“Hello Miss Prescott. What brings you here this fine morning?”
Her eyes are glued to my chest, not a single word comes out of her mouth.
“Um, we’re having a picnic,” Page answers for her, poking Penelope in the back with a stick.
“Oh yeah, food,” Penelope answers, shaking her head quickly and turning back around.
Not waiting for an invitation, I take a seat next to her and say, “Well, don’t mind if I do. I’m famished.” Grabbing a few grapes, I pop them in my mouth and then hold my hand out to Page. “Gavin Saint.”
“Page,” she answers, awe in her voice. “Nell has told me so much about you.”
Grinning from ear to ear, I turn to Penelope whose face is bright red. “Is that so?”
“No!” she answers quickly, shooting daggers at her friend. “I have not said anything about you, at all.”
“Not even about the storage closet?” I ask, not ashamed at all.
Davies throws her head back and laughs while Penelope coughs into her drink. I pat her back in a calming gesture, occasionally rubbing my hand over the thin material of her top, wishing it were her skin.
“From your reactions, it seems like our little friend here did tell you. What did she say? Give me all the dirt.” I rub my hands together, loving the way Penelope is seething next to me.
Before any of the girls could cut in, Penelope says, “Just that you told me you had to use your fingers because you have a micro-penis and felt bad that you wouldn’t be able to please me any other way. We all agreed, you can’t have it all Gavin Saint,” she finishes with a sympathetic wince.
Should have seen that one coming. Fucking woman keeps me on my toes.
I lean over to Penelope, placing my hand on her lower back, and speak directly into her ear, keeping our conversation private. “You and I both know that’s a lie, but I’ll let it slide because I look forward to the moment when I fuck that thought right out of your head with my long…thick…cock.” I take my time speaking into her ear, eliciting goose bumps across the surface of her skin. With a quick glance, I also take in how her nipples have hardened.
Bluff all you want baby, I can read you like a fucking book.
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
Born and raised around Houston Texas, Jessica spent most of her life complaining about the heat, humidity, and all around pain in the ass weather. It was only as an adult that she quickly realized the cost of living in Houston made up for not being able to breathe when she stepped outside. That’s why God created central air, after all.
Jessica is the mother of a perfect little boy–she refuses to accept that he inherited her attitude and sarcastic nature no matter what her husband says.
In addition to being a wife and mom, she’s also a wino, a coffee addict, and an avid lover of all types of books–romances still being her all time favs. Her husband likes to claim that reading is her obsession but she just says it’s a passion…there’s a difference. Not that she’d expect a boy to understand.
Jessica has been writing since she was a little girl, but thankfully grew out of drawing her own pictures for her stories before ever publishing her first book. Because an artist she is not.