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Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Feature and Giveaway: Thunder by Willow Summers



Welcome to Big D Escort Service.

If you need a date, we’ve got you.

If you need wining and dining, we’ve got you.

If you need a night you’ll never forget— buckle-up buttercup, because that’s our specialty.

We’ll give you what you need, as hard as you need it.


CODE NAME: THUNDER

All the girls call me Thunder.

As in, they need to feel the Thunder between their thighs.

I’m a legend. My waiting list is a mile long. The ladies crave me, and they’ll pay for the pleasure.

But though I hate to disappoint—everyone knows I leave my clients satisfied—it’s getting old. Money, sex, and rock ’n roll can get stale. Who knew?

I might just finish up, and pull out. I’ll take one more gig, rock her world, and see my way out.

I’ll show one last lucky lady why they call me Thunder.

* * *

CLIENT: MADISON

That rotten, no good—

My ex-boyfriend of too many years just left me three weeks before the most important wedding of my life.

I wanted to make a statement at that wedding. I’ve changed. I’m no longer the loser who got dumped by the popular boy in high school. Now I’m a successful business woman with clear skin.

But how can I possibly make that sort of statement as a loner?

I can’t, that’s how.

So when my friend suggests hiring a date from the Big D!ck Escort Service, it was hard to laugh it off. And as the days ticked by, it was harder and harder to deny that I needed saving.

No sex, though. I’m not that kinda girl. I’ll just hire the guy for a date, and nothing else.

Just one date without any funny-business. That’s do-able, right?
-------------------------

This is a full length, tongue-in-cheek stand-alone novel intended to make you giggle. Or at least pass the time.

Purchase: | Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo |

“I guess I can’t go to James’s wedding,” Madison said. “He’ll probably think I’m canceling because I don’t have a date. Which is true.” She crinkled her nose and drummed on the counter. “This really sucks.”

“Just get a date for the thing.” Janie shrugged. “That’s easy enough for you. There are, like, eight hundred people desperate to bone you in your office.”

“Your sarcastic faith in me is really something. I’m overwhelmed with all the love in this room.”

Janie laughed and grabbed the bottle to make them another round of drinks. It would be a dirty night. “But seriously, just get a date. You don’t have to know the guy.”

“I kinda wanted a steady thing to prove I’m stable. You know, since he accused me of being a psycho when he broke up with me.”

“So get your date to pretend you’ve been together for a while. This is not rocket science.”

“Oh sure, yeah. That’s not awkward or anything. I’d have to babysit the date and help him act? Are you trying to set me up for suicide?”

“Oh my God. Do I have to do everything for you?” Janie abandoned the martini and stalked from the room.

“I don’t mean this the way a guy would or anything,” Madison hollered at her retreating friend, “but are you PMSing? Because you’re all over the place.”

Janie marched back in with a card in her hand. She thumped it down on the counter. “Yes. I am. I feel as big as a house, you don’t have any chocolate, and despite hating to cry in front of people, I want to sob. Okay? Call that fucking number, bitch, and let’s lament that Frank the wonder chump is out of your life.”
“I’m afraid of you right now.”

“That is wise.” Janie went back to Dr. Vodka.

Madison picked up the card and read the front with a crooked grin. “Big Dick Escort Service?” Giggles bubbled out. “Are you for real?”

“Yes, actually. You get what you pay for. They’re expensive, but they’re professional.”

“Their name is Big Dick Escort Service, and you’re saying they’re professional?”

“They don’t work in a high rise like you, no, but they know their business.”

“The business that this card boasts is just over two years old? A whole two years?”

Janie started to chuckle helplessly. “Yes, okay, so there are some issues. Like that weird dick and balls in the logo. But seriously, I know a friend who used them and everything was professional. He didn’t hit on her or act sleazy in any way. I guess he was really charming. He picked her up like a date, took her to her business dinner, chatted or whatever, and took her home. That was it. No biggie.”

“Are they hot?” Madison flung down the card.

“She said the guy was smoking. Like”—Janie fanned herself—“smo-king.”

“Escort services are usually for sex.”

“Not always, but they do that, too. On the down-low, obviously.”

“Oh, ew. I’m not hiring a hooker to go to James’s wedding with me. That’s the opposite of what I’m going for.”

Janie sipped her martini. When she set it down, she threw Madison a glare. “Do you want to see my ragey side?”

“No, thank you.”

“No, thank you is right. What did I just say? You don’t have to hire him for sex. Just hire him for the thing. How did a dumb girl like you get so far in the export business?”

“We import.”

“Whatever.”

Madison patted the card. “I’m going to stick to maybe on this one. I’ll look it up, but if the website has pictures of women licking chocolate off guys’ junk, I’m out. Oh, and if there’s an obscene amount of A) pink or B) glitter.”

“Chocolate. Ugh.” Janie bent and banged her head off the counter. “I so wish you had chocolate. But in related news, these guys aren’t strippers.”

“So you say.” Madison fingered the card again. If they were in any way decent, it might not be a bad idea.

And the fact that she was contemplating an escort service, which sold sex, as a viable alternative to her problem really said something about her level of desperation.

Willow Summers is a USA Today Bestselling author of comic, contemporary, erotic, and suspense romance. When she’s not writing, be wary, because she will probably try to pull you into some shenanigan or other, usually involving wine and heavy doses of chocolate. She lives just south of California wine country with her husband, two children, and out of work treadmill.

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3 comments :

  1. I don't know if it's just me but the rafflecopter isn't opening when I click the link

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