Genre: Contemporary Romance

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Blurb:

Tyler Westbrook, better known as Johnny Depth, is taking the adult film industry by storm. With his playboy looks, it’s no surprise a few coworkers have attempted to take things off set and into the bedroom, but Tyler refuses to blur the lines between work and play…until the new assistant to the director walks in.

Jemma Morgan was recently fired from a lead role on a kid’s TV show that was supposed to be her big break. Unable to get another acting gig, she’s accepted a job in an industry she never expected to be a part of. Although she anticipates being shocked her first few days on set, nothing could prepare her for the moment she’s asked to hold the reflector as her ex-boyfriend plows through a woman like a Kansas cornfield.

In a world of butt-plugs, lube, and fake moans, is there a place for a second chance? Exes and some serious ohs…the term ex-rated just took on a whole new meaning.

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Excerpt:

Hudson Matthews, the godfather of porn, has his face eyelevel with my cock—so close I can feel his warm breath blowing across the tip of my dick. My pulse is banging in my ears. I’m sweating bullets. What the fuck am I doing here?

I wasn’t exactly searching the classifieds for a job in the adult entertainment industry. Shit just kind of happened. I work at Dancing Dicks, an all-male strip club. You meet a lot of women at a club like that—you can fuck a lot of women at a club like that, and I may have accidentally screwed one of the girls that work here. I had no idea she was a porn star—not that it would have mattered much, but she mentioned how much she made and dropped my name to Hudson, which is how I ended up on this…whatever this is—interview, cock inspection…

His gaze narrows as he nods his head. “Okay. Good size. Good girth. You got a good looking dick, man.”

“Uh…” What the fuck do I say to that? “Thanks…”

“I think you’ll do just fine in this industry.” He walks back to his desk and sits down, the chair creaking under his weight.

“But…” I shake my head, “No guys. Ever. That’s a deal, right?”

“Sure. No guys. I’ll have Amanda type that up in your contract if we sign you.”

I start to pull my jeans back up—

“One more thing,” he says. “Go ahead and beat one out, would you? Need to see if you’re a dribbler or a shooter. That’s gonna be one of two clinchers on whether you get the job.”

I stand, holding the waist of my jeans and staring at him silently. “Like,” I shrug, “right now? Just jerk off—right here—in your office?”

“Yeah.” His face remains expressionless. “You signed the waiver. My dick’s not out. Not like I’m gonna rub one off. It’s just part of it, and if you can’t handle busting a nut in my office, well, then how the hell are you gonna bust one in front of an entire crew?” He shuffles the papers on his desk. “I mean, you’re a good looking guy.” His eyes drag over my body, and it makes my dick lose a good inch, “And a good looking guy with a cock like that—” He points at my crotch. “Well, they’re hard to come by. You could be the next big thing, so just get on with it.” He pushes the piece of paper toward me, and I stare at the figure he wrote down earlier. Shit, that’s a lot of money to let someone tape you fucking other people. This is not amateur, middle of the road porn. This is the fucking holy grail of the porn world. This man is porn himself. Walking, loaded porn.

He grabs the remote from the desk and turns on the TV hung on the far wall. The sound of fake, breathy moans immediately fills the room and my attention swings to the screen. Two girls are going at it. I swallow. Never would I have thought I would find myself in a man’s office, beating one out to two chicks fucking each other on an 80-inch plasma screen. But for the kind of money written on that piece of paper, well, you do a lot of shit you never thought you would. I mean, being a porn star…how bad can it be? It’s not like my family’s going to fess up if they stumble across one of my films.

Taking a shallow breath, I fist my cock, focusing on the TV and the amount of money on that piece of paper. “I mean…” I stop jerking myself but don’t look over at him because that would just be too fucking weird. “Where do you want me to shoot my load?”

“I don’t care just as long as it’s not on the chair, that shit stains.”

There’s a first time for everything in life, but never did I imagine Hudson Matthews would one day ask me to beat off in his office and then pull out a measuring tape to see what kind of distance my ejaculation has.

About the Author:

Stevie J. Cole is a secret rock star. Sex, drugs and, oh wait, no, just sex. She’s a whore for a British accent and has an unhealthy obsession with Russell Brand. She and LP Lovell plan to elope in Vegas and breed the world’s most epic child.

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