Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 133738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
And I took his cock inside when I went up with him.
At the feel of him filling me, my head fell back, and I glided up and down until he caught my hair in a loose fist, which meant I got his new message.
I tipped my head down, put my mouth to his, and we kissed.
God, I loved kissing this man.
Danny sadly broke the kiss, but fortunately, he did it to trail his lips down my neck, my chest. He curved a hand over my breast and lifted it, taking the nipple into his mouth.
He sucked.
Electricity shot from my nipple to between my legs, I stopped gliding, ground into him and clutched him everywhere I held him.
I heard as well as felt his groan, and all that was so fabulous, my head fell back again.
God, I loved loving Danny Magnusson.
Every way I could do it.
He released my nipple, ran his hand at my breast up my chest, the side of my neck and around to the back of it, and called a gruff, “Evie.”
I looked down at him again, resuming my movements, riding up, floating down.
“Yeah?” I breathed.
“Love you,” he whispered.
Oh yeah.
I loved loving Danny Magnusson.
“Love you too, Danny.”
I felt my eyelids drift halfway down at the effort it took to witness his beautiful smile before I gasped when he whipped me to my back.
I rounded him with my legs to hold on.
Because one other thing I loved about Danny.
When he was on top.
“Serious?” I asked my sister, staring at the stuff that was littering her kitchen table.
This being face products. Cosmetics. Graphic tees. Housewares. Jeans.
“What do you think I do?” she asked in return.
“You’re building a social media following.”
“I’m building a social media following because I have a lifestyle blog. People send me shit to test and review on my blog, and if I dig it, we make a deal and they pay me to promote it.”
She flipped open a rose-gold laptop, hit a few buttons and turned the screen to me.
On it was a highly stylized, and uber-cool website that was clean, bright, classy, modern, personality plus and just freaking awesome.
The top had a killer graphic flower surrounding a cool font spelling out THE SID SITUATION, and all of it looked like it was a neon sign.
“I do sponsored posts,” she stated. “I’m an affiliate at a variety of sites, and I started my own shop where I sell my swag. I’m launching my podcast later this year with a video component for people who want to watch as well as listen.”
I looked to her and asked, “To what?”
Her face pinched and she said, “Not that you’d notice, but I’m really good with makeup, hair, I got a dab hand with decorating, and I take great photos. The Pioneer Woman built a fucking empire with less than that and there wasn’t even Snapchat and Insta back then.”
“I wasn’t saying anything mean,” I noted softly.
“You weren’t?” she retorted snidely.
“No, Sidney, I wasn’t,” I replied firmly.
“I know you and Rob think it’s full of shit,” she retorted.
“What me, and probably Rob, did not do is actually ask you about it. I didn’t know what you were up to, which makes me not only the shittiest sister in the world, but just a plain bitch.”
Her entire body relaxed, and she replied, “No you aren’t. I wasn’t exactly deep in your life either. I kept out of it because it took me a while to find my way, and you weren’t a big fan of coming along for that ride. I get that. I did some stupid shit, some crazy shit, some shit I wasn’t proud of until I found my niche. And then it was…” she shrugged, “safer. All that, you and Mom and Rob, Dad and Mick, it was messed up dysfunction and I didn’t want any part of it. I knew you were getting buried under it, but I was so into my own thing, gung-ho to make it something, I let you get piled under their garbage. So who’s the shittiest sister in the world and just a plain bitch?”
“Why don’t we just leave it at the fact we both could have done better, we didn’t, and now we will,” I suggested.
“Yeah, I could do that,” she muttered, gazing back down at her laptop.
“Sidney,” I called.
She looked to me.
I flung out a hand. “This is really rad. I mean really. And if you need any help on the backend of your website and podcast or whatever,” I touched my chest, “you call me.”
“I hate the tech stuff,” she said, her expression growing bright. “I took some online courses and went to seminars, but it still sucks.”
“It’s awesome.”
“Because you’re a freak.”
“And I let my freak flag fly.”
Her face split in a grin.
I returned it, then asked, “Are we going to lunch or what?”