Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
This was bad. Really bad. This was worse than had we sat together. I made a mental note for my write-up that sometimes there are things worse than sitting next to the one you hate, and it comes in the shape of a three-foot-tall booger eater.
Mine and Vance’s gazes locked over the two children throwing punches across his lap and calling each other “buttmunch.” He lifted a brow and gave me a look, one that said, I know you won’t like this, but we have two options here and I won’t put a booger on your face during the flight.
Between the two hells, I chose him. I nodded in silent agreement.
He unfolded his huge frame from the seat, shuffled into the aisle, and tapped the boy on the shoulder. “You want to trade seats with me and sit by your brother and sister?”
“No!”
“What if I give you ten dollars?” Vance dug his wallet from his sweatpants pocket and pulled out two fives, holding them up for the little boy to see. “That’s a lot of chocolate. Think about how jealous you can make them…”
The kid snatched the money and shot across the aisle, immediately shoving the money in his siblings’s faces while making a fart noise with his mouth.
Sighing, Vance folded his dick-pierced self into the small space beside me, then buckled his seatbelt. “This is going to be a great flight,” he mumbled moments before his knee bumped mine.
I knocked my knee against his. “Get in your own space.”
“I am in my own space.”
He most certainly was not. His knee was on my side of the line that designated the middle of the seats in front of us. So were his feet. Airplanes were claustrophobic enough without having my work enemy with a big, pierced dick invading my personal bubble.
I whacked my leg against his again. “No, you’re not. The space on the right of that line—” I pointed to the seats in front of us—“is yours.”
He glanced from the seats to me, his dark brows knitted together over his sparkling, stupidly green eyes. “I’m six-five.”
Why did that make my thighs clench a little? “Congratulations on being able to grab things off the top shelf.”
“Congratulations on being able to do pull-ups on a door handle.”
I wanted to flick his forehead. I literally envisioned flicking his forehead so hard I’d leave a red spot. Then I knocked my knee against his I-squat-three-hundred-pounds-every-day thigh again. “Get your long-ass, vagabond leg back on your side.”
“I can’t.” He shifted in his seat. “If I put my legs any closer together, I’m going to crush my dick.”
The image of his massive dick pressed between his muscular thighs like a flapjack popped into my mind. I really hated that I’d seen those pictures because every time the mental image flipped through my head like some sordid porno, my body reacted in ways I didn’t want it to. The fact of the matter was, Vance was ridiculously sexy, and to make matters worse, since I’d watched the video on his Lonely Fans, I was well aware of the erotic grunt he made when he came. Like every woman in a psychological thriller gone wrong, I knew too much.
There was no turning back. No saving myself…
Closing my eyes, I reminded myself that I despised him. That he despised me. That, according to Margot, the weird new guy had started a pool on whether we’d bump uglies on this trip. And at the end of the day, I couldn’t let the weird new guy be right.
Fifteen minutes into the flight, from the corner of my eye, I noticed Vance lower his tray and place his laptop on it. I glanced at his screen and nearly choked on my in-flight drink.
Vance sat there, in the economy class of an international flight, editing a picture of his dick in front of a city skyline I was pretty sure was Tokyo.
I yanked out my headphones. “Are you serious?” I whisper-shouted, lowering the top of his computer to hide Cockzilla takes Tokyo from the flight attendant passing by. “That is your massive—” I internally cringed that I’d used that descriptor—“dick.”
“You’re right.” Smiling, he flicked my hand away from his device. “It is my massive cock.” He lifted the screen, then zoomed in on his veiny shaft. Damn, his head-to-shaft ratio was impressive. Really impressive…
I pinched him.
He made a growling-grunt noise. “What’s your problem?”
“People are behind us.”
He glanced around the side of his seat, nearly shoving his dick-riddled computer into my lap in the process. “It’s two men. And they’re asleep.”
“Well, I’m not asleep.” My gaze strayed to the screen again, and I feigned disgust. “And I don’t want to see that.”
“Then why were you paying Lonely Fans to see my cock, Blake?”
That word, followed by my name, shouldn’t have sounded so hot, but evidently, I was a glutton.