Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Yeah, but…” I’ve got nothing but a massive wish for a ten-car pileup. “I said that because I thought you’d be too distracted by my abs to pay attention to anything else.”
“I was distracted,” she admits, stroking my ego. “But this is one of the advantages of having multiple simultaneous attention. I can multitask with success, usually having three to four events occurring at once.”
Her confession shouldn’t make me hard, but it does.
Those lips, her silky smooth hands, and her pussy all operating at the same time without any fumbles.
Christ.
I could blow my load right now.
“It comes in handy,” she murmurs, her voice as sweet as sugar. “Like now.” With her eyes locked on my face, she raises her hand to the visor.
“What the—” I choke on my reply when I stray my eyes to the road. There’s a rusty old truck in a ditch a few feet up. It looks like it’s been there for years. “That’s cheating.”
“That’s a win,” McKayla counter bids. “Which means you need to lose the pants.”
Like the sore loser I am, I grumble under my breath while hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer shorts.
A bet is a bet, and I follow the rules even when I shouldn’t.
“Nu-uh,” McKayla murmurs, her southern twang on full display. “The rules are the rules, Cash, and you said the final piece had to be removed out there.” She drifts her eyes to the portion of dirt her headlights are lighting up. “You can’t commit to something, then only give ten percent.”
She thinks she has me worried.
Little does she know.
I’m not a shy man.
So, with my grin cocky and my cock confident it’ll have her double-guessing her ability to multitask, I throw open my door, curl out of the passenger seat of her car that made my ass dead hours ago, then stand in the middle of the oval lights bouncing off my gleaming white skin.
I call myself a soft cock when I exhale a quick breath. I’m not ashamed of my body or the assets God gifted me. I merely can’t forget the last time a member of my family was in public in the buff.
He had no clue what he was doing, but it didn’t lessen the humiliation in the slightest. It took weeks for the whispered comments to dull down and even longer for the online footage to be removed, and he was merely the father of an up-and-coming basketball prodigy. He wasn’t the so-called star of the show.
Desperate to get my head out of the clouds before I’m pulled under, I grip the waistband of my boxer shorts and yank them to my knees.
The silver barbell at the top of my magic cross piercing only glistens in the headlights of McKayla’s ride for half a second before it’s lit up by an entirely different light source at my left. These lights are far brighter than McKayla’s old bomb and several feet higher.
“Get in,” McKayla shouts when noisy engines sound over the distressed moos of cows in the distance.
I’ve only just yanked up my boxer shorts and dove into the passenger seat when McKayla floors the gas. She almost skids out of control, but a quick gearstick change and weakening of her foot on the gas pedal fishtails us out of imminent disaster.
“What are they doing?” I ask when she switches off the lights before sneakily pulling up behind three muddy trucks parked side by side in a large paddock.
“Cow tipping.”
I don’t get the chance to ask what the fuck that is. McKayla is out of her seat and marching for the boot of her car before half my confusion smacks into me.
“You own a gun?” I step back when the full extent of her weapon is exposed. It isn’t an ordinary gun. It has a long barrel and a sniper scope on top, but the opening of the barrel is slim. “I’m so fucking hard right now,” I murmur to myself when McKayla uses the roof of her ride as a bracket before stalking her targets with her air rifle. “But you’re not going to hurt them, right? You’re just going to scare them?”
It dawns on me that McKayla has seen a lot more penises than she’s handled when she fires one shot, then shouts, “If you don’t want the next one in your rear end, I suggest you remove your clothing, toss them into the dam at your left, then walk your sorry asses home.”
A grin I can’t hold back stretches across my face when McKayla shuts up one of the men’s groans by shooting his hat off his head.
“I told you she wouldn’t stay away for long,” whines the now hatless man. He strips out of his shirt and jeans before wrangling with his muddy boots. “I’m not taking any chances. The last time she shot me, I was out for six weeks.”