Filthy for the Night (For The Night #3) by C.J. Fallowfield Page A

massive gym and fitness
suite, with sauna and shower room and a small kitchenette. Clients didn’t know
that I lived upstairs and Ian was meticulous with his checks. How he got half
of the information on fitness and sexual clients, well I guess they could both
be bundled under the heading “fitness,” was beyond me. Even though I wasn’t going
to take anymore bookings, or have any contact with my last client, virgin for
the night Summer Beresford, due to my totally inappropriate emotional response
to her, I’d still instructed Ian to perform a far more in depth report on her.
Morbid curiosity I guess. I felt some affinity to her that I’d not felt in
years.
    I’d been relieved to find out that the jerk who traumatised
her as a teenager had been killed in a car accident, though not so reassured
when I’d read of her movie co-star’s track record for bedding his leading
ladies. The thought of someone else with their hands on her soft delicate skin,
making her whimper their name, the way she had mine, made my blood boil. I took
a deep breath, I’d chosen to not confess how I really felt about her, she deserved
someone better than me in her life. Besides, she’d only liked “Logan” the
skilled seductor, she didn’t even know me. I had to stop obsessing over
her, and hopefully tonight Yasmin would get me back on track so I could fuck
Summer out of my system once and for all. Before I did, I leaned back on the
cool travertine tiled wall of my master bathroom and gripped my solid cock. I
gently stroked it up and down, squeezing and pulling it while remembering
Summer’s innocent blue eyes looking up into mine as her lips and tongue brought
me to the fastest ever blow job ejaculation last week, and now a hand job
record today. I groaned as I came and watched it mix with the hot shower water
and swirl down the drain. She was fucking ruining me.
    ‘Damn it Logan, get a bloody grip,’ I chastised
myself as I cleaned up again and headed back into my bedroom. I pulled on a
pair of white boxer briefs, designed by Yasmin’s husband himself, chuckling at
the irony. After dressing in my graphite suit, with a white shirt undone at the
neck and styling my black hair into that ruffled up sexy mess that looked like
I hadn’t made an effort, when really I had, I strode out to my open plan
kitchen,  and poured myself a long glass of water and sat at the breakfast bar
to check my brief again for the evening, making sure no details had been
overlooked.
    Scenario
    I want you to use, humiliate and abuse me,
without physically hurting me or leaving marks for Eoin to see when he gets
back from his friends stag weekend. I want to feel like a complete cheap dirty
whore and it would really turn me on for you to be fully dressed, watching me
get fucked by other men, to be covered in their come before you finish me off.
No one makes me come like you do, Logan.
    I smiled at the last part, she screamed like a
banshee when I was fucking her and I always wondered if her husband made her
scream like that. Filthy you wanted, filthy you’re about to get, I
thought, as I checked my watch and headed out to meet James, my driver.
    ‘Evening, Sir,’ he smiled as he held the back door
of the Merc open for me.
    ‘Evening, James. How are you?’ I enquired as I
rubbed my hands together and blew out a breath, the steam showing against the
chilly night.
    ‘Excellent, Sir.’
    ‘I hope that you’re caffeinated, it’s going to be
a long night.’
    ‘Of course, Sir. Have I ever let you down before?’
    ‘Never,’ I smiled as I curled my six foot one
frame under the roof and into the backseat. Only a handful of people knew my
real identity, as well as my sexual one, James was one of them. As well as a
driver, he was an ex-marine, handy to have around in the event of a night where
there may be trouble, and given my plan for the last portion of the evening,
that was a real possibility. He climbed in and secured his seat belt before
pulling