Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
She’s kidding. Teasing me about my age, which if she’s aware of my save percentage, she knows is a mere thirty years old. Hell, she probably knows my age, height, weight, salary, birthplace, and career progression up to the Moose drafting me. But she’s also letting me off the hook for my emotional dumping, and I appreciate that more than she realizes.
I can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up. It sounds rough and foreign even to my own ears because I can’t remember the last time I truly laughed out loud.
“Inter-net?” I echo, feigning an old-man quiver in my voice. “Is that some sort of newfangled thing you young’uns are doing? Like the Google?”
Acting perkier than I’ve ever seen her, Joy bounces in her seat and Kardashian-drawls, “Oh yeah, it’s like totally awesome. We can talk, and do dances, and watch videos. You should check it out. It’s hawt.”
It breaks the tension, and we’re both chuckling. It feels surprisingly good, like a knot in my chest relaxed. And when Joy smiles like she feels better, too, I can’t help but admit, “You’re not as bad as I thought you were, you know that? Somewhere way beneath that attitude, you’ve got a good heart. I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”
“Happy to oblige. But keep the good heart thing on mute. I’ve worked hard for my reputation as a ballbusting bitch and can’t have you going around telling people I’m all soft and kind, doing charity work and shit.” She sounds sassy as fuck, any tenderness evaporated into the night, and I’m glad she can’t see my grin.
Somehow, the awkwardness about our situation is gone. Like we’re just two people with this one little thing to do before we go on about our nights. “So . . . shall we?” I say, gesturing to my crotch.
“Sure. Show me what you got, old man,” she quips.
I chuckle again, the sound erupting a bit smoother this time. But it dies off with the ziiippp of my zipper lowering. I slide my hands inside my boxer briefs and lift myself over the waistband.
“Days?” Joys whispers.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t see it. It’s too dark.”
Fuck. It’s not like I can throw the overhead light on in the parking lot of Chuck’s. The last thing I need is someone seeing me and Joy in my truck with my dick out.
“Hang on,” she says. “I’ve got it.” And then there’s a spotlight from her phone’s flashlight shining right on my cock while the rest of the truck remains dark. “Perfect. Uh, I mean, now I can see.”
“It is perfect, ain’t it?” I tease, not even half sure she was complimenting me. Despite her mouthiness and assurance that this is no big deal because she’s got dick-xperience, I get the feeling Joy wouldn’t know what to do with something like me. Or maybe that’s because my only framework of her has been through Shepherd’s perception of his sister. But I wonder if there’s more to her than he knows because I don’t think he’d expect her to do what she’s doing for me.
“I guess. If you like long, thick, pierced cocks, it’s fine, I suppose,” she replies, sounding less than impressed. Her eye roll is virtually audible.
I grip my shaft in my hand, stroking up and down a few times and getting harder with every pass. I wish I could see her eyes, see what she’s thinking when she looks at me. “What do you like, Joy?”
“Tiny ones. Like little-bitty Vienna sausages that don’t hurt when they slide into you like that monster would. I bet girls can barely walk after a night with you, and if they can, they’re probably bowlegged for life. Or worse, ripped and ruined.”
I freeze, encircling the base with my thumb and finger and squeezing hard at the thought of thrusting into Joy and ruining her for any other man. Where did that come from? Wherever it is, it needs to go back there because that’s not happening. That’s not what this is at all. But also, she said something important that I need to address. “I’m not a complete asshole. I can be gentle and patient. I know a woman needs a little more prep to take me, so I’ve gotten really good at foreplay. Fingers, tongue, whatever she needs so that by the time she gets my cock, she’s begging for it.” My fingers dance along my length, base to crown and back down again.
“Beg? You make them beg?” I’m pretty sure she means it to sound accusatory, but I’d bet my left nut she doesn’t hear the undercurrent of longing in her voice. But I do.
And that’s a dangerous game to play.
“I don’t make them do anything. They just want me.” It’s the truth, bold and crude and hard.
It dashes cold water on Joy. The flashlight turns off, and she clips out, “We good?” Not waiting for an answer, she reaches for the door handle. “Good luck tomorrow night.”