And I hated how right she was. That was why you should never have a best friend, for the record. They see the bullshit you don’t and they can tease you into believing with your words.The only problem was that, while staring at that handsome British man slowly trying to step away from the woman across from him, I wanted to. Believe him. I wanted to believe every word he whispered in my ear and mumbled against my lips. I just wish it weren’t so hard to give someone your everything when a part of you believed you’re their nothing.Mercifully, the song ended and Ivan finally disengaged himself from Brunette Bitch. He crossed the room forcefully, determinedly. When he reached me, his hands find my back and my neck. He drew me to him, his mouth hot against mine. Certain and determined. Knowing and seductive. I melted into him. There was nothing else I could do. My hands curled around the lape

I cried out when I felt him hit the end of me. He stopped abruptly, grabbing the back of my hair and yanked my head up. I didn’t realize that it had dropped, that I wasn’t looking in the mirror anymore. “Look.” Short. Sharp. Demanding. My cheeks were flushed red, my eyes shining with building pleasure, my lips were swollen and parted. My chest was heaving, and I could even see the tremble of my knees. “Good girl.” He fucked me again, slower this time but just as deep. After releasing my hair, he brought one hand round my body. He squeezed one of my breasts then dropped his hand to my pussy. “Watch in the mirror. Watch as I play with your clit and bring you to a second orgasm you’ll be denied.” I gasped. His fingers brushed my clit, a movement I saw and felt. Every rub of my clit was in time with his dick stroking inside me. Every one was perfectly synced, meant to tease me and push me even further. Heat flooded my body. My musc

“Hold on,” I said, stopping him before he got into his car. I plugged my headphones into my cell, started my running playlist on Spotify, and shoved the phone into my bra. Ivan watched with amusement as I adjusted it slightly. “Bras make good pockets,” I explained, hooking my headphones into place over my ears.“Ready?” he questioned, sliding into his Mercedes and started the engine with unnecessary force.“Ready to kick your hot, British ass? You bet I am.” I winked and started running a second before he pulled away.“We’ll see,” he called out the window as he drove past me.I took a right turn at the end of the street. My feet pounded against the pavement as I picked up speed, determined to win this race. Determined to have twenty-four hours of him completely at my mercy to stuff up my sleeve and whip out whenever I feel like it.And of course, that posed the question of whether it

“Jack, have you ever wanted something you know is really bad for you?”He laughed, his whole body shaking, and lifted his pint. “Every day, darlin’!”I smiled, taking the five-dollar bill from his outstretched hand. “Not like that. I mean, something that could really change your life. Tip-it-upside-down kinda change.”“Getting philosophical?” Donny slid onto the stool next to him. “Be a doll and get me a beer, Brenda.”I shot him an annoyed look. “Aren’t you supposed to be working, boss?”“I’m taking a break.” He smiled at me charmingly. “And my beer?”Chewing the inside of my lip, I grabbed a bottle of Bud from the fridge, uncapped it, and placed it in front of him. “Two ninety please.”“Are you joking?”“No. You just put the prices up, and it’ll be my ass you chew out later when

Miami was hot. Really, really hot. Compared to Seattle, it was another world.And standing there below the burning sun, pretending I was not covered in sweat so thick it could be another layer of skin, was next to impossible. Thankfully, the photographer called a break and one of the girls ran over and handed me a water bottle. No one else was suffering the way I was.But hey. That was what you get when you put a northern girl in a southern climate when the North was pretty much still in winter.After ten minutes, a wipe-down, and reapplication of my makeup, I headed out to the waterline. The photographer was a nice, friendly, thirty-something woman who was famed for her beach shots. It was evident to see—the positions she asked me to contort my body into were practically fucking yoga. I was half tempted to ask if she’d like to shoot me in the downward dog position.Of course, she’d likely give the other girls, who were holed up in diffe