into his brain-altering narcotics long-term plan and nothing I said was going to stick.