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12 Inches: A Secret Baby Dark Romance
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I got a footlong. And it tastes so good.
You wanna tame Aidan Stone, you’re laboring in vain, darlin’.
There’s no way any woman alive can get over my Greek God body, with my 8-pack abs and bedroom eyes.
Abby Cleveland thinks she can change me.
Make me less of a playboy. More responsible. Take my hard-partying, womanizing ways and make me into a pillar of respectability.
Well, good luck to her.
Because it’s me that’s going to change her.
I’m going to open up a whole new world for her. Make her see things she never dreamt possible. Change the way she sees the world.
I’m going to do it by using my body.
I’ll let you guess what part…
**Come join Alexis Angel in this full-length standalone romance. No cliffhanger but it’s going to be a scorcher with scenes of MF, MFMM, and very mild FMF. HEA? You know it, babe.**
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That’s the sound Susan makes when her mouth lets go of my cock. Spit falls as she pulls her mouth apart. She’s shined my knob pretty fucking good.
“Welcome to the 2017 Romance Authors Guild of America Awards Ceremony,” some stupid fucking idiot is announcing on the other side of the curtain. “If you’ll raise your glasses in a toast, I’d like to introduce you to your hostess for the evening.”
Yeah, I don’t fucking know who the fuck is out there introducing the hostess. I don’t really fucking care at this point in the game.
Why, you ask?
Because as the host was announcing the Awards Dinner, Susan got on all fours and looked behind her. She gave me a stare so clouded in fucking lust that my cock shivered with delight as I stuck my 12 inches of lust muscle into her quivering hot pussy.
“Oh, fuck, baby, that’s it,” Susan moans lewdly in front of me as she juts her ass out at me and I plunge into her with my 12-inch cock. That’s twice I’ve mentioned my footlong fuckstick.
I’m not gonna let you forget it. I’ll try and not mention it as much from now on if you promise to remember?
Good. Let’s get back to that slut, Susan.
Her elegant black dress is hiked up and her thong is on the floor. My trousers are at my feet and I’m pounding her ass mercilessly. Just as the bottom of her dress is hiked up, the top of her dress is lowered, giving my hands no obstacle as I reach over and squeeze her tits, pinching her pink nipples and making her throw her head back in ecstasy.
That’s fucking why.
“It’s my deep honor to introduce you to USA Today Bestselling Author, Alyssa Moore,” that unnamed fucker on the other side of the curtain that separates me from the stage continues.
Wait a fucking second. Alyssa Moore?
Not the author, Alyssa fucking Moore?
I look over the backside of the woman that I’m fucking. She’s got long dark brown hair. Fuck, her pussy’s not tight in the least, but it’s getting the job done. Her face isn’t much to look at. I guess I can grab her ass – she does have an alright ass. But when you’ve gotten as much fucking pussy as I have, this girl doesn’t really seem that fucking special.
But wait one moment. I need to ask her something.
“Susan,” I say as I keep thrusting in and out and even time my words with my thrusts. At least that’s what it seems like. “You know your sister is out there presenting, babe??”
That’s a pretty fucking horrible question to ask a broad as you’re fucking her, isn’t it?
That her sister is just a few feet away from her.
Well, I’ve had to ask worse—so don’t judge me too fucking harshly. But why would you judge me at all? You love this shit. You wish you were right here with me, so I could fuck you with my thick, hard cock, don’t you?
Don’t fucking lie to me.
I’m 6’ 3” of raw animal lust in a gorgeous fucking body. I have tattoos up and down my left arm. My muscles are cut with the precision of a diamond drill. My 8-pack abs and my pecs and deltoids showcase a body that’s crowned by my lean face and mysteriously dark brown eyes. I have close-cropped brown hair. And let’s not forget the monster 12-inch cock that’s ravaging this pussy right now. One foot of pussy pleasing power added onto a body of a fucking god.
If you don’t wish I was fucking you on the backstage of an awards dinner with the Who’s Who of the romance writing world, then I would seriously suggest that you rethink your priorities, love.
But enough about you and I. Let’s go back to her.
“Did you know Alyssa was going to be presenting?” I ask, my ears perking up to what the lady on the other side of the curtain is saying. Luckily, people are still applauding and she’s just saying thank you to the folks.
“What? Yeah, she’s ungggh….present…..award. Why?” Susan asks. Remarkably, I haven’t stopped pounding her. But I can multi-task during my fuck – see love, you thought I was just some dumb stud with a 12-inch cock, didn’t you? I’m Aidan Stone.
You knew there was a good reason you were attracted to me from the very first word in this chapter.
I am THE Aidan Stone. I’ve graced hundreds of romance novel covers around the world. You have, and will, and probably are, fucking touching yourself as you look at my body on the books by Eddie Cleveland or Simone Sowood.
Basically, I parlayed my looks into something fucking real—a fucking enviable portfolio of book covers and modeling gigs. And besides, I have goals. Professional goals that I’ve been trying to get to. What are they?