Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Everything changes when Ciaran Carter basically steps out of the pages of one of Louisa’s beloved smutty books and into her romance-only bookstore. Tall, muscular, handsome, and he likes to read? He’s the perfect book boyfriend come to life. And he plays hockey? Bless. It doesn’t get any better.
Louisa and Ciaran strike sparks off each other from the moment they meet. He’s got big dreams, and she’s got big secrets. And together, they’ll set their little corner of Tennessee on fire.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Louisa
I swear the only man worth a damn is a fictional man.
I squint at the ceiling, trying to reason with myself for why I’m allowing the guy I swiped right on to motorboat my pussy. Yes, motor-fucking-boat my pussy. He blows raspberries as he shakes his head against my needy center. The sounds are not even a bit sexy and are completely turning me off.
I’d been so excited.
For once, his picture wasn’t a lie, and he was as attractive in person as he was in his photos. It was a relief since, lately, everyone I’ve been hooking up with has Photoshopped their photos or did that stupid turn-your-photo-into-a-cartoon shit. I love how no one is ever as they seem. It’s fucking infuriating, but Johnny…his photos were real, and when his golden-haired, bright-green-eyed, tall, sexy self walked through the door of my shop, I didn’t waste time pulling my panties off. He had me on my back in my bedroom within seconds, with my legs over his shoulders, holding my hips up to his mouth, giving me a head rush just how I wanted, and I knew it was going to be so good.
But I was so painfully wrong.
I wish I hadn’t been reading the new smutty monster novel I’d just gotten into my shop when my phone had dinged with a new match. I was too eager to swipe right, and the regret is so real right now. Let’s be honest, I should have known better. No real man has abilities like a dragon with two cocks, yet I figured one cock was better than none. Now, though, I realize I was very wrong and should have just stuck to my book and toy, rather than lying on my back, completely unsatisfied.
Every eight seconds or so, his nose does brush my clit, but then I am left with nothing and wondering what the hell he is doing. I don’t know who taught this dude how to eat pussy, but whoever it was truly did a disservice to anyone who swipes right on Johnny Rocket.
His name should be Johnny Dud.
“Do you want me to move my panties?”
He grunts against my swollen flesh, burying his face between my lower lips with renewed gusto. Within moments, I realize his gusto is bullshit. Just like he is. This is so disappointing. I clear my throat and look down to find him watching me, his brows furrowed, and he looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely. At least one of us is. “Can you add a finger inside me?”
He groans deeply as he moves his thumb into my opening. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
His praise thrills me, and my desire burns deep in my gut. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. He moves his thumb in and out of me, but his fucking mouth is everywhere. Everywhere but where I want him. I lick my lips, arching off my bed. “Can you focus on my clit?”
I part my folds for him, exposing my clit, and his eyes darken more. He nods and sucks my clit into his mouth. I come off the bed as light explodes behind my closed eyes. I moan loudly, jerking up against his mouth, wanting more, needing more. Heat swirls deep in my gut, my toes start to curl into my sheets, and my whole body tingles. A slow, satisfied grin moves across my lips because, finally, I feel myself almost there. Okay, so he needed direction. I’m the eldest of five—I am great at giving direction, no big—
Before I can even finish that thought, he goes still, groans loudly, jerks violently against my pussy, and then I feel the hot spray of his come on my back.
You’ve. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.
I blink up at the ceiling as his orgasm rocks his body. He jerks, he groans, and then he gasps against my pussy. A pussy that isn’t even wet at this point.
“Wow. That was good, huh?”
I blink again as he lowers me to the bed. I rise to my elbows, meeting his spent gaze as frustration burns through me. “What was?”
He pauses, his gaze moving from satisfied to confused. “That.”
“Your orgasm? Are you going to finish me?”
His brows shoot up at my exclamation. “You didn’t come?”
I gawk at him. “I didn’t have a chance.”
“I’ve been down here for twenty minutes.”
“And couldn’t find my clit until I pointed it out to you!”
He looks uncomfortable, but he lowers his head. Before I can even settle in to hope for my release, he asks, “Well, how much longer?”
Yup, romance novels have officially ruined me, because no fictional man has ever asked how long it would take to make his lover come.
Monster or human.
God, real guys are worthless.
Eliza presses her lips together to keep her laughter in. I’m surprised she isn’t allowing herself to guffaw at my dismay. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that she knows I’m pissed. I haven’t come since we moved to Knoxville, except by my own hand or toy, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s my own damn fault. I spend hours reading about these sexy men and feral monsters and how they worship their female in and out of bed, and instead of finding anything like what I read, I find dudes who motorboat my pussy and come without even making sure I come first. And then have the audacity to ask me how long it will take me!