Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Is this crazy?”
“Totally.” He looks around my house. “Listen, I was thinking you should be naked for these photos.”
“I knew you were going to say that.” I smirk. “Upstairs, pervert.” I head to the stairs, and he follows me up. “So, how does this work?”
“I was googling it before I came over. I think we set up a profile, pick a name for you, and upload a few shots. Then people subscribe or something, and they get access. And if you want, you can charge for specials or whatever.”
I walk into my bedroom. “Specials—what does that mean?”
“People can request things and pay extra for it.”
“Like what?” I frown.
“I don’t know, fucking ice cream on your toes or some shit.” He flops onto my bed and lies across it.
“Why would anyone want to see ice cream on my toes?” I frown, horrified.
“Why would anyone jerk off to a photo of a foot is the question,” he mutters dryly.
“You think they’re jerking off to this?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Eeewww.” I screw up my face in disgust.
“Who fucking cares? Just show us the cash is what I say.” He begins to scroll on his phone. “I’m going to join.”
“What? Why?”
“Because then I can spy on our competitors and see what kind of photos they’re uploading. Who’s the highest-grossing model and stuff like that.”
“What kind of photos they’re uploading—what does that even mean?”
“I don’t know, but if you need a cock in your photos, I volunteer mine,” he replies, distracted by his phone.
I roll my eyes as I begin to get my stilettos out of my closet. “I will not need a cock in my photos. Didn’t you learn anything from Michael’s demise?”
“Apparently not.” He reads on his phone. “And besides, he’s a loser. It says here you need a profile name.”
“Hmm.” I keep retrieving all my shoes. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, something sexy, I guess.” He thinks for a moment. “What about Pinkie Hoe?”
“What?” I screw up my face.
“You know, instead of Pinkie Toe—Pinkie Hoe.”
“Oh my god,” I scoff. “That is the worst name of all time.”
“Sole Sucker?” He shrugs.
“Sole Sucker?”
“You know, the sole of your foot, and it sucks.”
“If you think a foot should suck, you’re perverted.”
“The evidence does suggest that.”
“Can we add the name bit later?”
“Yeah, I guess. It has to be good. We really need to nail the name.”
“Hmm.” I put my hands on my hips. “Okay, so what do we do now?”
“Ahh.” He sits up and looks around. “Let’s start with some naked foot photos, I guess.”
“You mean just feet photos?”
“Naked sounds better.” He smiles.
“How do you want me?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to say that to me for years now.”
“Will you behave?” I smirk. “Are you ever serious?”
“Not if I can help it.” He gets down onto the floor and lies on his back as he holds his big, chunky camera toward me. “Walk toward me.”
I slowly walk toward him, and he begins to snap away.
“Turn back around and walk the other way.” He keeps taking photos. “Now step over me.”
“You’re not taking photos of my vagina, Blake.”
“That plan worked perfectly in my head.” He keeps snapping away. “Curl your toes up as if they are wrapped around a cock.”
“What?”
He chuckles as he keeps taking photos while lying on his back. “I think I’m going to love this job.”
Chapter 4
My hands are curled through his hair; his head bobs up and down between my legs, and I moan as a deep shudder runs through me.
“Fuck yes,” I whisper into the darkness as my toes curl.
Big hands are on my thighs, holding my legs back as he loses control, and his face thrashes from side to side as he completely devours me. His stubble burns my skin with a familiar sting.
Fuck . . . so good.
Hell, I needed this.
He slides three thick fingers into my sex, and my body ripples around him as my back arches off the bed.
“Ahhh . . . ,” I cry.
The sound of my voice jolts me awake . . .
Gasping for breath, I look around my dark and quiet room.
Nobody is here.
Oh.
I pant as my brain catches up with reality . . . it wasn’t real; it was just a dream.
Disappointment fills me.
I close my eyes and throw the back of my arm over my forehead.
“Fuck.”
I’m alone . . . always alone.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and drag myself up to a seated position. My skin is wet with perspiration; the orgasm was so close, I could taste it.
What the hell is going on with me lately?
That’s three nights in a row I’ve dreamed about sex.
I know we had a wild party—hell, I can’t even remember what happened—but whatever Taryn put into that punch must have awoken a monster in me.
A fuck monster who’s craving it hard.
I don’t know where I am in my cycle. I must be ovulating or something; this is so unlike me. I let out a dejected sigh and drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I flick on the light and stare at my reflection.