Luke Bradbury: For Hire: The Intimate Adventures of a Gigolo

With Catherine von Ruhland

A special thank you to Keshini Naidoo and the rest of the team at AVON/HarperCollins and to Diane Banks.

To Catherine, thank you for another great book

and for capturing my story perfectly through

hard work and many late nights.

Coverpage

Title Page LUKE BRADBURY For Hire: The Intimate Adventures of a Gigolo With Catherine von Ruhland

Dedication A special thank you to Keshini Naidoo and the rest of the team at AVON/HarperCollins and to Diane Banks. To Catherine, thank you for another great book and for capturing my story perfectly through hard work and many late nights.

Along for the ride

A New Beginning

Gray

Aidan

Karen

Heather

Melanie & Alison

Tash

Josephine

Melanie

Karen again

Agnieszka

Tom & Claire

Lars

Gray again

Marcus & Rachel

Nina

Jill

Marie & Craig

Carla & Denise

Jill & friends

Kim

Shami

Haley

Christine

Jill again

Fiona & Co

Christine plus three

Gray’s place

Jane

Nina & Luke

More about Mischief

About The Author

Other Books By

Copyright

About the Publisher

Don’t move a fucking muscle . Julie’s cold fingers pad over my hard dick which is cradled in the palm of her other hand. I hold my breath. Julie’s focus is just as taut, her attention fixed on the wet plaster she is spreading over my entire cock. I watch her from above the hardening cast that runs all the way down from my shoulders to just above my knees.

Julie’s top teeth bite into her lower lip with the concentration. Her fingernails. That bite. The cast’s brittle white outer shell. It is me that is putty in her hands.

She could do whatever she wants to me.

I breathe out. She catches my eye.

‘Not much longer,’ she smiles, and the lines crinkle around her eyes.

She takes a step back to observe her handiwork.

‘Looking good,’ she mumbles, ‘looking good.’

Julie picks up her mug of tea from the paintsplattered trestle table and takes a sip. I lick my lips. My own mug sits tantalizingly out of reach.

‘It shouldn’t take too long to set, and then we’ll have you out of there. Free at last,’ she winks.

While we wait, I try to imagine what I must look like from Julie’s point of view. A fit young guy caught in suspended animation in the middle of her studio, and on the way to giving her a new coat hanger. Or whatever she plans to do with my sculpture.

I was Julie’s muse, her model, her material all in one. It was my dick that had got me this far. But standing here now, I had a hunch that maybe sometimes it was taking me too far. Because the only reason I was here was because of my prime-quality cock, legs and torso. I could be anyone .

I now knew what it felt like to be treated like a lump of meat. My hands might have been free, which meant that I could help Julie a little with her work, but I had to be careful, as the very movement of my underarm muscles threatened to do serious damage to Julie’s cast.

I’d shake my head at what my escort work got me caught up in—If I didn’t fear that moving my neck and chest muscles might ruin Julie’s artwork.

I’m not sure what I’d expected when Julie had called earlier in the week and asked me to help her out; I was just happy to be able to do so. When she’d told me she’d need to cover me in plaster for her artwork, it had taken me right back to the beginning of this game when I’d needed photos for the agency websites and paired up with a photography student who wanted snaps for his portfolio. We’d been doing each other a favour.

Even though Julie was paying me, I still liked the idea of being an artist’s muse for the afternoon. And who knows? I might end up on someone’s wall.

As long as none of my clients recognizes me!

In my mind’s eye, I could see the metal length of me—from breastplate down to my thighs and, jutting from the midst of it, a shiny golden cock—featuring in a Sunday supplement or a famous gallery. And someone pointing out, ‘I know him. He was a good lay.’ Well, of course, that went without saying.

Yup, it was Dick who was more of interest to Julie than Muggins here. I couldn’t help wondering if I was the one being dragged along for the ride.

I didn’t know much about art, but this situation certainly felt surreal. Me standing here, butt-naked except for the cold damp paste that Julie had been slathering over me. I’d had enough trouble finding Julie’s cottage. My scooter had stuttered up a dirt-track country road in Kent to reach here and it felt like the back of beyond. I’d barely seen another house once I’d turned off the motorway slip road. She’d taken me along a garden path to a renovated barn filled with her artist’s stuff. Yeah, this was all happening in the middle of nowhere. It meant we were free to do whatever we liked. And no one would know anything about it. But then again, I’d laid myself wide open to anything happening. And that thought sent a shiver of vulnerability down my stiff spine.

Julie set down her mug, and took a walk around her masterpiece. I relaxed a little too, beneath my solid second skin. From where I was standing I couldn’t help feeling pretty impressed by the shape my cock was in. I’d feared that I wouldn’t be able to remain erect while the plaster set. But Julie had made sure that was sorted by leaving my dick until last. Her hands sweeping the whiteness over my chest and then up my legs had certainly fired me up.

Julie was back in front of me, looking me up and down, assessing me. She clapped her hands, then rubbed her palms together like she was satisfied with how things were going. She was ready for the next stage.

I still had to remain stock-still. She looked me straight in the eyes, her fingertips clipped over the upper edge of the cast at my collarbone. ‘Right, Luke, this is the moment of truth. It’s time to get you out of these dry clothes.’

Julie winced as she worked as if the plaster was being pulled away from her skin. The trouble was that the skin was mine, and as the cast was drawn away from my body it was dragging my body hairs with it.

I whistled with pain through my teeth, and then exhaled. There was a responding glint of concern in Julie’s eyes.

‘Careful,’ she whispered, as if she was directing herself as much as me. ‘Not long now.’

I rolled each released shoulder, enjoying the freedom my arms now felt. Julie drew the cast away from my diaphragm and a hairline crack suddenly appeared across the concave smoothness, splitting the plaster apart. The chest-piece slipped to the floor and shattered into lumps like chalk.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ rattled Julie. She was still gripping tight to the lower casing. I froze and said nothing.

After all, everything was in her hands.

Julie bowed her head, wondering what to do next. She then looked up at me.

‘It’s salvageable. I hope.’