Step-Baller (Wanting What’s Wrong #3) Read Online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Erotic, Novella, Sports, Taboo, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: Wanting What's Wrong Series by Dani Wyatt
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Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
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But, that doesn’t mean the gorgeous, all-American football hero doesn’t have some other dark corners of his past. But, in my heart, I doubt he’s dangerous. A little hard edged, sure, but that’s sexy as heck.

Though I’ve ‘known’ him for less than 24 hours in this amnesia brain of mine, deep in my sub-conscious, I’ve known him for years. I know because he said. And even with my limited knowledge about myself, I don’t strike me as the kind of girl that would stick with a psychopath. At least not one that would do anything to harm me.

I blow out a long breath, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, tossing the freakishly soft cream bedding to the side.

Jack said he was going to go blow off some steam after he stripped down to his boxers and pulled a pair of athletic shorts from the small bag he brought inside.

I watched in awe as he stripped off his shirt and pants, standing there like he was carved from bronze. Every angle of his torso was im-pecc-able. I imagined running my tongue through every muscular valley. The memory of his fingers dancing around in my wetness making the clenching down deep erupt again.

There’s truth to the idea that mating is some primal need. It’s got to be in our DNA because these feelings are not just fleeting. I want his dick inside me.

That’s blunt, but it’s the truth. It’s all I can think about as my face flushes and a sheen of sweat covers my body.

When he kissed the top of my head and tucked me in, I wanted to reach out and grab the clear outline of his hard-on and tug at him until he was balls deep.

Alas, his super Daddy patience won out, and he left me needy and whimpering as he walked out the bedroom door headed for the gym he said was just downstairs.

I pad over to the closet where there are bags of clothes and other gifts strewn all over the floor.

I hold up a few pieces of lingerie but decide to go in a different direction, grabbing a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top with the words Brat Mode Activated written across the chest.

Seems fitting, since I feel a tantrum coming on if I don’t get my way. And soon.

Who would have thought it would be me pressuring a guy like Jack to do the full dirty deed? His patience is infuriating. He’s touched me, and yes, he gave me that little, baby, tiny taste of the tip of his cock, but I think that was him teasing me and it worked.

I’m wound so tight, one push and I’m going to fly apart into a zillion pieces.

I tug my hair into a messy bun and spread some of the cherry lip gloss from one of the bags onto my lips. The tank top is a bit obscene over my triple D boobs but that works in my favor.

I wiggle into the panties, my ass cheeks peeking out of the elastic in the back as well. I’m a thick girl and although I think jack and I are a bit of a mismatch, I vow to use my curves to my advantage instead of shrinking with the feelings of not being good enough.

With a few more last minute words of encouragement into the mirror, I make my way to the bedroom door and down the hall to the stairs.

The house is silent except for the icemaker dropping some cubes inside the freezer. I tip toe through the kitchen to where there is a stairway down. The first floor is pretty open and logic and intuition tell me if there’s a home gym, it’s in the basement.

By the time I hit the fourth step down, I know I’m right. The low thump of rock music drifts upward as well as low grunting sounds.

I slip down into the main area which is pretty empty outside of a pool table and a comfy looking sectional couch. A bar is along one wall and there are glass sliding doors that look outward to the dark lake, making me itch to get Jack out there for some skinny dipping…

But, first things first.

The grunting stops as I approach the open door, bright lights streaming into the other room. There’s a whirring sort of sound then a rhythmic thumping as I reach the door and peer in, getting my plan in place.

My heart pitter-patters as Jack is shirtless on the treadmill, pounding away at the belt as he pokes a finger to the control panel, sweat wetting his hair and running down the indent between his pectoral muscles, making my girl parts clench.

I have a fleeting memory of a video clip on TikTok. It’s odd what is clear about my past and what is an utter void. There’s a guy on a treadmill, supposedly there’s a woman taking a video without his knowledge. He’s wearing gray athletic shorts and clearly, nothing else.



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