Thirst trap, p.1
Thirst Trap, page 1
Thirst Trap
A Sexy, Flirty, Dirty Novella in The Men of Summer Series
Lauren Blakely
Lauren Blakely Books
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
Thirst Trap
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also by Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
* * *
Rules of Love Series
The Rules of Friends with Benefits (A Prequel Novella)
The Virgin Rule Book
The Virgin Game Plan
The Virgin Replay
The Virgin Scorecard
* * *
Men of Summer Series
Scoring With Him
Winning With Him
All In With Him
* * *
The Guys Who Got Away Series
Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend
The What If Guy
Thanks for Last Night
The Dream Guy Next Door
* * *
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
* * *
The Extravagant Series
One Night Only
One Exquisite Touch
My One-Week Husband
* * *
MM Standalone Novels
A Guy Walks Into My Bar
One Time Only
* * *
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
* * *
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
* * *
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
* * *
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
PS It’s Always Been You
Special Delivery
* * *
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
* * *
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
* * *
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
* * *
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
* * *
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
* * *
The Caught Up in Love Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
* * *
Seductive Nights Series
Night After Night
After This Night
One More Night
A Wildly Seductive Night
About
Some men are irresistible. Like that smoking hot British guy I meet at a nightclub. Trouble is, he disappears after our last dirty dance. But I’m determined to find my man again. And I’ve got just the plan — I’ll send him a thirst trap.
* * *
But his answer surprises the hell out of me…
Thirst Trap
By Lauren Blakely
* * *
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1
Rafe
* * *
The music pulses. The lights are low. Energy and sex radiate throughout the dance club.
The place is packed and I’ve already danced my arse off for hours, me and Theresa and one hundred of our new closest friends, tearing it up at my favorite place in San Francisco.
I may not know their names, but I know them. The other people at Edge might be strangers on paper but I bet I can tell what sort of underwear they’d look damn good in.
Take that All American guy out there. He’d turn heads in a pair of my Tight, White, and Bright jocks—all boy-next-door on the front, loud-and-proud playboy on the back.
Or the man over there in the corner dressed all snappy in a bright red tank top. He’d rock out in a pair of my Over the Rainbow briefs, for sure.
Now, as I head to the second-floor bar and ask for a martini, I run a hand through my hair, catching my breath.
It’s been a perfect Saturday night.
The loud music reverberates, echoing in my bones.
The crowds fill every square inch of the dance floor, bodies bumping and grinding. Hands slide along arms, and legs intertwine. Hips thrust. Lips lock, and I can’t look away.
Places like this are my inspiration. My greedy, overactive imagination gobbles up the sounds, the movement.
Most of all the touching.
All of it swirls together into ideas, styles, and concepts.
For connection.
At a place like this, that’s the thing people seem to crave the most.
That’s what I try to give them in my work. Connection and a sense of confidence that they can be whoever they are—whenever they want—because of the way my underwear makes them feel.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, a familiar voice. My business manager, Theresa. She’s also a close friend.
“You look deep in thought. Let me guess. You’re coming up with new underwear designs,” she shouts in my ear.
“Not quite, but I am thinking about work,” I reply with a grin.
“It’s only your favorite thing to do,” she says.
“And how lucky am I to love my job?” I ask, since, truly, I am. I design clothes that men flock to, buying them in droves to confidently show off their wares, their bodies.
Body confidence is a beautiful thing, and I’m a proud purveyor of it. Lucky me.
But luck doesn’t land in your hand. You’ve got to work for it. Think about it. Never turn off the brain.
“Loving your job is great, but there’s such a thing as working too hard.” Theresa casts her knowing gray gaze on the dance floor. “Don’t work the whole time. Look around. See who’s here. Maybe you’ll find some handsome hottie to go home with.”
I laugh. She’s always trying to get me to find just that right person. It’s a noble goal, but it’s one I haven’t realized yet. There’s always something missing—a spark.
Like the moment of inspiration when an idea seizes you.
Desire, intimacy—it’s got to be the same. Fueled by a flare of pleasure. The flicker of connection.
But finding someone who wants the same things, who needs the same things as I do is tougher than releasing a range of underwear that’s all about modesty first.
That kind of work is just not me.
“Ah, Theresa. I’m here for inspiration and inspiration only,” I say, in her ear.
“Maybe you’ll find some inspiring sex,” Theresa says, since she’s always going on about how the world needs more sex.
She’s probably not wrong.
And I certainly wouldn’t mind some inspiring sex.
It’s been a while. Late nights, early mornings, and a brain that won’t shut off make it hard to find what I want—what I need—in the bedroom.
I d on’t want a simple one-night stand.
If I’m going to break my abstinence streak, I want it to be with someone who will rock my world—and, in turn, someone whose world I can rock.
I want that spark.
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” I say drily, then take the martini the bartender left for me and make my way to the railing that overlooks the dance floor below.
And holy fucking inspiration.
The men there are making me see unicorns on underwear, stallions on underwear, and panthers too.
Oh yes.
Theresa laughs as she ogles the crowd below. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some athletes,” she says, gesturing to a pack of big, sturdy men below.
I make a low noise of approval, grateful the music covers it up. So Theresa won’t think I’m staring shamelessly.
But I am.
I totally fucking am.
Because . . . sexy, sweaty, muscly bodies.
