It’s official—all the hot people come to my site.
How do I know? Because today I have a very special guest—and he’s sexy. Plus, he’s a good speaker. He dresses well. He’s clever. And…well, he’s all sorts of things, really, but what you need to know is that many, many women pay good money for the pleasure of his company.
Uh-huh. That’s right—I’d like you to meet Quinn! This professional Casanova thrives in A.M. Hartnett’s most recent book, Holding My Breath, and today I asked if I might be able to book some time with Quinn (free of charge) to ask him a few questions.
Lucky you, he said yes. And as if his answers weren’t delightful enough, I’ve also got a sexy blurb and excerpt for you. So, please read on and enjoy your introduction to the super sexy Quinn…
Hello Quinn. I’m so glad you joined me. And I have to say, um, wow. You have a definitive look, and it’s smokin’. How did you create your “style”?
Simple and classic is what I’m going for. For all the trends that have come and gone, women still get wet when they see a man in a well-cut suit. They like playing with the cufflinks and the lapels, and they like watching it come apart a piece at a time — the tie comes loose and the top button undone, the jacket slung on the back of a chair and the shirt-sleeves rolled up. A woman loves seeing a $3000 suit tossed aside for fucking as much as a man likes to see a $3000 dress on the floor next to the bed.
Good point. Speaking of things to see…women love scars, and your knuckles have certainly been marked. Care to share more about that set of scars?
Would you believe I used to be trailer trash? Up until I turned 18, I was a nasty little shit. I used my fists to get what I wanted, and once I had it I used my fists to keep it. It landed me in hot water and I was forced to learn that I couldn’t always have what I want, when I wanted it. It helps now that I have the money. Anyway, I’ve learned that the scars are a nice addition to the total package. They show that I’m not just pretending to be a bad boy, that at some point in my life I was a bad boy.
Let’s be real—women are hiring you, but when they see you, they melt. How does that feel for you?
Honestly, why would I want to be someone’s dildo? There’s more money in selling the entire fantasy. I can be anything a woman wants. All she has to do is pay her money up front.
Oh, Quinn. So matter-of-fact. I love that about you. But…tell us about the first time you saw Molly. What was your instant reaction to her?
It wasn’t like a kick in the gut or love at first sight. I was sitting in the bar at the hotel when I saw an attractive woman pass by. I paid her a bit of attention, then went on with my business. The next time I saw her, the same. So on and so forth. She’s a knock-out and I wanted to fuck her. That’s it.
What about when you discovered Molly had “hired” you to kick you out of the hotel? What did you think upon entering the room?
It took me a few minutes to figure out where I knew her from, so when I entered the room I figured I was just meeting another client. Normally I meet them in the bar, but she rejected this, so on first sight I figured this was a married woman who didn’t want to be seen out with another man. Then I realized it was the front desk manager I’d been eyeballing. My first reaction after that was mixed. I was equal parts “oh goody, now I get to play with that” and “oh fuck, she’s about to tell me to piss off.”
That meeting was so good. So good… As was the first time you give Molly your name. It’s…well, people will have to read it, but let’s just say that moment is pretty damn hot. You totally got off on playing that power card, didn’t you? And that’s a lot of Molly’s attraction to you—what comes out of your mouth. Were you born this clever and sexy, or what?
My grandfather, who was one of those people who only spoke when it was necessary, mostly raised me. When he spoke there was a sort of music to it. He had a deep voice and a thick Newfoundland accent. Listening to him was like listening to Shakespeare, if that makes sense. I think I developed what’s been called a “silver tongue” from him, but I talk a lot more. I never shut up, probably because in Pa’s house I was the only one doing the talking most of the time. I like to talk.
And I like dirty talk, obviously. With Molly, it was more of a case of talking to tangle her up a little so I could do the unravelling. When I finally gave her my name — and as you’ve mentioned, I made a little production of it — was the beginning of me loosening the knots I’d made.
*Leans forward.* You say you’re able to “unlock” a woman. Tell us more about that. When did you first discover you had this ability? How did you hone it?
In another time I might have been the perfect scam artist. I can read people. I’m really good at reading people. I can use silence to work out what they want, and then fill in the holes by talking around them. I pay attention. I test out different tones. I throw out little nibbles, one at a time, until the women I’m with has had her fill. It’s different with every woman — Molly, for instance, will gorge herself on what I dish out and it’ll sometimes get away from me.
What is it about Molly that’s different from your normal clients and that’s drawing you in? You almost seem bewildered by how much you instantly like her—almost. What about her is drawing such a reaction out of you?
I’ll admit it, Molly had me twisted around her little finger the second she opened her mouth. She tells me she was a little nerved up when I walked in, but I didn’t get any of that. She played my game right from the start but kept up with me. She wasn’t taking any crap, that much was clear from the start, but there was a calm and softness about her that had quite the effect on me. I just wanted to sit back and negotiate with her. I remember thinking that this was a little like foreplay.
That’s another thing I liked about Molly. She didn’t look down at me. It would have been easy to just have security have a word with me but she treated me with respect, and when I made my case about sticking around until New Year, she listened.
And what was your reaction when Molly called you up to a hotel room—for the second time?
Another confession — I was worried she wouldn’t, so I blew out a sigh of relief when I got that text. I don’t become infatuated that often, but I couldn’t get her out of my head for the rest of the evening. The next day, thinking about meeting her again, I could barely concentrate. She made me ticklish.
Aww. All right, so you are threatening to quit your gig at 36. Why 36? Why not 40? What’s special about 18 years?
