The Real Deal

By Alannah Harte

Jake Cummins is on forty-eight hours leave, looking for the prettiest pussy in town. As a fifth generation fighter pilot, he likes everything fast—his jets, his drinks, and his women. After six months on tour of the Pacific, he is in desperate need of a good dose of dirty fucking. His choice is no meek little flower. In fact, this Irish Venus Fly Trap sets his temper and dick on fire. Somewhere the universe has tilted and the innocent beauty in the bedroom has surprised her way into his heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781772334364

Book preview

Published by Evernight Publishing ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2015 Alannah Harte

ISBN: 978-1-77233-436-4

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Melissa Hosack

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

This story is for the ladies of UCW who have enjoyed it from the very first chapter.

THE REAL DEAL

Alannah Harte

Copyright © 2015

Chapter One

Jake Cummins was on forty-eight hours leave in San Diego and looking for the prettiest pussy in town. Iris’s Bordello was heaving at the seams. It was Saturday night, it was late, and it was time to party. The navy boys were in town, but he was a flyboy, and all six foot one inches of him got noticed, got noticed a lot. He was anyone’s wet dream.

Forty-inch shoulders pushed their way through the crowd toward the bar. Ice cool blue eyes glanced over the bottles of spirits and caught the bartender’s attention with ease.

Vodka straight, he requested, slapping a few dollars on the bar top. He liked everything straight, his drink and his sex. He hadn’t seen any action since before the last tour of duty. He didn’t like mixing it up during fly time, but he was going to mix it up this weekend. His rocks needed serious attention.

A busty, blonde skirt was holding up the bottom of the bar. Jake ran appraising eyes over her body while clicking his tongue against his teeth. She’d do. She would do in a surgical silicone kind of way, and that would not do at all. He wanted real curves. Heavy breasts, sensitive nipples, and labia, wet with need. The blonde was a faker. His rocks weren’t interested.

Jake took his drink and wandered around the raised mezzanine above the dance floor. Both sexes looked their fill of him. The club was built on three levels with the main dance floor sunken below the lowest tier. There were two types of people in the club: the extroverts who were down in the pit dancing and gyrating to the urban garage music and the spectators watching — some with envy, some with lust — from above. He could swing either way.

His military training informed everything he did and he was using that training now. He staked out the perimeter of the dance floor, searched for clear entrances, plotted the position of his target(s), and found a safe