Thirty Nights With A Dirty Boy Part II

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30 Nights Part II

“I can’t do this.” Panic-stricken, I went to jerk back but warm, calloused hands covered mine.

“You can.” Sean Lachlan’s voice was a warm, sexy promise, a purring sort of rub that caressed me without even touching me. A sin of sins, and the man knew it. Of course, he should. He was a male prostitute, and anything that had to do with sexual arousal was sort of his forte. That voice of his was an aphrodisiac in its own right. “Come on, it’s not so bad. Let me show you . . . ”

He guided me, showing me how to take the heavy, firm weight in my hands, how to balance it. “See . . . ?”

He could make anything erotic. I bit my lip, a shiver of heat running through me.

“Now . . . bring your arm back. I’m going to let go . . . ”

“No!” But he’d already done it. I let the ball go and closed my eyes.

The sound of his whooping a few seconds later made me almost jump out of my skin. But I’d been doing that almost since we’d come into the loud, boisterous bowling alley. People screamed, yelled, called out. Music blasted and children laughed. And Sean used every excuse he could to touch me.

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