I started doing this when I was eighteen, so basically I had been doing this half my life. That seems long enough, don’t you think?
Fair enough. Say, if you could go back to 18-year-old you, what would you tell him?
I don’t think I’d tell him anything. It might knock some sense into his head and change things. Up until recently, I could make a list a mile long of things I’d change about the last eighteen years, but now I think I’m good. It took me longer than most to get where I need to be and I needed all the highs and the lows.
And good you are, Quinn. Thank you so much for joining us.
There you have it, everyone! Quinn is a delight of a man in this dirty new book from A.M. Hartnett. Holding My Breath is available on Amazon right now, and you can find out more in the blurb and excerpt below!
Read the blurb:
“It’s a skill not every man possesses, and it can’t be taught. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”
For half his life Quinn has been making his living as a professional Casanova. Challenged by Molly to take his business elsewhere, he strikes a bargain with her: give him until New Year’s Eve and she’ll never see him again, and in the meantime he’ll make it worth her while.
As their arrangement becomes a passionate affair, there’s no denying that Molly’s been waiting for him to come into her life for a very long time. She never imagined that a man like Quinn would be the one.
Read an excerpt:
Her phone rang just before noon, as she was pushing through the back door with her arms loaded with groceries.
It was Quinn. She knew it by the ringtone she had set a few days earlier: The Tragically Hip’s ‘Fireworks’. The lively tune was muffled in the pocket of her anorak, but she could hear the words in her head. He’d cooked her dinner one night, and when she told him she’d never heard the song he put it on repeat and told her about how he’d once dragged himself, barely lucid with the flu, to their concert when he was in his early twenties.
Not caring about whether she cracked her eggs or squashed her bread, Molly tossed the black fabric bags onto the counter and dug into her pocket for the phone.
‘Hey there,’ she answered.
‘It’s Saturday, isn’t it?’
‘A question like that just goes to show you’re not a man who works the nine-to-five, otherwise you’d know it in your bones that it was Saturday.’
‘Words cannot express how horny I was when I woke up a little while ago. I’m sitting here in my empty apartment with my hard-on in my hand thinking about how much better I’d feel if it was in your mouth.’
Molly shivered as she unzipped her coat. ‘And this call is to ask for assistance with this problem?’
A low laugh tickled in her ear. ‘I know exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re biting your lip and squeezing your legs together.’
‘Oh, you think you’re so smart,’ she replied, but he was right. Even over the phone he made her feel as though he was right behind her, lips close to her ear, what little space between them electric.
She was sure that if he were there with her, he’d already be undressing her. It made her wet just thinking about it.
‘I want you to drop what you’re doing and meet me in the park. I want to bring you to my place.’ He sucked in a quick breath, and then let out a low moan. ‘I’ve got one hell of a view from my sofa, and I want to make it better by putting you on your knees in front of me.’
Once she hung up, Molly felt electric. The commute was the same one she took to work and she could have been at his place in just over half an hour, but she had the sense that this was going to be an occasion, and she wanted to dress the part. She wanted to be a bombshell for him, for herself, and so she slipped into a black bra and thong set and accentuated it with a matching belt and stocking set. She covered it all up with a green bateau dress, then tucked herself back into her anorak.
Luckily, they were going through a mild spell and the wait by Lake Ontario didn’t leave her with pins and needles in her nearly bare thighs and ass. He appeared on the boardwalk, jogging towards her in navy-blue track pants with white stripes and a grey T-shirt patched with sweat stains.
For a moment he didn’t see her, which gave her the luxury of getting over the shock of viewing him in this element. She didn’t get to see it that often. When he came in from a run while at her place he bolted right to the shower and emerged brand new. The most she got was a blur.
The dirty sneakers and the reddish hair curling around the edges were such a far cry from the spit and polish of his trade. There was Quinn the smooth, the heartthrob women paid to spend a few hours with, and then there was Quinn who lounged, rumpled and gorgeous, in the bed she had slept alone in for so long.
She liked this incarnation, and rose to meet him. As his attention fell on her, he slowed down to a trot.
‘You must be frozen,’ she said as he slowed, a smile forming on his lips, and leaned into him when he was close enough. ‘What happened to your hard-on?’
‘I had a brief chat with my dick and told him if he was patient, he’d have something better than my hand to contend with.’ He slipped his arm around her, and she parted her lips for him, but he quickly pushed her away. ‘I stink, and I don’t want to sweat all over you – yet.’ He took her hand. ‘I’ll shower, and unless I come up with something better, I’m going to spread you out on my dining-room table and fuck you half-dressed.’
She glanced around to see if anyone had heard, and was strangely disappointed to discover that no one had. Other joggers, some alone and some in pairs, ran past them on the path, oblivious to the sexual negotiations that had opened up. The moment was so significant to her that it was almost insulting that no one noticed the earth shift a little under their feet.
Mmm hmm…that’s Quinn for you. Wow. You can find out more about all books in the Carried Away series right here. Don’t miss out on this series, it’s hot!
“I always look forward to what A.M. Hartnett is going to say next. This is the truth. Whether in an email, a blog post, on Twitter, or in one of her erotic stories, I am always curious to see what Hartnett will come up with. She’s got me on the edge of my seat (in more ways than one).” – Alison Tyler, author Dark Secret Love.
A.M. Hartnett began writing erotica upon receiving what, at the time, she considered very bad advice from a career counselor. Since 2006, her short stories have appeared on the web and in various anthologies, including Kristina Wright’s Best Erotic Romance series and Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Curvy Girls.
Find out more about A.M. Hartnett at http://www.thebewilderedwriter.com.