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eBook Category: Erotica/Romance
eBook Description: Freelance writer Monica is trapped in her home by acute agoraphobia. Tired of being alone, she finds an online escort service that seems less sleazy than most and dares to hire a companion for an evening. Ryan is a college student trying to keep financially afloat. Working for Labors of Love sounds like an easy gig. Can a relationship based on a business contract blossom into real romance? Can Monica overcome her paralyzing panic attacks when true love is at stake?

eBook Publisher: Atlantic Bridge/Liquid Silver Books, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: December 2005

40 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [710 KB], eReader (PDB) [143 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [130 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [115 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [136 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [176 KB], hiebook (KML) [308 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [178 KB], iSilo (PDB) [106 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [133 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [170 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [169 KB]
Words: 40346
Reading time: 115-161 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: ISBN 1-59578-164-1

Monica stared deeply into Jude's magnetic blue eyes as she rode the swell of orgasm like a surfer on a curling wave, trying to make the erotic sensation last. Her breath panted rapidly in and out of her slightly parted lips and her body writhed on the bed. Oh God, it had never been like this before with anyone. Never so strong, so sweet, so all encompassing. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and concentrated on the escalating waves coursing through her. Swell. Swell. Swell. Swell. Release!

She was cut loose, falling through the air, weightless, timeless, bodiless until she landed back on the soft cotton sheets of her bed with a spasm of her whole body. Monica let out a protracted cry at her climax then a long, soft sigh of relief. Her hand stopped moving on her clit and she opened her eyes to glance at Jude's movie poster-sized face on her wall. She murmured, "Thanks, buddy."

Feeling wetness on her inner thighs, she sighed and reached for her Kleenex box, wiping off her fingers and crotch before she rolled over and got out of bed to start another day.

Her morning routine began with serving herself and her cat, Amber, breakfast, and followed by watching CNN as she walked her treadmill. After she had booted up her computer for the day, she stared at the blank page on the monitor and took a long sip of coffee. There were many articles she should be working on, several with deadlines, but she wasn't in the mood to tackle any of them.

She stared at the flashing cursor and thought about switching her computer theme again for a change of color and scenery. She minimized Microsoft Word and the perfect pecs, steel drum abs and rigid cock of the naked male model, whom she had dubbed Bruce, greeted her. She decided that she wasn't quite ready to trade him up for a new one.

"You get a reprieve, Bruce," she informed him. "You stay up for at least another week, lucky bastard."

She tapped the mouse and called up her blank page again. Still white. White and empty. The computer popped up a reminder of an impending deadline for the "Firm and Fit" article, which she hadn't yet begun. Monica grimaced and clicked the notice closed. Screw fitness. She was in no mood to focus on work this morning.

Instead, she began to type.

He is sandy blond, the ends of his hair bleached lighter by the sun because he's a...

Monica stopped to think. What was he today? A construction worker? A lifeguard? An archeologist? No.

...a surfer. He has the smooth, hairless chest and slim, muscled build of a swimmer. He spends every hour he can spare at the beach, out in the bright, hot sun, his body a part of his surfboard as he rides the waves. He loves the outdoors but at night he is looking for some indoor entertainment. At night he comes to me. His body is still radiating heat from a day spent in the sun. I feel the warmth pouring off his smooth, tanned skin as my hands stroke up the hard ridges of his stomach, over his sculpted chest and come to rest on his shoulders. He looks down into my eyes. His are bright blue like the summer sky under which he spends so much time. He tells me how he thought of me today and couldn't wait to do this, then demonstrates by covering my mouth with his. I open beneath him like a flower to the sun. I can feel my petals unfurling at his bright touch and I am aware of how much his sunlight is attracted to my dark night.

"Oh really. Too much," Monica scoffed and deleted the last sentence.

I feel his warm, wet tongue teasing at my lips and his are as tangy and salty as the ocean against my mouth. My lips part under his and soon we are kissing with a feverish intensity as if it had been five years instead of a mere five hours since we were last together. One of his hands cradles my neck, the other slips down my back to cup under my ass and pulls me up tight against his groin. I feel the hard ridge of his cock beneath the loose swim trunks he always wears, as if he might drop everything at any given moment to head for his surfboard and the beach.

