Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Sweetheart, you haven’t seen me wearing much clothing at all, so how would you know?”
The curvy girl laughs as she bounces a bit on her toes, her blonde ponytail shaking. She’s outfitted in the sexiest athletic wear I’ve ever seen, none of which is neon. Her huge tits are encased in a tiny pink sports bra, white flesh oozing from the sides, and she has a matching short skirt on that barely comes past the bubble of her butt. White socks hug toned calves, ending in a pair of pink sneakers that are double-laced. Grace is a fucking vision, the way she always is.
“I haven’t seen you wear much,” she acknowledges with another playful smile at me. “But really? A neon yellow windbreaker? And yellow running shoes?”
I look down at myself. It’s true, I look like a fluorescent glow-stick at the moment, and let out a low chuckle.
“I have a limited selection of clothing, so I have to wear whatever’s in my closet, and it’s this neon shit. You know me, sweetheart. I’m not into clothes. I get my jollies from being outside and active.”
Grace throws her arms around my bronzed neck before going onto her tippy-toes for a sensuous kiss.
“I know, and that’s why I’m attracted to you, Mr. Rock,” she murmurs against my lips. “You’re not the average guy who’s indoors all the time, staring at a computer screen so that you’re pasty and white. Your muscles are all real, and come from hard labor, and not a personal trainer.” With that, Grace whirls on her toes and steps outside of her cabin, me following in her wake. “Ready?” she smiles at me. “Let’s go!”
Then, she darts down the trail, jogging faster than I expected. Of course, the curvy girl is no match for me when it comes to running because I’m an athlete. When I’m in Vegas, I work out six times a week at the gym, no excuses. I lift, run on the treadmill, and sometimes box to maintain my physique. Don’t get me wrong because it fucking sucks to get up at 5 a.m. to hit the gym, day in and day out. But if I want to maintain my physique, then that’s what needs to happen. A couple of my friends are already getting paunchy and rundown, and it’s because they don’t have the discipline. Meanwhile, I’ve been at it since I was fifteen years old and look like fucking He-Man as a result.
But yeah, Gracie has no idea that I’m actually a billionaire from Vegas, and the lies kill me a little more every day. I’ve been lying through my teeth to the curvy girl these past couple weeks, and shit’s getting slippery. The young woman thinks I’m a blue collar lumberjack between gigs, living in a shitty one bedroom cabin halfway up the hill from hers. She thinks that my physique is from chopping wood and clearing forest growth all day. She thinks that I scrimp and save to afford my life, when actually, the opposite is true. I’m actually a tech CEO who could buy and sell the entire town of Fairview if I wanted to. Hell, maybe I will. Who knows? It could be cool to re-name the town “Rockwell.”
But it’s been nice living in this fantasy. Gracie has no idea who I am, and doesn’t care that I’m a humble lumberjack. She loves me as I am, and basically stays at my cabin most nights now, letting me fuck that tender cunt whenever I want, which is a lot. I’m allegedly “between gigs,” so I don’t have to get up for work in the mornings. Instead, I fuck her young body morning, noon, and night, making her scream with joy. Oh, and she’s gifted me with her other cherries as well, so I’m fucking those too. What a lucky asshole, right? I get my choice of pussy, ass or mouth whenever I want, 24/7.
But I do my share. I help her with her so-called “farm.” Again, it’s a tiny plot of land seeded with maybe two hundred marijuana plants, halfway up the hillside. It’s not a lot of work, although there were a couple days when we had to hustle because of the weather, fertilizer, or other agricultural issues. But I’m never worried because my girl knows what she’s doing. She’s deft and quick to foresee any problems for her crops, and I respect her horticultural skills.
It's her family that’s the fucking mystery. In the time I’ve been using their daughter’s curves, neither her father nor brother have shown up once.
“Do they call, at least?” I asked, one brow raised after I claimed her hot and sweaty by the tool shed. We have the place to ourselves, so we basically fuck like rabbits all over the place. “Surely, your dad and brother check up on you every now and then.”