Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
I stare at her in shock as a clanging sound begins to ring in my head. My heart races as my blood pressure goes up because what are the chances? I’ve never sampled an anal prolapse before, and yet now I’m getting two offers in one week? What the fuck?
Meanwhile, Monica misreads my silence and begins stroking my arm again.
“I knew you’d want it,” she purrs while shaking those big breasts in my direction. “You’re exactly the kind of virile man who’d be into nasty play, so I did it for you, Brant. I picked up this new trick just for you, so let’s go home, hmmm? The whiskey is ready, and my asshole’s ready to bloom,” she winks.
I close my eyes before re-opening them. A sweat’s formed on my upper lip and there’s a tic in my jaw because something is seriously wrong here. Alarm bells are going off, and I stare at Monica again before standing abruptly.
“Sorry,” I say in a terse voice. “No can do.”
Then, I stalk out of the café, leaving Monica at the table. She calls after me, but I ignore her because what the fuck is going on? I’ve had the weirdest sense of déjà vu ever since sitting down in the cafe, and my sixth sense is going haywire. Something is seriously fucked up, and I need to get to the bottom of this twisted situation.
CHAPTER 8
Peyton
I gasp as Brant pushes deep into my ass one last time before pulling out, his shaft spent and wet.
“Fuck baby,” he rasps in back of me before pressing a kiss to my sweaty shoulder. “That was amazing. You were amazing.”
I roll over and smile at him, my heart contracting a bit as I look at his handsome features. This man is so gorgeous, and I can’t believe that I’m with him. After all, Brant looks like a male model with his strong jaw, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. But it’s not just that. He’s got the body of a Greek god, and he’s not afraid to use it on me, forcing me to take his nine inches any way he wants.
“You were amazing,” he repeats again before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Unforgettable, baby.”
I giggle, looking at him with adoration in my eyes as he pulls away.
“Unforgettable?” I quip. “That’s high praise.”
“Hell yeah,” he grunts before kissing me again. “You make me come harder than I’ve ever come in my life, sweetheart.”
I merely titter again while bobbling my big breasts at him.
“Well, I’m ready for round two if you are, big boy.”
But then, Brant goes silent while staring at me. He narrows his eyes like he’s never seen me before, and his massive form, bronzed and tan against the stark white of the hotel bedsheets. Yes, I’m still living at the Best Western after a week in Oakdale because I haven’t had time to find a new place yet. I’ve been so focused on seducing this man that I’ve put off the issue of housing until later.
But something’s wrong at the moment. My lover’s blue eyes narrow even further until they’re practically slits and he’s tense as his lips move.
“What did you say?” Brant asks in a low tone.
I play it off like nothing’s wrong because nothing is wrong.
“I just said that I’m ready for round two, that’s all,” I coo. “Why, are you not ready yet? I can wait.”
But his blue eyes narrow again as a tic begins twitching in his strong jaw.
“No, what did you call me?”
“Big boy,” I purr immediately while fluttering my lashes at him. “I thought you liked being called that. It’s cute, right? And you are big,” I say, staring at the enormous snake lying against his thigh. Brant’s flaccid right now, but his cock is still huge, even if it’s wet at the moment with a mix of male seed, pussy juice, and saliva. “Why, do you want me to call you something else?” I tease. “Stud? Super-stud? Big Papa?”
But Brant doesn’t respond to my joke and merely watches as I jiggle my big breasts again, his eyes roving over the creamy orbs. Then he stares at my figure, taking in the narrowness of my waist and the wide circumference of my hips. That blue gaze misses nothing as his eyes scan my features before settling on my long blonde curls.
“What is it?” I ask, sitting up a bit. “Why, what’s wrong? Did I say something?”
He stares at me some more, but it’s not a loving stare. Instead, it’s an assessing one, and I can see he’s bothered from the way his broad chest heaves.
“No, but let me ask you something, Petunia: did you learn how to prolapse from your mother? Or is that something you girls taught each other?”
I stare at him. What? What’s going on?