Casual Sext Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Casual Sext

  Lisa Lace

  Contents

  1. Cole

  2. Sophie

  3. Cole

  4. Sophie

  5. Cole

  6. Sophie

  7. Cole

  8. Sophie

  9. Cole

  10. Sophie

  11. Cole

  12. Sophie

  13. Cole

  14. Sophie

  15. Sophie

  16. Cole

  17. Sophie

  18. Cole

  19. Sophie

  20. Cole

  21. Sophie

  22. Cole

  23. Sophie

  24. Cole

  25. Sophie

  26. Cole

  27. Sophie

  28. Cole

  29. Sophie

  30. Cole

  31. Sophie

  32. Cole

  33. Sophie

  34. Cole

  35. Sophie

  36. Cole

  Epilogue

  Newsletter

  Ruined

  1. Edward

  2. Mia

  3. Edward

  4. Edward

  5. Mia

  6. Edward

  7. Mia

  8. Edward

  9. Mia

  10. Edward

  11. Mia

  12. Edward

  13. Mia

  14. Edward

  15. Edward

  16. Mia

  17. Edward

  18. Mia

  19. Edward

  20. Mia

  21. Mia

  22. Edward

  23. Mia

  24. Edward

  25. Mia

  26. Mia

  27. Edward

  28. Mia

  29. Edward

  30. Mia

  Exposed

  1. Maxwell

  2. Laura

  3. Maxwell

  4. Laura

  5. Laura

  6. Maxwell

  7. Laura

  8. Maxwell

  9. Maxwell

  10. Laura

  11. Maxwell

  12. Laura

  13. Maxwell

  14. Laura

  15. Maxwell

  16. Laura

  17. Maxwell

  18. Laura

  19. Maxwell

  20. Laura

  21. Maxwell

  22. Laura

  23. Laura

  24. Maxwell

  25. Laura

  26. Maxwell

  27. Laura

  28. Maxwell

  29. Laura

  30. Maxwell

  31. Laura

  32. Maxwell

  Epilogue: Laura

  Unwrapping Daddy

  1. Zoe

  2. Tom

  3. Zoe

  4. Tom

  5. Zoe

  6. Tom

  7. Zoe

  8. Tom

  9. Zoe

  10. Tom

  11. Zoe

  12. Tom

  13. Zoe

  14. Tom

  15. Zoe

  16. Tom

  17. Zoe

  18. Tom

  19. Zoe

  20. Tom

  21. Zoe

  22. Tom

  23. Zoe

  24. Tom

  25. Zoe

  26. Tom

  27. Zoe

  28. Tom

  29. Zoe

  30. Tom

  31. Zoe

  32. Tom

  33. Zoe

  34. Tom

  35. Zoe

  36. Tom

  37. Zoe

  Epilogue

  Mismatch

  1. Ethan

  2. Lily

  3. Ethan

  4. Lily

  5. Ethan

  6. Lily

  7. Ethan

  8. Lily

  9. Ethan

  10. Lily

  11. Ethan

  12. Lily

  13. Ethan

  14. Lily

  15. Ethan

  16. Lily

  17. Ethan

  18. Lily

  19. Ethan

  20. Lily

  21. Ethan

  22. Lily

  23. Ethan

  24. Lily

  25. Ethan

  26. Lily

  27. Ethan

  28. Lily

  29. Ethan

  30. Lily

  31. Ethan

  32. Lily

  33. Lily

  34. Ethan

  Epilogue

  Abduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Blaze

  Prologue

  1. Nate

  2. Jenna

  3. Nate

  4. Jenna

  5. Nate

  6. Jenna

  7. Nate

  8. Jenna

  9. Nate

  10. Jenna

  11. Nate

  12. Jenna

  13. Nate

  14. Jenna

  15. Nate

  16. Jenna

  17. Nate

  18. Jenna

  19. Nate

  20. Jenna

  21. Nate

  22. Jenna

  23. Nate

  24. Jenna

  25. Nate

  26. Jenna

  27. Nate

  28. Jenna

  29. Nate

  30. Jenna

  31. Nate

  32. Jenna

  Epilogue

  Also by Lisa Lace

  Cole

  The newlyweds enter the reception at New York’s Midtown Loft and Terrace. The loft’s solid wood floors gleam under the lights of half a dozen chandeliers, and when the couple arrives, a string quartet begins to play. Waiters emerge from the sidelines like figurines on tracks, circling the room with champagne.

  I try to stay out of sight on the sidelines, carefully watching each of the guests, waiting for something special to catch my eye.

  The bride beams at everyone gathered around her. She wears a beautiful ivory gown with intricate beading and a never-ending train. Her long blond hair is twisted into sophisticated braids and curls that spill over her bare shoulders. She’s a vision.

  As people throw confetti their way, she’s clutching onto her new husband’s hand. The pink-and-white paper settles in her hair. She looks ravishing. As they welcome the couple into the reception, joyful friends and family form a path of well-wishers for the newlyweds to walk down.

  If the groom wasn’t a foot a
nd a half shorter than the bride, it would be the perfect shot.

  Every time I try to get a clear picture, his head is obscured by the bride’s voluminous veil and tiara. When I switch to the groom’s side of the shot, they look comically mismatched.

  I step up onto a nearby chair to try some aerial shots, making the height difference less noticeable.

  My assistant videographer, Dennis, circles around the pair as they begin their first dance. As he’s faced with the same dilemma, his eyebrows turn downward in frustration. He ducks up and down in circles around them. The first dance song drifts through the hall.

  Ed Sheeran again. Everybody’s crazy for Ed Sheeran these days.