He grinds against my crotch, lightly, teasingly, letting me feel his erection and I know how much I turn him on. He pulls back from yet one more deep, open-mouthed kiss long enough to ask me how I want it and where. I consider drawing a scented bath in my spacious tub, or being carried upstairs and laid gently down on the silken sheets of my king size bed...

Monica smiled thinking of the true nature of her tiny bedroom and crappy little bath.

...but instead I tell him that right here is fine. Without another word he is back at my mouth, kissing me frantically, kissing me as if my mouth were oxygen to him. His hands are roaming everywhere now. He fondles my breast through my blouse then pulls the material away and drops his head from my mouth to my breast. He kisses his way over the creamy white skin of my plump, ripe...

She reached her hand up and squeezed her A-cup bosom, shook her head and backspaced.

He kisses his way over the soft flesh until he reaches the flat circle of my aureole and the tender, rosy bud at the center. There is a moment's pause and I see him looking up at me with a mischievous grin, then he leans in and envelops my nipple with his mouth. He sucks hard, pulling it out and releasing over and over again. The sharp, tugging sensation is driving me insane. I gasp with pleasure.

She sighed and read what she had written so far then began to backspace, neatly blotting out character by character. When she was done it was as if the blank sheet had never been touched.

Monica clicked on the open folder icon on her computer and scanned all the partially finished projects she should be working on, must be working on if she wanted to get published, get paid and maintain her bank account. Her grandmother's trust fund was generous, but not enough to keep Monica solvent without additional income.

She called up the article she was working on for Parenting Magazine about children's escalating television-viewing habits. She began to read what she had already written; the statistics and effects of the plug-in drug and the proposed remedies, which basically boiled down to turning the damn thing off and finding something else for the family to do. God, she hated writing this article!

Abruptly she clicked open another blank page and her fingers began flying on the keyboard as images translated to words and words poured onto the screen.

The escaped convict, who had invaded my home, forced me to my knees with a rough hand on my shoulder. He pulled open his jeans and I was faced with the dark thatch of hair at his groin. His dick was hard and huge, the veins pulsating with life as it thrust menacingly toward my face, as if of its own will. I feared it, feared him, yet part of me wanted that hot, throbbing cock in my mouth. To know once and for all what it was like to know the feel, the taste, the very essence of a man.

"You want to suck it, baby?" he asks as he thrusts his pelvis toward my face. I was on my knees in front of him with my hands bound behind my back so he knew damn well that I would suck it whether I wanted to or not. He wrapped his hand around the long shaft of his prick and moved the engorged head closer to my mouth, almost as though offering--not demanding. I watched as a pearly drop of pre-cum slid from the tiny slit and slipped down the smooth head. I wondered what his come would taste like.

While I was horrified by my submissive posture, a secret part of me throbbed with lust.

He held my head steady and guided his cock against my closed lips. I opened my mouth to protest--or so I told myself--and he pushed inside. I tasted the salty skin of his penis against my tongue and the odd, musky flavor of come. Then, without him bidding me do it, I began to suck.

The doorbell rang. Monica jumped in her chair. She hurriedly minimized the document then went to answer the door.

"Sweetie, how are you?" Her mom swept into the house like the Queen of the Bronx, and enveloped Monica in a hug.

"Hi, mom. What's up?" It was Wednesday and only ten o'clock in the morning. Showing up unexpectedly midweek was not Julia Brennerman's modus operandi.

"Nothing. Why would you think that? Nothing is up." The tone of her voice and the repetition of the word "nothing" assured Monica that there was some drama afoot.

"Right." She ushered her mother to the dinette in the kitchen and set about making a mug of coffee. 'Come on. What is it?'

"I told you, nothing, dear. Oh, honey, you know I won't drink that instant stuff. Do you have any tea instead?"

Monica sighed and went back to the cupboard, showed her mother her selection of teabags and placed two mugs in the microwave to heat.

"Spit it out, Mom."

"I told you..."

