Mr. Fiancé(88)

After I’ve made sure I’ve picked my most dapper attire, I walk into the bathroom, slide out of my clothes, and enter the shower stall for a quick rinse. As the cool water hits me, my mind wanders to the possibility of picking up some ass tonight. I could see myself easily picking up some chick from the event I’m heading to. Hell, maybe even someone from the hotel lobby. But once again, I’m unable to get excited at the prospect of sharing my bed.

I shake my head as water runs down my forehead and into my eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me? There was a time where I’d been happy to share my bed with one or even two. But the thought just doesn’t excite me anymore.

I guess I’m getting tired of sex that doesn’t mean a damn thing.

My mood sour, I finish rinsing off and step out of the stall. I’m in the middle of drying off when I realize I left my pants on the bed. I walk into the room while rubbing the towel against my head.

“Anaconda,” I swear I hear a sweet voice say as I’m about to pull the towel from my eyes.

Goddamn, I think, seeing the sight in front of me, then my inner voice groans. Oh, no. Not again.

The towel slips from my fingers as I see a woman dressed in a maid uniform, her eyes as wide as a doe’s as she gazes at me. Fuck. She’s beautiful. Rich brown hair frames big, brown, soulful eyes, a slightly upturned button nose, and ruby pink lips that are soft and plump. The sort of lips that I’d love to have wrapped around my cock.

My dick twitches as I look over the rest of her. Her uniform has a French maid vibe to it, showcasing her figure and legs that stretch on for days.

I’m used to seeing beautiful women, but there’s something about this girl that makes my blood heat in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

“Hi, I’m Gavin,” I say, stepping forward and then stopping. I feel stupid as fuck introducing myself while I’m butt naked. But it can’t be helped. The snake is already out of the bag. There’s no use covering him up now.

The girl doesn’t reply, her eyes as wide as saucers, her legs trembling. Jesus, she looks like she’ll need a respirator, her chest heaving as her eyes flit to my face, back between my legs, and then back to my face again.

Her mouth works for a moment as her eyes play ping pong, and I can’t help but grin at the effect I’m having on her. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this, but I am.

I boldly take a step forward, though I know I shouldn’t. She’s fucking petrified. “You all right?”

Her cheeks burning red, I hear her mumble, “I’m sorry,” before she turns and runs from the room without looking back.

For a moment, I’m tempted to go after her, but I don’t. After all, I am naked, and I don’t know where the fucking bathrobe is. But I’m pissed I didn’t get her name. She was gorgeous. And I could see the way she looked at me. I know that look.

And the image of her looking up at me with those eyes while I push into her body is going to be in my dreams until I make it a reality.

But she ran from me. I clench my jaw as I think about her plump, pouty lips and her wide eyes as she took in my naked body. My cock twitches again as I remember the lust that flashed in her eyes.

I decide right then and there that I’m gonna find her. And when I do, I’ll have those sweet lips wrapped around my cock in no time.

If it’s the last thing I do.

Want to read the rest? Get Anaconda HERE.





Over the Middle





by Lauren Landish




O. M. G.



That’s the only thing on my mind when I’m assigned to help superstar tight end, Duncan Hart, rehab his elbow. With a body that looks like a sculpted masterpiece, his chiseled features melt the hearts of women everywhere, including mine.



There’s just one problem. Duncan’s an a**hole, with an ego the size of our football stadium. He lives for the roar of the crowd. He thrives on it. And he wants to let me experience the Hart Attack — yes, he has a name for it. But that’s not going to happen. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself…



All’s fair in love and war, and I have two choices — take him down, or let him score.





Chapter 1





Duncan





"Have a seat, Duncan," Coach Bainridge says as I come in, my arm still in a sling. I'm feeling pretty good, though, and I’m looking forward to ditching the damn thing as soon as I leave the athletic complex. Three weeks of wearing the damn thing around is grating on my nerves. "How's the arm?"

"The elbow's fine. Only reason I'm wearing the sling is so that the Academic Director doesn't shit himself too early. You know he saw dollar signs evaporating into the air during the Green and White game."