  I step down from the chair and crouch to snap pictures from beneath the swirling couple. As the bride and groom waltz toward me, I take a step back—and I feel my cell crunch beneath my heel. It has fallen out my pocket. I can feel shards of loose glass in the heel of my dress shoe.

  Fuck. Not again.

  I don’t have time to inspect the damage and risk missing a single magical moment of the couple’s first dance. It’s my job to meticulously capture every admiring smile, every teary eye, and each affectionate touch.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  Finally, Ed Sheeran’s tortuous crooning comes to an end, and the bride lowers herself to kiss the groom. I furiously take pictures while they’re the same height, then lower my camera for a moment.

  Dennis appears at my side, watching back the last few minutes of his video footage, and shaking his head.

  “I don’t think they’ve had that much trouble accounting for height differences since they made ‘The Hobbit.’”

  I chuckle. “I think I got a couple of good ones in at the end there.”

  “Did you see those heels she’s wearing? What in God’s name made her want to wear stilettos?”

  “Don’t worry. We got some good shots of them sitting down earlier. There’s not much else we can do.”

  I kneel down and pick up my cell. Broken—of course. I sigh and bounce the broken handset up and down in my palm.

  Dennis frowns and raises his eyebrows. “Again?”

  “I need to invest in a fanny pack.”

  “Or get a phone thicker than a tissue.”

  “It’s a good model.”

  “Not when it’s broken in two.” He takes out his clunky Nokia and shows it to me smugly. “I’ve had it almost eleven years and counting. Indestructible.”

  “I’m glad you have better taste in camcorders. Not sure you’d hold down this job for long with a VCR recorder on your shoulder.”

  Not that I can talk. It’s going to be back to my backup cell until I can afford to replace this one. Again. Is it just me, or are paid invoices thin on the ground lately? It doesn’t help that I can tell this bride is going to be a pain in the ass.

  “She had a twenty-one-item list of demands for today. ‘And if you don’t make it happen, you won’t see a dime.’”

  “Bridezillas tend to cool off after the big day,” he reassures me.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Dennis grins. “You’re going to struggle to keep up with Tinder without the proper equipment. You’re facing a dry patch, my friend.”

  “I have Fifi’s number. I’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way, won’t I?”

  “Remind me, what’s the ‘old-fashioned way”?”

  “The classic sext.” I grin at him. “Come on, Dennis! Don’t tell me you don’t remember being a horny teenager with your first cellphone.”

  “I wrote letters.”

  I snort. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of old-school romance.”

  It doesn’t surprise me. I would bet that Dennis was a band geek in school or leader of the science club. Even now, with his giant square glasses and flat brown hair, most people would probably call him a dweeb.

  “You handwrote your sex messages?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I was more a love poem kind of guy.” He laughs at himself. “I thought I was such a Casanova, but it never had the desired effect. Even now, you’re the one with Sophia wrapped around your little finger, while I haven’t had a date in months. Not that you’d know anything what that’s like, King Tinder.”

  I try to hide my smile. It was true—I’d had more luck on the dating app than most guys I knew. All it took was a handsome profile picture—and I guess you could say that I wasn’t the worst-looking guy in the world. I’m just touching six-foot-tall, with olive skin clinging to last summer’s tan, and dark blond hair that seems to fall naturally into a style that looks carefully planned. It probably also helps that I work out, and I’m not afraid to flash my abs on my profile.

  “Formerly King Tinder. I’m with Fifi now.”

  “You are? You’ve stopped seeing the others?”

  “I was never really ‘seeing’ them. It was only a couple of dates while I got to know the girls.”

  “While you were playing the field, you mean.”

  “Just looking for the right woman.”

  “Uh-huh. And if you fall into the beds of several others along the way, that’s just how it goes, right?” He makes a face. “You make it look too easy, Cole. So, you’re with Sophia now—sorry, Fifi.” He raises his eyebrows.

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “She sounds like your pet cat.”

  I laugh, then shrug. “I didn’t pick it.”

  “When are you seeing her again?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s flying out to Milan this week to see her folks.”

  “Italian, too. Typical.”

  “You could find a nice woman yourself if you lost that chip on your shoulder.”

  “And got laser eye surgery and a six-hundred-dollar haircut.”

  I focus my lens on a sweet moment between the bride’s parents, snapping them holding hands across the table, then turn back to Dennis. “You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Women appreciate a man with confidence.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Seriously; all it takes is confidence and a little bit of charm. I mean, if this guy can do it—” I point my thumb toward the groom, standing on his tiptoes to share a kiss with the bride— “then a bad haircut shouldn’t stop you. Look. You can tell she’s crazy about him.”

  Dennis pats his head self-consciously, then sets his camera to record once more. “Enough of this chat. Shooting weddings is bad enough without hearing about your effortless sexual escapades.”

  “You’re right. Shooting weddings is bad enough.”

  Dennis casts me a sympathetic smile and returns to recording the party.

  I know why he’s looking at me like that. Not so long ago, I was an internationally-renowned photojournalist, traveling the globe and getting ahead of some of the biggest headlines worldwide. I faced searing heat and deadly environments; I had to figure out how to capture once-in-a-generation historical events in clear, sharp, poignant focus. Now, my biggest challenge is how to make two people look kind of the same size.

  How the mighty have fallen.

  Sophie

  I love Latte Latte, the coffee shop a block away from my little New York apartment. It’s a cozy little joint where single moms and college kids come to hang out on the squishy sofas and take pictures of the specialty-foam art. My latte is topped with a foam kitten with cocoa whiskers.