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)
He winces and leans back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Having you on my lap made my dick hurt.”
I giggle in surprise. “Is that thing ever not hard?”
“Not when I’m around you, it’s not.” He smiles.
Oh . . .
“Can I ask a serious question?”
“Not a fan of serious questions.” He widens his eyes as he picks up a strawberry and dips it into chocolate.
“I know, but . . .” I smirk. “I can’t believe I’m even asking this, but what on earth would make you pierce your dick?”
He chuckles as he puts the whole strawberry into his mouth and chews it. “Well, the truth is, it wasn’t completely spontaneous.”
“It wasn’t?”
“I’ve wanted to do it for a long time, and when the boys and I were in Bali a couple of years ago, I was going to do it then, but when they brought out the needle, I chickened out and got the hell out of there.”
“Why do you want an earring in your dick?”
“It’s not an earring, it’s a bar, and it’s not for me.”
I frown in confusion.
“Sex for a woman is apparently ten times better with an apadravya piercing, and the concept fascinates me.”
I blink in surprise.
“Because”—he pops another strawberry into his mouth and chews it—“why not enhance the pleasure of my favorite pastime?”
“What?” I frown. “You would put yourself through all this pain just so you’re better in bed?”
He smirks as his eyes darken. “Well . . . if you’re going to do something, why not be the best at it?”
I watch as he picks up a strawberry and dips it into the chocolate. In slow motion, he licks it off. His tongue is long and thick, and a throb of arousal pumps through my sex.
The best at it.
I guiltily snap my eyes away. Okay . . . fuck. I need to get laid.
This. Is. Blake.
Just Blake . . . friend Blake, not a best at it fuck buddy.
“Would you ever . . . ?” he whispers.
“Truthfully?” I ask.
He nods.
“I’d be scared that the condom would break and I’d end up pregnant.”
His face falls in horror.
“You hadn’t thought of that?” I laugh. “Oh my god, aren’t you a doctor?”
He chuckles and drags his hand down his face. “Maybe I didn’t thoroughly think this through.”
“Look, if you want a baby, that is none of my business.” I hold my hands up with a laugh. “I’m just saying, I like it rough, so . . . the condom would be breaking.”
His eyes darken and then drop to my lips as if imagining something. I feel it all the way to my bones.
Oh no . . . Did I just say that out loud?
“I mean . . . ,” I murmur, embarrassed.
“I know what you meant,” he cuts me off.
I take a nervous sip of my alcoholic coffee. “This stuff is making me very . . .”
“Hot?” he murmurs.
“Verbose.” I sip my coffee again, feeling awkward; I really need to stop drinking.
For a moment, we eat our desserts in silence. I’m worrying that I came across flirty, and he’s probably thinking I’m a horny ho.
He could be onto something.
“You know what we should do?” he says to change the subject.
“What?”
“We should drizzle this chocolate all over those money-making feet of yours. Chocolate and feet.” He taps his temple. “Sure to be a winner.”
I laugh out loud and feel my equilibrium return.
“So, when are we going on our next double date?” he asks.
“Really?” I wince. “After tonight’s disaster?”
“Tonight was just a . . .” He shrugs. “Speed bump.”
I lean on my hand as I smile over at him.
“You want to date without strings,” he says.
“You want to settle down but don’t want to admit it,” I add.
“Just . . .” He smirks, and I know that I’m onto something. “Happy to explore my options.”
“Where am I going to find another date?”
“Ahh . . .” He smiles as he pulls out his phone. “We have two options.”
“Such as.” I keep eating my cake.
“Elite Singles. Or Bumble.”
“Are you on those apps?” I ask in surprise.
“I’m on Elite Singles.”
“Why that one?”
“It’s for professionals over thirty.”
Oh . . .
“What’s that look for?” He frowns.
“I just . . .” I shrug.
“You what?”
“I didn’t realize you were after a professional.”
He frowns. “What do you think a professional is?”
“Someone like Ruby.”
“Not at all. I mean . . .” He breaks into a smile. “Someone like you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a professional, Blake.”
“It’s for people who are looking for intelligence in a partner.” He reaches over and picks up my hand in his. “Or are you looking for a boxer who’s been knocked out two hundred times?”
I snatch my hand out of his, annoyed. “Maybe if he’s got a good dick, I am.”
“I guess,” he chuckles. “That could work.”
“Well, what’s the other one?”
“Bumble.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s a different demographic.”
“Okay.”
“And no more picking you up from your house. From now on, we meet them there. I hate that Herman Munster knows where you live now.”