Hard-Boiled Kink

B.J. Frazier

Sean O’Toole

L.K. Lynch

Copyright 2021. All rights reserved

Published by B.J. Frazier Publications, LLC

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

This book is a work of fiction

Adult Reading Material

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

One Night in Atlantic City - by L.K. Lynch

Noir Guy - by Sean O’Toole

Rebuilding a Ford - by B.J. Frazier

About the Authors

Other Books by the Authors

Connect with the Authors

Author’s Note

This book contains erotic fiction with graphic sex and is intended for mature readers only.

L.K. Lynch, Sean O’Toole and I took the 1940s film noir language and trope and applied it to kink in the modern day. We hope you enjoy this tongue-in-cheek spoof that includes plenty of heat!

My sincere and devoted thanks go to Thomas Antonson for his editing acumen and his uncanny ability to understand which word I really meant to use.

Please visit my website: bjfrazier.com

I know there are a lot of books for sale, and I thank you for choosing mine.

Happy reading,

~B.J.

Severe Content Warning: B.J. Frazier books contain *plots* and *well-developed characters*

Enjoy!

ONE NIGHT IN ATLANTIC CITY

By L.K. Lynch

Me and the boys were down AC in a casino for the night.  Who are the boys?  I’ll get to that.

It was a weeknight, but it was summer, and the place was jumping.  I mean, on fire.

Music blaring.  But the right kind of music.  And you could talk.

The place was well-lit.  You could see the devil in disguise across the room if you wanted to find him.

The bar had a Roaring Twenties kind of vibe.  Everyone was well-dressed.  Before the “business casual” wave wiped out the art of dressing in style.

And the bar was packed with people… not young enough to be poor and stupid; not old enough to be rich and stodgy.  But with people who knew life was short and the night was young.

They were gamblers, just not at the tables.

I got separated from my crew on the casino floor. My token “tribute” to Lady Luck lasting a bit longer than theirs, so I walked into the place alone to find it in full swing.

The packed room was longer than it was wide, and she was sitting at the bar in the thick of the crowd.

She saw me walk in as I saw her--in the same instant.  Brunette.  Thin.  Attractive.  Just enough makeup to tell you that if you were buying her a drink, it wouldn’t be a Chardonnay.

Now, I’ve been looked at before.  There are the looks, and there are the looks.  You remember the looks.  All of them.

But there were lots of people between me and her--and I was there to find my boys.

Oh yes, my boys.

We were on a Project.  Many people on that Project.  Many hours--days, nights, weekends, and travel.  On the Project.

We were the bad boys on the Project.  We worked the hardest.  We presented to management.  We traveled the most.  We drank even more.

If this was during the war, we would have been the bombers.  It had that feel.  We were expendable.  We knew there was no going back.  We wouldn’t go back even if we were allowed.  The Project was a one-way mission.  Teaching the computer to do what we used to do. And sooner or later, when the computer learned, our number would be up.

Some on the Project would go back to their old jobs. Some only thought they would. We knew better. There would be no going back for us. But we didn’t care anymore.

The boys were sitting at the end of a long, high-topped table across from the bar.  People were packed in on both sides.  The boys were talking with some ladies who were on holiday that evening.

The leader of our crew was Alex.  Alex was English.  Full-throttle.  No off-switch.  Played as hard as he worked. A consultant brought in from one of the big six, and had an expense account to match.

Do you know the great thing about the English?  Their language.  You think we speak the same language, but we don’t. There are little differences that set us apart.

Now, America is ubiquitous.  That’s not good or bad--it’s just the way it is.  There’s Hollywood.  Popular culture. TV. Movies.  When people around the world think of the English language, they think of it in terms of the way Americans speak.

So when an Englishman comes to town, and that Englishman is a player--well…

Alex and the crew were talking with the birds they met, at the long, high-top table.  Women are birds, guys are dogs in Alex’s parlance  it’s an English thing.

* * * *

At ten p.m., my late arrival meant finding a seat wherever I could.  Which turned out to be at the end of the group. Out of the discussion. Out of the banter. Out of the game.

But I had a seat, and the place was a live-action picture-show, so life could have been worse.  I could sit, enjoy my drink, and look around.

