Obsessed With My Mom’s Ex Read Online S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Billionaire, Erotic, Taboo Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
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As the steam from the shower starts to swirl around me, I lean a hand against the bathroom wall to steady myself, hesitating for a moment. Again, what the fuck was that? Chrissy and I both just pretended that she was a sex doll that was mine to use. It was so fucking hot and I just had the biggest orgasm of my life. But now that it’s over, I’m wondering whether we’ve just screwed-up big time. Maybe we should talk, and figure things out.

Gritting my teeth, I throw the door to the bedroom open and stalk back in, but then stop in my tracks because the sex doll has been put back in its place on my bed, where I’d originally left it. And my beautiful houseguest is gone.

5

Brad

I can’t concentrate even though it’s been hours since my encounter with Chrissy. Normally, I’m a steady dude. As the CEO of a start-up, I tend to work all hours of the day and night with intense focus. My grocery delivery company, Timo, keeps me plenty busy and there’s little that can distract me. Yet, I can’t stop thinking about Chrissy and our incredible rendezvous.

After all, what the fuck was that? Why did she pretend to be a sex doll? Did she think she was really fooling me? What kind of fucked-up game are we playing, anyways? I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose while closing my eyes. Running a company is incredibly stressful and nerve-racking, but it’s nothing compared to dealing with a sex-crazed teenage girl. Fuck. I’m so fucked.

Maybe I should get out of the house. I’m still not sure what to make of this game Chrissy initiated, and I’m not in the mood to run into her either. It annoys me that I’m uncomfortable in my own home, with my mind going in circles. I need to vacate immediately. Maybe my buddy Dane is free? He’s a new father, having recently had a baby with his wife. But it’s worth a try.

I stalk quietly down the stairs, along the marble entrance hall, and out the front door without so much as throwing a glance in the direction of the living room, just in case Chrissy happens to be visible through the large French windows. If I see her reading like a goody two-shoes, just hours after our naughty little adventure, I’m worried I’ll lose my mind. After all, I’m too conflicted and confused at the moment, and probably wouldn’t even be able to speak in full sentences. For now, it’s best to avoid the sassy teen, at least until I figure out what the fuck is going on.

Hopping in my car, I pull out of the driveway as I call Dane from the Bluetooth in the dashboard.

“Yo,” I rasp when he answers the phone. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Changing diapers and singing lullabies,” Dane says in a wry tone. He sounds exhausted. “Hailey’s burping like there’s no tomorrow and refusing to sleep. Did I mention how charming newborns can be?” As if on cue, his daughter’s wails echo loudly through my car and I wince, turning down the volume.

“Yo, I hear you,” I laugh. “It sounds like you’re busy.”

“I am,” replies Dane in a morose tone, “but it’s actually my turn to go out. Jamie went out last week with some school friends while I stayed home with Hailey. So she’ll be fine if you want to meet up. Did you have something particular in mind?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe a drink?”

“Sounds good,” says Dane, sounding excited to vacate. “I want to try this new place I read about. I’ll text you the address.”

Dane’s choice turns out to be a dive bar, but just barely. It’s brand new and painfully hip with chandeliers made of antlers and patrons dressed in plaid shirts like we’re at a ski lodge. The bar is called “The Hunt,” which curiously, is also the name of a bar Dane and I used to go to all the time when we were in college in Wyoming together. Back then, we had fake IDs, but no one in Wyoming cared to check our IDs. I shake my head as I head over to where my buddy’s sitting at the wooden bar.

“I can see why you wanted to check this place out,” I grin as I slide onto a stool beside him. “But dude, should we go somewhere else? For one, we appear to be the only people here over the age of 30. For another, there are a couple girls singing along to a Taylor Swift song by the juke box.”

“Yeah,” he groans, “If this is what they call a dive bar these days, I don’t think we’re missing out. But it was worth a try. I suddenly missed our college days, and a joint called “The Hunt” sounded promising.”



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