"Nothing. I know. But last time you came rushing in here at," she glanced at the clock, "10:17 in the morning, the nothing turned out to be that you were going to have a hysterectomy."

"All right." Her mom sighed and brushed back her curly gray hair. "Maybe it is a little something. You know how your cousin Barb works for that travel agency and gets all those discounts? Well..."

"Oh no, mom. Don't even go there," Monica interrupted.

"Now just hear me out, sweetheart. Hawaii! Your dad and me and both of you girls. This summer. The ticket prices were unbelievable! Please. Your father and I want to do this for you and Lisa for next year's Christmas present. Surely you won't refuse a Christmas present?"

"Mom!" Monica exploded. "What part of 'agoraphobic' don't you understand?"

"Yes. I know that, dear. But the doctor did say that if you should start making little forays outdoors." Mom indicated with her forefinger and thumb the tiny increments Monica could take in progressing back into the outside world. "You could start by working on your garden. You used to love your garden remember?"

"I like my window garden just fine," Monica said.

"And then maybe another day you could take a tiny walk down the sidewalk, to the edge of your yard at first, then maybe as far as the end of the street."

"Mom!"

"By summer, who knows, you could be sunning yourself on a Hawaiian beach surrounded by native boys with palm fronds."

"Goodbye, Mother."

"I haven't had my tea yet," she protested.

The microwave timer rang and Monica pulled the steaming mugs from it. "All right. You'll get your tea, but you must not bring up Hawaii again. You can tell me about Aunt Helen's back troubles or how annoying dad's snoring is. You can even tell me about Barb's fiancé and all the wedding plans, but you will not bring up Hawaii."

"Well, of course, dear. What do you think I am, insensitive? I can tell when my girl is upset and I won't mention again the great discount we got, or how your dad has dreamed about having a family vacation like we used to when you girls were little."

"Good." Monica thought longingly of her dream man, whoever she might invent with words today, waiting for her just a click away in the confines of her computer then turned her attention back to her mother. "So, what color are Barb's bridesmaid gowns?"

By the time her mother left, Monica's morning was shot. She wasn't the slightest bit interested in finishing her articles and even the lure of imaginary Brad or Rick or Jacob or Nameless-Guy-who-always-wanted-to-tie-her-up had palled.

She clicked on Internet Explorer and skimmed the vast electronic world, searching for the man she had often dreamed of but never dared to pursue. She browsed both the legitimate dating services and the seedy escort ads. Suddenly her attention was caught by a tuxedoed man holding a single red rose. He offered the flower and smiled out at her from the screen as if he had a secret to share.

Need someone to escort you to that corporate dinner? A partner to dance with at your cousin's wedding? How about a date for a quiet evening at home? Ladies and gentlemen, your answer is here at Labors of Love.

A quiet evening at home. What would that entail?

The site design was conservative and tastefully professional, revealing nothing that would give it away as a sex for sale business. Information and links to various parts of the site took up parts of the screen not occupied by Mr. Perfect Teeth and his flawless red rose. It was so far removed from other escort sites she had visited that she wasn't sure sex was even on the menu at Labors of Love. It was certainly less threatening than the blatant prostitution she had seen advertised before. Monica wondered if she could actually do this--hire a "date" to sex up her long, lonely days and nights.

She sat drumming her fingers on the desk for a moment then reached for the mouse and clicked on the link that led to the catalog of providers. Instantly her screen was covered with smiling men's faces and naked chests. The shots showed only a bit of torso but the kind of sculpted physiques these men possessed were clear from that brief glimpse of flesh.

Monica scanned the faces, names and descriptions. There was square-jawed, All-American Mark, who loved moonlit beach strolls and giving full body massages in front of a crackling fire. David, with Asian cheekbones and almond eyes, was a trained ballroom dancer who would give private lessons in the art of movement. Travis loved poetry and literature and would explore any subject one desired. He had beautiful dark skin and huge biceps.

The steely blue eyes of Yuri, a Russian immigrant, struck Monica speechless. His bio was vague about his past but gave the impression that he was former military and would be happy to discipline you as needed. She was in no doubt now that the sometimes ambiguous wording of the bios was letting you know that sex was part of the date.

