Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
It started on the phone. The first time I heard Cheryl Bow’s sweet voice, two things happened simultaneously: first, my cock immediately hardened to the point of pain. In thirty-seven years, twenty-one of which I’ve been sexually active, I have never been harder. The longer she spoke to me, the harder my cock throbbed in my pants. Like an animal, I had to stroke my cock while she talked to me about her sweet and clean romance novels. It wasn’t what she was saying, it was how she was saying it. Her voice rose and fell with her excitement, and it washed over me like a touch. Quietly, I stroked my cock until I came into my hand. It was savage and hot as hell.
All I wanted at that moment was to find her and plant that seed inside of her. The second thing that happened was my heart beating out of rhythm inside my chest. It was like the tattoo of a drum solo. The kind of solo that you think about every time you think of music in general. The combination of her voice, my cock, and my heart was like having a heart attack that you never want to end. Before we ended that very first call, I set up an in-person appointment with her two days later. In Maine, where she lives. I never do that. As a graphic designer, one hundred percent of my job is done online. I work exclusively with authors looking for book covers, teasers, book trailers, and social media videos. That income, coupled with a sizeable inheritance that I received when my grandmother passed away and lucrative investments, I live comfortably, and I can afford to do rash things.
Rash, as in booking a ticket to fly from Chicago to Maine, renting a car, and driving from Portland to Cupid’s Cove. Cupids Cove is a tiny town about twenty-five miles outside of Portland, nestled on the shore of Sebago Lake. We met at a small diner in the heart of Main Street. Coming from Chicago, I had never seen anything so quaint before. I was taken with the town. I arrived and waited. I had refrained from googling her, but I regretted that since I had no idea what she looked like, but then I heard her laugh. I had thought I had gotten there first, but she was already there. Holding court with four old men at the counter. There were listening, in raptures, to whatever story she was telling them. I couldn’t hear what she was saying from across the room, but she was gesturing wildly, and the men laughed at her.
For the first time in my life, not only was I jealous, but I was jealous of her harem of octogenarians. I couldn’t help being immediately struck by her beauty. Her skin was glowing. Her tight jeans showed off her surprisingly thick ass. Her red shirt left her shoulders and a lot of her back bare. I longed to move over to her and place kisses on every single bit of her skin that was exposed. Her long auburn hair was pulled into a high ponytail. I remember wondering what it would feel like wrapped around my fist as I fucked her from behind. My cock, which had been constantly hard since we first spoke, twitched right back to life.
Getting up from the table that I claimed because the sign at the door told me to seat myself, I walked over to the group.
“Hi,” she says, looking at me with intense blue eyes. Eyes so blue that I could get lost in them and not give a fuck about anything else.
“Cheryl?” I ask, confirming what I already knew to be true.
“Nolan?” she asked, her mouth fell open in a perfect O shape. Fuck. All manner of erotic thoughts about her wrapping her juicy lips around my cock went through my head. Fuck, they still do.
After one short lunch meeting with her, my plan was clear. She had no idea I wasn’t local; she still doesn’t. I never told her that I moved across the county all because I was unable to let her go. I left Maine in a daze, went back to Chicago, and drove across the country with everything I couldn’t live without. I moved into a furnished 2 bed, 2 bath house in Cupid’s Cove.
After our phone conversation earlier, I am still wondering who the fuck called her. My jealous, primal nature always rears its ugly head when it comes to her. I want everything from her. Her innocence, her heart, her mind. It’s all mine, and she doesn’t get that. Not yet, but she will. It blows my mind that she doesn’t know how beautiful and talented she is. I want to be the one to tell her that every single minute of every single day because she needs to know. Her sexy naivety is killing me. How can she not get it? Why doesn’t she know that I am head over heels in love with her? Doesn’t she know that I am obsessed with her? Obsessed enough to uproot my life and implant myself in hers. I could get a skywriter to announce it to the world, but I’d rather tell her first. She’s the very best thing that’s ever happened to me, and she doesn’t even know it.