1. - – Scarlett
CHAPTER ONE
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SCARLETT
Sweat beads down my back as my knee joints crack. The scent of musk, sex, and the dude’s cologne fill the room, blending with the sounds of slapping skin and his grunts. Pleasure flows through my body as I bounce on his cock like a professional bull rider. My tits flap with each pop of my hips.
I rarely fuck on the first date, but it’s been a while and this man is yummy. My eyes flick down at his toned, tan body. His muscles tense as his brows narrow with sexual satisfaction.
The fact that Micah is even interested in a curvy woman like me still blows my mind. His fingers dig into my hips as I grind down on his thick cock. The new angle has his dick rubbing directly against my g-spot and stars explode across my vision as my climax takes over.
My vocal cords crack from the force of my scream. Micah growls lows in his throat as my inner muscles clench around his shaft. He plants his feet on the bed and plows up into me, chasing his own release.
Tremors rack my body as his strokes draw out my orgasm. My body jolts forward as I try to hold on.
Time slows down.
My stomach jiggles, bingo wings flutter, as I feel my tits sway.
In a blink, my massive lumps of chest flubber connect with Micah’s face with the force of a fucking bowling ball. Attacking him from both sides like a messed up pendulum.
40 pounds-apiece-of tit double bitch slaps him and everything stops. His eyes roll back as his body stills beneath me.
“Oh, for fuck's sakes! Not again.” I groan and scramble off him. Pressing a finger to the crook of his neck, I feel the rapid thump of his pulse and let out a sigh of relief.
I’m not sure how many women can say they have knocked men unconscious with their fun bags.
My knees let out a loud pop as I climb off the bed and grab my dress from the pile of clothing on the floor. The last time this happened, it was with my ex and the fucker had two black eyes for a few weeks.
Considering this is only a first date, I doubt I’ll be getting a second. I pull my dress over my head and cast a look over my shoulder. I stare at the Greek god of a bodybuilder knocked out cold on his bed. His beautiful cock still hard and resting on his abs.
I grab my purse and rush out of his bedroom and towards the front door of his apartment. My hip connects with the black armchair, and pain lances through my side. “Son of a fish stick.”
Micah could wake up any minute, and I’m already embarrassed. I nearly topple over as I cram my heels on. One is still unbuckled as I quietly leave his place. Pulling out my phone, I quickly order a cab from the app I use and finger blast the button to call the elevator.
Anxiety takes over my body as I look left to right for any witnesses. I feel as if I committed a crime. Technically, it could be assault with a deadly weapon.
Breastical assault?
The beep signalling the elevator makes me yelp, and I can feel the gurgle of my stress induce IBS tingles through my stomach. I point my finger at my muffin top. “You shut up! This is not the time to panic,” I scowled.
Well, actually, it is. I shuffle into the elevator and hit the button to the lobby. My finger flies across my phone screen as I send a text to my best friend.
Scar
Remember what happened with Tommy? It fucking happened again. SOS. My place, 20 minutes. Bring wine and ice cream. This is Code 5 freak out. I repeat CODE 5
As the doors of the elevator open, my phone buzzes with a new message.
Ruby
Are you fucking serious? LMFAO. Girl, you need a license to carry at this point. I’m grabbing my keys now. Be there soon.
I roll my eyes as I practically sprint out of the building and step out into the warm summer air.
Thank fuck it’s not raining because I left my cardigan behind. Wetness drips down my inner thighs and I realize I left my thong as well.
Sometimes you have to make sacrifices. A piece of clothing is not worth the shame of going back and facing the man I almost sent to Valhalla with my boobs.
Within five minutes, the cab pulls up and I almost rip the door off its hinges in my hurry to get in. As the car pulls away from the curb, I glance at the building and see Micah stumbling out in sweatpants with a bag of peas on one eye.
I duck down and cover my head with an arm, praying to whoever will listen that he didn’t see me. I scroll through my messages with my free hand and block his number. Next, I flick to the dating app and block his profile.
My heartbeat steadies the further I get from Micah’s place. Sitting up in my seat, I rub my temples. “I am never dating again.”
“Bad date? Don’t put yourself down. Dating isn’t what it used to be.
I met my wife at a dance hall. Dropped her during a lift, but now we have been going strong for 50 years and laugh about it,” the cab driver says, and I look up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.
He is an older man with grey hair and crows feet circling his eyes.
“Thanks,” I grumble and lean my head against the window. If only he truly knew.