The perfect models for my designs. The perfect source for my inspiration.
She points to the floor below. “I’ll be heading there.”
“I figured as much.”
As she makes her way downstairs, I take a sip of my martini, enjoying the view, scanning the crowd.
My eyes catch on a man dancing with a group of friends. He grinds against a woman, then against a man, flanked by both of them.
He switches back and forth, taking turns.
With him so far away, and the lights low, I can’t tell what color his eyes are, but his hair is dirty blond and wavy, his lips full, and his chest broad. A tight white T-shirt hugs his muscular pecs, and his jeans snuggle up against sturdy thighs.
Delicious thighs.
But it’s his smile that hooks me most of all.
It’s crooked and electric.
It’s sexy and dirty.
And it’s headed my way.
His head lifts, and he raises his gaze to the second floor. His eyes find mine. And, for several seconds, our gazes lock.
A rush of heat whooshes down my chest, straight to my groin, making it simmer.
That’s not an unusual reaction.
I’m certainly not immune to beautiful men. Beautiful men are pretty much my favorite thing. But he radiates something else.
Confidence. Cockiness. Something in his eyes that says come and get it.
Or really, come and get me.
Not a bad idea. I wouldn’t mind coming and getting him at all.
I watch, hypnotized, as if he’s putting on a show just for me, and pay closer attention to the woman in the couple. She’s pulling him close, then pushing him toward the other man. She’s the orchestrator of this dirty dance show, and he seems to be loving it.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s what the man in the white shirt wants.
Someone else to be in control.
I knock back the rest of my drink, set it down on the marble bar top, then settle my tab. But when I head downstairs, he’s gone.
And that’s just the way it goes. I leave.
But as I catch a Lyft back to my place, I can’t stop the subtle sense of disappointment—the unusual pull of longing that tugs at my chest.
Seems I finally found that spark.
It’s just too bad he’s now the one who got away.
2
Gunnar
* * *
Boom.
One million followers. I flash my phone at my teammates, showing off to Holden and Declan.
“Check this out. You wish you had my following,” I say to them after a game against the Seattle Storm Chasers.
Declan rolls his eyes as he grabs his bag from his locker, then closes it. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want. A massive social media following. Not the thirty home runs I already have this season,” he says.
Holden rolls his eyes at me. “Or the sponsorship deal I just got.”
I scoff, grabbing my shirt from the locker, but then, fuck it. Why do I need a picture with a shirt on? We just won the game. I clobbered in a three-run homer. Fans like pictures of me with my shirt off. So I snap a selfie, grinning a little wickedly.
“Bet I get a fuck-ton of likes on this,” I say, admiring it.
“And what are you going to do with all of those likes?” Holden asks.
“Um. Hello. Pretty sure Seductive Cologne doesn’t mind the shirtless pics. Nor does my bathing suit sponsor,” I say, pulling on my shirt.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a showboat?” Declan asks, as he grabs his bag and makes his way to the locker room exit.
“Yeah, all the time. And I love it. And the fans love it too,” I say.
Holden shrugs. “He’s not wrong.”
“And everyone else seems to as well. The ladies and the dudes,” I say, then I grab my bag, chuck my phone in my pocket, and head out into the corridor after them. “And, speaking of ladies and dudes, I think I might head back to that club tomorrow night. Are you in?”
Declan shudders as we head down the corridor.
“You don’t like the club, do you?”
“Not really my scene. But it certainly seemed to be yours,” he says, with no judgement in his voice.
A memory of a certain hottie with I want to fuck you written in his eyes flashes before me, making my skin hot. “It definitely did.”
“Gunnar, you are the motherfucking scene,” Holden says with a whistle of appreciation.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” I say, stopping to take a bow.
And on our next night off, that’s exactly what I do.
Indulge in the scene.
I hit Edge again with some of my friends, a motley crew of gals and guys, straight and queer, pansexual, and bisexual like me.
When I walk in, I can’t deny that I keep hoping to catch a glimpse of that hot-as-fuck businessman-type I saw back in July. He was tall and trim, and he looked like he was dripping with elegance. He had that whole Tom Ellis vibe working overtime. Tailored shirt, custom-fitted slacks that hugged his legs, and just the right amount of stubble.
That was all I saw from my place on the dance floor in the dark. And really? What are the chances that you’re going to run into the same guy twice at a club?
It’s been more than a month.
But a man can hope, and hope I do. I’ve got a lot of dirty hope spinning inside me.
Bet he’d feel good pressed against me. And, oh yes, I’d like to feel someone pressed against me—if he was the right guy. You just never know where you’re going to meet the right guy.
As the music thumps, and the drinks flow, I move to the beat, swaying and grinding with my friends on the dance floor. My eyes drift around the club, and—
There.
Right there.
Seems my naughty prayers have been answered.
He’s above, his elbows resting casually on the balcony, his eyes surveying the place.
Land on me, hottie. Land on fucking me.
I practically will him to check me out since I look damn good tonight. I chose this tight black shirt that shows off my arms—the kind that reveals all the nooks and crannies of my chest muscles.
And sometimes dirty wishes come true. Those brown eyes laser in on me, and for one hot minute, it feels as if maybe he’s thinking the same—it would be his civic responsibility to rip this shirt off me.
Yes, please.