She lost track of time gazing at the handsome eye-candy, and wondered how Labors of Love had managed to secure such perfect specimens of the male sex. When she skipped to the rates page she found out how. The prices were astronomical. Someone on her budget would have to be content with drooling over the website. These guys were obviously meant as playthings for the wealthy, bored elite. She should stop gawking, start working and earn some money. A homeless agoraphobic would not be a pretty sight. Her mouse hovered, then Monica clicked on the candy counter one more time.

Halfway down the second page she came across a face that was neither smiling nor pouting with that sexy, come-hither pose male models assume. He was merely staring at the camera with an expression near surprise, as if the photographer had walked into his bathroom and caught him about to get in the shower.

Tousled, dirty blond hair tumbled down his forehead over wide, pale blue eyes. Light stubble roughed his cheeks, erasing any impression of femininity that his full lower lip and bowed upper one might impart. A tribal tattoo encircled his arm, but she couldn't make out the pattern in the small photo. He didn't have the air of professional polish the other men displayed and was totally non-threatening, yet extremely hot in a scruffy, art student kind of way. He looked like the type of person who didn't care about his looks and probably wasn't even aware of them. This was a guy she could feel comfortable inviting into her home for a one-on-one meeting with an option for more physical contact to follow.

Her eyes slid across the screen to his name: Ryan. Fantastic! It was a name she loved.

She read his bio. "Ryan is a carpenter by trade, experienced in wood-craft. He enjoys working with his hands and will fix anything that needs attention in your home. He is new to our roster but will clearly be in demand by our clientele."

She looked at his face again. I have to have him!

Horrified, she pushed away from the desk, escaping temptation. She couldn't honestly be considering this. Could she? An escort or dating service, call it whatever you wanted, it was still prostitution. How could she demean one of these young men by paying him to pleasure her? It was unethical, scandalous, impossible and humiliating. It was an announcement to herself that she had given up on the possibility of finding someone like normal people do and was reduced to hiring her sex online. She could not do this.

She looked at Ryan once more. Stared at him so long she felt his eyes were meeting hers and seeing inside her. Ah, but she wanted him. She was so tired of having no one, no real man's arms wrapped around her, no heavy body weighing hers down, no lips pressed against hers, no tongue gently probing her mouth or thick, living cock probing her sex. She was sick of vibrators and her own hand and her imaginary fantasies. She wanted a real man.

Monica took a deep breath then clicked on the link by Ryan's name that led her through the process of ordering her boy toy. She was afraid of filling out the profile about herself, her wants and needs, but she did it. With only a slight hesitation she clicked the final button to complete the transaction. There went her birthday money from her parents. She wondered how she was going to explain what she bought if they asked.

She'd set the date up for Thursday night. Two more days and Ryan would be hers for one evening.

Monica collapsed back in her chair and spun it back and forth repetitively. Her heart raced and a panic attack threatened. Was this even legal? Would she get busted by an undercover vice cop and hauled off to jail or fined? Was it a scam and would she get totally ripped off? If so, she deserved it. She definitely deserved it. What kind of a person paid to receive sexual services from another person? She was bad, bad, bad, bad, bad!

It was too late. The deed was done. On Thursday night at 8 p.m. she would either open her front door and greet her gentleman caller, or she'd sit alone all evening long waiting until realization dawned that she had been screwed--and not in a good way. Either scenario was a frightening.

Monica leaned toward the computer and clicked on the photo gallery one last time. Her big, orange tabby, Amber, jumped up on the computer desk and patted at the screen with one white-mitten paw. The cat loved playing with the cursor as it darted across the screen, but the cursor wasn't moving. Amber was patting her paw on Ryan's face.

"You approve, Amber? Wow! Uh, thanks." Monica patted her than moved the heavy cat to the floor.

She quickly saved Ryan's picture to her computer, closed the website and turned her attention back to the "Firm and Fit" article. She struggled to concentrate on her topic, the best way to determine ideal heart rate for exercise, while thoughts of the upcoming date buzzed around in her mind like a bee in a bell jar.

She was going to have a difficult couple of days.