Rules to Live By by Lisa Henry

Author:Lisa Henry [Zabo, Heidi Belleau Anah Crow Dianne Fox Lisa Henry Cari Z & Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2015-02-12T05:00:00+00:00

Huge thanks to my husband, who reads everything I write, no matter the topic, and offers great advice.

It was one of those days when Tad wanted to go home and kick the cat. Except he lived on campus, and he didn’t have a cat. What he had was nine hundred dollars in his pocket, and a well-thumbed business card. Nothing more than an address and a telephone number in shiny black print on a matte black background—writing that only appeared when you tilted the card in the light just so—but that was all Tad needed. He hadn’t been to the place in a week, but the urge to walk inside, take a breath, and feel like the master of everything he surveyed had been gnawing at him for days. And if the visit went like last time, even better. He hadn’t known he was the sort of guy who came hardest when he’d made his partner cry, but fuck it. Bitch needed to develop a thicker skin.

Last week, he’d swaggered into the place, laid out his cash, and demanded “the greenest bitch here.” Which totally went against the brothel’s “socialize and hook up” way of doing things, but Tad had no interest in wasting time schmoozing with a bunch of used-up whores.

Speaking of used up . . .

Now that Tad had gotten a taste of teaching this place’s newbie what he could expect out of his worthless life, maybe it was time to sample the other extreme. Some whore way past their expiration date, probably desperate for money and clients in a room full of younger, fresher wares. Willing to do pretty much anything.

It would be a hell of a buzz to crush a guy like that. Someone who’d been in the game awhile. Someone who thought they were tougher than they were.

Tad imagined sitting on the bed flicking dollar bills in the guy’s face as he sucked his cock. Old, dirty, used-up whore. He got hard just thinking about it.

It was still early when Tad arrived at The Address. He’d gone straight from school to the bank to get his weekly allowance cashed out—all in small bills because he liked the feel of a thick wad in his pocket—and then it was straight to the whorehouse for his evening’s entertainment.

He’d failed an exam today. Not his first F, not his last.

Not that it mattered. He was a Jameson, after all. It would take a lot more than a few flunked college courses to dull the sheen of his bright future. Even so, his parents would still dutifully threaten to cut him off—maybe even go so far as to withhold money for a week or so—if for no other reason than to keep up the pretense that they weren’t completely fucking worthless pushovers as parents.

What better “screw you” to their little act than to make a lump sum withdrawal and spend it all on sex before they had a chance to cockblock him?

Oh, sure, they’d bug him to hell and

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