The Sexiest Social Worker

By Priscilla Laster

Justin has been harboring a fantasy for a female public servant for years. His fetish is for a hot government-employed professional. He meets a beautiful woman named Teresa who he'd never think was a social-worker. She's the type of women who comes with a side-serving of sizzling, hot sex. When he finds out she's a government employee, he has to have her. #Enjoy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Priscilla Laster
• Release date: Jun 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311602770

Priscilla Laster

Welcome to Priscilla’s $0.99 promotion happening right now. Until further notice, all Priscilla Laster reads are reduced. ALL OF THEM. Regardless of the word-count or cover-art contributions. Why not add a few 'Priscilla' titles to your digital library? Click on the profile to browse her full catalogue. "Hi everybody! My name is Priscilla and I am so excited about Smash-words. Approximately 50% of my books have been published (here) on Smashwords. That's 70 books. I'm celebrating this accomplishment by running a $0.99 cent 'TAKE'EM ALL' promotion. I've been writing erotica/romance stories for a while. My stories typically come from a dream I had the previous night. I have over 140+ titles that are being sorted and made available for Smash-Words. Two of my 'best friends forever' are helping me to post titles as fast as corresponding cover arts can be created. It is my dream that I become your faithful source of romance and smutty erotica reads. 99% of my reads can be enjoyed by men and women. Don't let the "tags" fool you. Please remember that I'll never claim to be a perfect writer. I'll never claim to be the best author. My only claim is that I am a great dreamer who loves to write. I record the events of my daydreams that are interesting. I don't know you personally, but I already appreciate you. You don't even have to purchase one of my reads. I appreciate you for simply being a reader. In a special way, you're a 'romantic' like me. You may even be a dreamer like me. We are a special kind of people. My journey to becoming your favorite Smash-Words author starts with your positive feedback and sincere encouragements. Don't be a stranger. My train is full steam ahead. Join me on Facebook. " - Priscilla Laster

Book preview

The Sexiest

Social worker

By Priscilla Laster

SMASHWORDS Exclusive

Fiction, Erotica, Sex, First Time, Workplace, Male/Female, Romance, Social Worker, Fantasy

Introduction:

Justin has been harboring a secret social*worker fantasy. He meets a beautiful siren named Teresa. This brunette was hardly his idea of a social*worker. She's the type of women who comes with a side-serving of sizzling romance. It's no wonder he couldn't stay away from her.

Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Chapter 1

It’s almost time for last call. Justin wipes the sodden rag over the counter and puts the empty glass (the girl had just put down) into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.

One more? he asks.

She nods and takes her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks (her sixth or seventh one for the evening) and wonders how she manages to keep her balance on the high barstool. Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks (all six or seven of them) he would not have guessed she’s drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She’s pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It’s impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she’s wearing over goodness knew what. She’s wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Justin had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother's sitting rooms.

Thank you. she says politely, accepting her change, slipping half of it into the tip-jar.

She'd been doing the same all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story. Justin loved his job. He owns several bars and still spends an evening (now and then) behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He'd seen it all. The break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives--or at least the lay of the night. He'd seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He'd seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn't do anything else. He'd seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they'd wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He'd seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He'd seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he'd never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody's lap on her way to the bathroom. She’s fresh and new, and it intrigued him. The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady (there was other ways to describe her) was one of the diehards, but since she’s hardly causing a scene, he didn't ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up. Finally, they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses.

Excuse me? she asks, as if she had not heard him the first time.

He leans in closer and thinks he caught a whiff of something refreshingly clean under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room.

It's closing time. he repeated.

We're going to lock up.

Oh. she says, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words.

Right. she says finally.

Well, I'll just go then, won't I?

She still had not moved from her seat.

Can I call you a cab? he asks

He waves a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home. She looks at him with her eyes still slightly unfocused.

To take you home. he explained.

You shouldn't drive.

Did I come with a car? she asks bewilderedly.

I hope not. I don't own a car. Did I steal one?

He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he'd never known to exist.

Not that I know of. he says.

How did you get here?

I must have walked. she says, puzzled.

From work. Fancy that.

What work do you do? he asks as Rod (one of the waiters) closed the door behind the other staff members.

I'm a so'_ sh …social…. Social*worker. she says, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word.

'Fancy that indeed' he thought. His mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Social*worker Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn't diminish the thoughts running though his head. The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She’s cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.

Where do you live? he wanted to know.

He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She’s not the type of social*worker he fantasized about. She had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She isn’t wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She’s