Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Okay…hmmm. What do I want SinnerThree to look like? Muscular. That goes without saying. I spend a lot of time working out, so fitness matters to me. A guy should take care of himself. Other than that, I don’t know if I have a preference. Jock or fashion plate? Tattoos and piercings, or untouched? There’s a hot version of everything, right?
A male hand. That’s all I need for this fantasy. A big, rough hand wrapping around the base of my cock.
Said cock stirs.
Oh. All right, then. I guess we like the sound of that. I slip my hand down and run it along the underside of my thickening dick. Achievement unlocked.
The thing is, I usually avoid these thoughts. Group sex is hot as fuck to me, but I don’t fantasize about guys. That’s like a dangerous, war-torn country that I stay clear of. But SinnerThree told me I have to. So that makes it a little less weird.
I let myself picture a mouth. Lips tracing my shaft. And not just any lips—there’s the scruff of someone’s weekend whiskers, maybe. They’re teasing my thighs…
And I’m hard now, pretty much instantly. Vacationing in my own mental Syria is surprisingly arousing.
I drop my hand, and kiss the back of Annika’s shoulder. “Wake up, princess.” I give her smooth ass a playful nudge with my erection.
“Sleepy,” she grunts.
So that’s how it is.
Only an asshole bugs his sleeping girlfriend for sex. So I give her a little squeeze, and then get out of bed for a shower and a shave.
She still hasn’t moved when I’m almost done. “Annika!” I holler into the bedroom. “Come on, soldier. On your feet! Let’s move.”
A muffled groan is the only sound I hear from my room. My girl likes to party, too. She’s just not as skilled at it as I am. Annika is always a wreck the morning after.
As I rinse off my face, I realize I’m going to have to take drastic measures.
Stalking into the room, I pull my comforter down, exposing her naked back. And then I grab my phone off the dresser and find an up-tempo song that I know she likes. “Crazy In Love” by Beyoncé starts playing from my top-of-the-line Bluetooth speakers.
“I hate you,” she says from my pillow.
Do I have a way with the ladies, or what?
A glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearly eleven. “Up, princess. You know he gets all pissy when I’m late.”
Annika turns her groggy face toward me and says the three words I’ve been dreading. “Go without me.”
Fuck. “You said you’d come.”
“It’s early.”
“It isn’t.” I turn up Beyoncé.
“Please?” I beg. “I really want you there.”
Miraculously, the pillow slides off Annika’s perfect face. “Okay. But only if you turn this song up so I can hear it in the shower.”
“Sure, baby.” It’s an easy bargain. I crank it up louder.
Annika slides out of bed, grabs my towel off the hook, wraps it around her naked bod and stalks toward the shower.
Thank fuck.
I’m buttoning up a dress shirt when I hear a slam and a roar from across the hall. “…fucking bullshit is this? I’m gonna—” Whatever else my tool of a neighbor is saying gets drowned out by Beyoncé.
Luke Bailey’s grumpy face appears at my open door. He’s shirtless, and I wonder once again how he’s so ripped for a guy who doesn’t play a sport. His inky-dark hair is a mess, and there’s a pillow crease down his cheek that makes him look more boyish than usual. But he ruins the effect by shouting at me. “Turn that shit off!”
“No can do,” I yell over the dance beat.
His eyes bug out. Then he stomps over to my speaker and yanks the plug out of the wall.
Silence descends, and I have to admit that I don’t mind. And yet…
“We had a deal!” Annika yells from the shower. “Where’s Beyoncé?”
“Beyoncé,” growls Luke, “is on a coffee break! It’s fucking Sunday morning and I got home at four a.m.!”
“Easy,” I say through a clenched jaw. “It’s not Annika’s fault you partied too hard.”
“Partied too hard.” His fists are clenched. “Yeah, I was out late having a fine old time.”
Whatever, dude. “Maybe take it down a notch? We’re on our way out, anyway.”
His eyes scan me, and not in a nice way. He takes in my Zegna shirt and my Armani pants. “Tea with the queen?”
“Brunch with my dad.”
“Nice,” he says, but I don’t miss his eye roll. “Stay out as long as you like.” He turns on his heel, disappears into his room, and slams the door with a shutter-rattling bang.
Charming fellow. How startling that he isn’t more widely liked. On the other hand, my presidential victory is totally in the bag.
Annika starts singing Beyoncé in the shower.
I roll my eyes at the whole fucking world.
Forty minutes later I’m apologizing to my father for our tardiness.