And there she was.  She had moved from her seat at the bar to sitting on the other side of the long table, about three people down.  Looking at me.  Looking at me.

Now, I’ve been looked at before…

And, after a couple of vodka and Red Bulls, you start to believe that there are no coincidences.

A couple of the dogs were trying to pull me into their conversation with the birds, but the numbers weren’t right, and I really wasn’t feeling it.

The funny thing about vodka and Red Bull?  The Red Bull has your mind making crisp decisions, but the vodka ensures that they’re the wrong ones.

So I turned to the woman and mouthed the words, “Help me.” I don’t know why I did that.

That’s a lie.  I knew why.  This was my mission.  This was my number, coming up.

She smiled, and turned her head to the guy next to her.

Wait!  The guy next to her?  I hadn’t noticed him before.  But there he was.  With her.  The one that was looking at me.

They nodded to each other before she got up.  To come around to the table.

To come around to me.

* * * *

“Hi.  I’m Karen.”

“Hello, Karen, my name is Blaine.”

“Looks like your buddies have met some new friends.”

“Yeah, that’s what they do.

“Left you out in the cold?”

“That’s what happens when I’m late.”

“So now you need a friend.”

“I think maybe I do.  But it looks like you’ve already got one.”

“Come up to our room.”

Karen meant business. No punches pulled.  It would be a threesome--the first for me.

I can’t say I was ready for that.

But there I was.

I glanced over to Alex.  He saw me talking to the brunette, and gave me a thumbs-up.  I don’t know if he knew about the guy.  He just saw that I was making time with the bird.

And then we were off.

In the elevator, the guy introduced himself as Steve. Then he asked, “This your first three?”

I nodded.

We got to their floor.  Out of the elevator, and down the hallway we walked.

Typical hotel, not very well-lit.

I wondered, This is how people get rolled.  Am I gonna get rolled tonight?

We arrived at their door.  Karen had the key.

We entered, Steve behind us.  He swung the bolt-bar that locked us in.

Large king bed, two chairs by the slider, out to the balcony.

Too high to jump, I kidded myself.

Steve was about my size but didn’t look in shape.

I could bull past him if I had to.

Steve unzipped a pouch and pulled out rolling papers and a baggie.

“This takes the edge off,” he said as he rolled a joint.

“Do you smoke?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

Mostly a drinker, I never really got into Mary Jane.  Only smoked a few times, on the other side of the tracks.

Steve lit it, and handed it to Karen. She took a drag, and handed it to me.  I drew a toke, and passed it to Steve. A couple rounds, and it was done.

Karen turned to Steve, wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed him.  I noticed the wedding band on her finger.  He had one to match.

She whispered to him, and he retreated to one of the chairs by the slider.

Then she came to me.

So, this is how it will go?

I was still wondering if I was gonna get rolled as she unfastened my belt.  And unbuttoned my shirt.

Steve sat there, watching it all.

“You look nervous,” Karen said, softly.  “Relax.  We’re just here for fun.”

She had a woman’s voice. Not girly.

Sexy. Sultry. Smooth as silk.

Another glance at Steve, who had his baggie out, and was rolling another joint.

With my pants unfastened, Karen sunk to her knees.

My spider-sense satisfied, it was time for my libido to take the helm.

Karen helped me out of my pants.  My piece throbbed under my boxers.

“Hmm,” she cooed.  She was watching.

I slid out of my dress shirt.  “Thomas Pink, French cuffs,” she noted.

She knew her clothing.

At three hundred dollars a copy, I’ll need to remember to grab that on the way out the door, my inner voice reminded before I shut it down for the night.

She slid the boxers down, caressed my jewels, and guided my Tommy gun into her mouth.

“Time to see what’s underneath your dress,” I growled as I stood her up.  “Armani, is it?”

“Versace.  But nice guess.”

Karen spun and moved her hair aside, inviting me to pull the zipper down.

Steve lit his joint.

Karen ditched her bra, and slipped out of her thong underwear.  We were both nude, facing each other. Steve took a drag.

Visit: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1082108 to purchase this book to continue reading. Show the author you appreciate their work!