No, not like that Pam. That’s the kind of place the girls had to work at before being “saved” by Jett Colby. Only a chosen few ever get selected, but those who do find their lives doing a complete 180. The girls who work for Jett at the Lafayette Club live in a mansion rent free, never have to worry about creeps getting to handsy while they are giving a lap dance, and have all of their debts taken care of. The only catch? They agree to submit sexually to one man – Jett Colby himself.
So there’s the story in a nutshell. Here’s the part where everything gets a little rambly so buckle up if you plan on riding this one out.
If you like stories like this . . .
There’s a good chance you might like Bourbon #1. This book most definitely had a Pretty Woman feel to it with the detached gajillionaire who never lets feelings to get into the mix of either business or pleasure bringing a stripper/prostitute into his life . . . and just maybe his heart.
I read this book for the simple fact that
Let’s start with the good:
The cover. Purrrrty.
The aforementioned plot. I’m a sucker for a sappy romance – even ones that have massive amounts of boning in them.
The MC had the right idea about self-worth and continually expressed it . . .
“I hated that men thought, just because I worked in a strip club, my body was theirs to play with. My body was mine and no one else’s.”
She was also sometimes hilarious . . .
“When I woke up this morning, I had a wonderful time getting to know my toilet bowl up close and personal. I named him Fred as I puked my guts out . . . I could not do this every time. I liked Fred, but I wasn’t about to make out with him every time Francy wanted to go over drink orders.”
The use of a safe-word between partners who would perhaps be engaging in some rougher sexytimes was refreshing. Alligator, y'all . . .
Speaking of sexytimes, turns out little ol’ vanilla me didn’t mind a little kink . . .
Also? Lap dances. MUY CALIENTE!
Now it’s time for the stuff I didn’t enjoy.
The MC’s name was Goldie. I thought that was her stripper/hooker name, but nope – it was the name her parents gave her. The plus side to this is I was already familiar with a lady of the evening named Goldie and picturing her as the lead was A-Okay . . .
EVERYTHING turned the bitch on. From voices to the way her comforter felt against her skin, this gal was ret-to-go at all times and nearly every guy she came across had the potential of being Mr. Right Now . . .
Squicky sex talk. Don’t get me wrong, when the deed was actually being done it was pretty hot stuff. The inner voice of Goldie, though????? No. Just no.
“My vagina was applauding me for my decision.”
Vaginas don’t clap. Every time that phrase is used I picture things like this . . .
“My lady folds wept at the sight of him.”
Really? The combo of the New Orleans summer heat and the moisture situation Goldie had going on in her underdrawers she probably had a real mosquito problem going on down there.
Also? Grown women should not nickname their ladybits. Brittney???? Seriously????
On second thought, maybe I should start calling mine Brittney and then when my husband tries to make with the rolling in the hay I can yell “LEAVE BRITTNEY ALONE!!!!!”
So to sum it up, the problems I had with this book were more than likely my problems and the erotica connoisseur will be more forgiving. I will say that I really enjoy Meghan Quinn’s writing and I would probably read book #2 if I saw an ARC offered up on NetGalley.
ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.