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Chapter 1
Mysti May
10:05 AM SATURDAY
The first thing I wonder when I return to the painful realm of consciousness is,Why the fuck is someone jackhammering inside my head?
But then I realize…it’s not a jackhammer. I’m just so hungover, the ceiling fan gently turning overhead had turned into a goddamn torture device.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
The breeze blows against my nipples. Myexposednipples. The air hitting my skin feels like sandpaper. Every one of my nerve endings is on edge.
I wish I could say this was the first time I’ve woken up naked, not knowing where I was or what day it was. But I’d be lying.
Honey-child, it most certainly ain’t.
That’s not the life I live. Usually, I like it that way. I can party with the best of them—and I do. My girlfriends and I arelegends—on the dance floor and bent over the bar alike.
Becky, Sammi, Percy and Mysti May. When we get together, there’s nothing we can’t do…except for, maybe, remembering any of it.
Judging by the Swedish death metal band playing in my head, I may have topped even my own partying escapades this time.
I press my eyes closed even tighter to block out the obnoxious sun beating against my sore eyelids.
Okay, so I’m hungover. Like, massively, completely hungover.
I’d like to say I’ll take this in stride because of the wholebeen there, done thatthing, but honestly, it doesn’t get easier, whether it’s the first or a hundred and first.
One guess which number is closer to my personal hangover stats. Ooof.
But it’s time to face the world and whatever bad decisions occurred last night, whether I’m ready or not. I slowly—slowly—open my eyes.
And I’m greeted by the most massive, gorgeous, hard dick bobbing right in my face. It’s like my own personal sexual welcome wagon mere inches from my mouth. If I wanted to—and god help me, I want to—I could kiss its perfectly shaped, precum-glistening head from here.
Seriously, I have to look from side to side and up and down just so my eyes can take it in all of its glory.
You’d think the fact that I’ve got a massive dick staring at me practically eye-to-eye would be this morning’s most earth-shattering detail.
You’d be wrong. Because this is no ordinary dick. Far from it.
This dick is a work of beauty. This is the dick that poets write about, composers create symphonies for, and women go apeshit over. It’s the real deal, folks.
Only one problem.
It’s not my fiancé’s dick.
I know this because, well, Norbert Butts (and yeah, that’s his real name) has many qualities…none of which are immediately coming to mind, but he has them.
Being hung like a stallion sure as fuck ain’t one of them, though.
“Fuck me,” I groan.
“If you insist,” the owner of the most gorgeous cock in the world says.
And that’s when I run into yet another issue of this morning—I know this dick. Or at least, I know the voice attached to it.
Brendon fucking Brooks, brother of my bestie, Becky Brooks.
