Dirty Talk

by Joey Jameson

$5.49

Vegas is a hot phone sex operator who knows just how to make your deepest, darkest fantasies come true either with a gentle whisper in your ear or with a rough growling command. When he’s in control, you know you’re in good hands. Vegas can tickle or scratch whatever itch or fetish a caller can throw at him.

But his job at the exclusive ‘Black Vanilla’ has its dark side, which becomes all too clear when Vegas receives a call one night that hits a little too close to home.

Somewhere out there, someone’s watching him. Someone who’s taken their fantasy one step too far. It isn’t long before Vegas finds himself entangled in a web of dark and dangerous obsession. An obsession that can only end one way.

“Dirty Talk” will take you deep into the world of stimulating oral desire and blur the lines that exist between our ultimate fantasies and harsh reality.

Available in Print from most major retailers.

Book Info

Author: Joey Jameson

Release Date: August 1, 2016

ISBN: 978-1-911153-68-9

Format: ePub, Mobi, PDF

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Category: Romance

Genre: Contemporary

Word Count: 64000*

Pages: 180

Sex Content: Explicit

Pairing: MM

Orientation: Cisgender

Identity: Gay

Warning: scenes of violence and sustained threat

*Novel

Excerpt

Dirty Talk
Joey Jameson © 2016
All Rights Reserved

 

The familiar beeping in his headset stirred Vegas from his own thoughts. He was somewhere other than in that chair, chewing on his nails and twisting a long piece of expensively highlighted blond hair between his index and middle fingers. He was somewhere warm and sunny, sipping on a sickly-sweet cocktail and enjoying the feeling of the sun on his already tanned skin. The longer his eyes remained closed, the more intensely real the scenario became; the feeling of the hard-back chair he was sitting in melted away and was replaced with the comforting and luxurious feeling of a soft, plush chaise lounge. The scent of stale coffee and bad cologne wafted away, and a breeze carried in the aroma of fresh, salty sea air. Instead of moans and groans being faked from the cubicles around him, he swore he could detect the faint cries of seagulls in the distance.

The beep sounded again in his ear, louder this time and almost more persistent, as if it became more aggravated the longer it went unanswered. His big blue eyes fluttered open only to be assaulted by bright, unflattering fluorescent lighting. Vegas let out a long sigh and looked around at his surroundings, blindly finding the answer button on his computer screen with his fingers. There was a faint crackling as the line was connected, followed by a silent pause.

That was always the worst part. The beginning. No matter how many years Vegas had been doing his job, the first few moments of each call were always the trickiest; both parties unsure how to proceed and nerves getting the best of the caller. If they could get past the first awkward silence, then it was certainly a lot more fun. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, breathing into the headset.

“You’ve landed with Vegas,” he whispered in his most sultry tone. “What’s your pleasure?”

Silence. Except for the sound of shallow breathing.

Vegas knew the type; excitement was settling in as the caller began to realise the possibilities of the situation he’d just gotten himself into.

Where will you take it, handsome?

“Hey, how you doing tonight, hot stuff?” Vegas tried again as he ran through all the possible lines he could throw out to get the caller talking. “My name’s Vegas, you lookin’ for a good time tonight?”

More breathing on the other end. Ragged and short, as if he was jogging or something.

But Vegas knew he wasn’t jogging. He was pumping his fist, Vegas could tell. He let a few more seconds pass, and then instead of talking, he decided to let out a few soft moans of pleasure to signal to the caller that he was into it, too.

That always gets them going.

“Your name’s Vegas,” said the voice on the other end finally. He sounded husky and gruff. And manly.

Vegas couldn’t decide if it was a question or a statement, so he just went with it.

“Yeah, baby,” he cooed softly.

“Never been,” the caller said simply.

“Well, tonight’s your lucky night,” Vegas added with a soft giggle.

“Let’s hope so.”

His voice was low; his words were accentuated and brief, like it took effort to keep it that way. To Vegas, a sexy voice was all he needed to get into a call. It always helped if he compared the voice to that of a celebrity.

“So what you look like?” the caller asked.

Brad Pitt. This guy sounds like Brad Pitt.

“Hmm, what do you want me to look like?”

If he wanted to keep the guy on the phone, it paid to throw that question back on the caller.

“I like muscles,” he muttered, as if through gritted teeth.

This guy sounds close already.

“Well, then this is your lucky night baby, ’cause I’m nothing but muscle. Hard, slick, smooth, and beautifully built.” Vegas shot out adjective after adjective, stressing each one as if they were satin-covered kisses.

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