Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
It’s hard to read it without rolling my eyes every sentence. It’s not badly written, per se, and if anything, it’s entertaining. It’s just not my cup of tea. But I’m trying really hard not to judge. I read to learn and think and to be challenged, but I also want to be entertained. I guess some readers just want a quick escape from their lives. I can’t pretend that I don’t find myself sometimes glued to those awful soap operas Ana is always watching.
And then I hit the first sex scene (which happens at the beginning of the second chapter).
And holy shit.
Now I think I get it.
Granted, the dialogue is unrealistic and cringe-worthy, and the dude is a crude alpha with a cock the size of a Subway sandwich, but hey, no one wants to read about pencil dicks either. The hero, Chet Texas, knows his stepmother, Paris Monroe, wants him bad (and through her POV we get a lot of “clenching” and “drenched panties” and “my sex was swollen with need,” so we know she’s equally as smitten), and after she spies on him in the shower, he corners her and…well, I hate to admit it, but I was feeling a bit swollen with need myself by the time he was done pounding her against the wall, using pumice against her nipples and a bar of soap between her legs. Her clit must have been sparkling clean.
By the time I’m done with the book, I’m looking around the park red-faced and slightly sweaty, totally convinced that everyone knows exactly what I’ve been reading. Thank god for e-readers. You can read the filthiest shit and pretend you’re engrossed in War and Peace. The only problem is I’m turned on as hell and I’m not about to take part in public masturbation.
That said, maybe a character in a book would do just that. I scribble that down in my notebook, along with everything else I thought was either hot or important.
A text from Rio comes in: I just paid my weed guy with a check. I think I’ve got the hang of this adulting thing.
I text her back: Hey, random question, but have you ever read erotica?
Her response: Uh, yeah. I have a waterproof Kobo. Why do you think I take so many baths?
Me: Because you’re a dirty girl. You walked right into that one.
Her: That’s true. But yeah, you should get up on that shit, even though book boyfriends might ruin you.
Me: You don’t need book boyfriends. Your whole life is one big erotic novel.
Her: That’s true. I could write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad.
Oh my god. Blake and I could totally write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad! I quickly write that down and hope Rio never finds out.
Back at home I’m compelled to read as many books as I can, but with Ana being home, I know I’ll have to postpone getting off until later. Which means when it’s almost time for Blake to come and get me, I’m wishing he’d really come and get me. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to read all this smut then write it with him? Him with his gorgeous eyes and devilish grin, and taut, muscled body, and those hands, those hands that could so easily pick me up by the waist and throw me on the bed before lavishing me all over with his tongue and…
“Sweet one, your man is here!” Ana yells, snapping me out of my torrid daydream.
Fuck.
It’s like he knew I was thinking about him.
Fuck.
That means Ana is talking to him!
I scamper out of the bedroom and see him walking into the living room, looking around.
“I’m so glad we finally met,” he’s telling Ana, who is grinning at him like he’s some kind of celebrity. I bet she thinks he’s Tom Hiddleston.
“No!” I yell, and then stop as they both turn to look at me.
“Amanda,” Ana says, pouting. “I’m being very good.”
“She is,” Blake says good-naturedly. “She only told me once in the last thirty seconds that you and I need to have the sex together.”
“I said sex, not the sex,” she says. “My English is better than that.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter. I quickly gather up my things, sliding them into my messenger bag. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm and lead him away.
“Nice meeting you!” Blake yells over his shoulder. “I promise I’ll stay longer next time.”
“You will not,” I tell him as I march toward his car.
“Anything to see you all hot and bothered,” he says. “Have you seen your face? You’ve got quite the glow going on.”
I don’t say anything and get in the car.
“Could this be the aftereffects of the big O?”
“No,” I tell him quickly as the car starts and The White Stripes “Rag and Bone” starts playing. “Love this song,” I tell him, turning it up and grooving in my seat.