Sinful Beasts – Sin City Beasts Read Online Stephanie Brother

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Virgin Tags Authors: Stephanie Brother Advertisement

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It’s paradoxical, but I don’t mind. I don’t need to make sense of it; I’m just going to do what Lexy said, and trust my instincts, which are signaling continued exploration with all three of them. Whatever happens, it will be exciting.

Until I have to choose.

My brain shuts down at that. The notion of telling two of them—or even all three of them—that I don’t want to see them anymore hurts in a physical way, like I’ve tried to understand the deepest, most abstract mysteries of the universe, and my mind just won’t go there.

With a sigh, I reach for the tv remote. It’s probably not good that I wish I were out on a date instead. I know it’s important for me to be comfortable with my own company.

But I am, says that little voice in my brain. It’s just that I have been for too long.

I need something mindless and entertaining that will occupy my mind enough, but not require any real effort from me. Surely, with all the programs that are available, there’s something that will fit the bill.

Eventually, I end up watching a baking show. It’s surprisingly soothing, especially because it’s not filled with scripted drama like many so-called reality shows; all the people are kind to each other, and I’m rooting for them to succeed.

It holds my attention fairly well, though I can’t help but think about my date with Brax. He was hard for me. So hard. And I wanted him. I wanted to see him and touch him and … I don’t know what else might have happened.

Maybe I should have touched him, but the very visible bulge in his pants was so much larger than I expected. I panicked, and as soon as I pulled back, Brax shut things down.

At least I didn’t run away.

But Brax is patient with me. Sometimes, I feel like he’s being too patient, but I appreciate it. And based on what I saw last night, it can’t be easy for him.

I end up watching two episodes of the baking show, and work on some more of my crocheting. I’m just thinking about turning in for the night when my intercom buzzes. I answer it to see a delivery man, telling me there’s a package for me.

Which is odd, because I haven’t ordered anything. No takeout, no online shopping. Frowning, I go down to the lobby and sign for the delivery before he hands me a large bag.

It’s not sealed—it’s an open shopping bag, like something from a department store, but there’s no logo on it. There’s no tag or label whatsoever. My heart beating faster, I take the bag upstairs, set it on my couch, and reach inside.

First, there’s a dress, wrapped in tissue paper and folded neatly. I hold it up to reveal a gorgeous length of dark burgundy silk. When I peer into the bag again, I find other items that make a complete outfit: shoes, jewelry, perfume, even a beautiful comb for me to put my hair up. And at the very bottom, wrapped in more paper, are a bra and skimpy panties in black lace—the kind of lingerie I have never worn in my life.

There’s no card, no note, but there’s only one person who would send me an outfit like this. It has to be from Gray, for our upcoming date. I’m dazzled by his generosity, and also uncomfortable with it, but I remember our conversation at the restaurant. Even with my lack of experience, I know I’ll insult him, maybe even hurt him, if I refuse this gift.

My first impulse is to reach for my phone and text him a thank you, but then I hesitate. He’s being mysterious, so why shouldn’t I be too? I can make him wait and wonder until the night of our date.

The dress is stunning, a silk waterfall that shimmies down my form when I try it on. It fits me perfectly, though it’s more revealing than anything I’ve ever worn, with a loose, plunging neckline and high slits at the bottom. I’m both excited and nervous at the thought of wearing it on our date. The shoes fit me perfectly, too—how did he do that? All of the items are very high quality, which is not surprising given the sender.

Smiling, I hang the dress up carefully and put the other items below it on my closet floor, still in the bag. That way it’ll all stay together until our next date.

Of course, I go to bed thinking of Gray. Which means my hand finds its way under my pajama bottoms after several restless minutes when I can’t fall asleep.

Is it possible to do this sort of thing too much? I wonder what the experts think, and I don’t mean the people who say I shouldn’t do it at all. It’s not like I do it all the time—it’s just a lot compared to before.

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