AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No one is real. No one is genuinely who they present themselves as. Everyone has something to hide.
The webs are spun all over this town, from my parents’ affairs and what they did to keep me out of trouble to the deeper corruptions infecting the picturesque town nestled in the Rockies.
For every truth, there are two lies. And I’m the keeper of it all.
Aren’t you proud of what you’ve turned me into, Mom and Dad?
I huff out a scratchy, deadpan laugh. A bitter aftertaste sits on my tongue at the thought. I take a deep puff on the joint to wash it away in a haze of tangy smoke.
What a twisted kingdom I’ve built for myself.
At my elbow, the phone screen lights up, the vibration buzzing against the desk. I let my attention flick to read the notification for a fraction of a second, more interested in finishing what I’m doing.
Reminder: Anger Management Appointment; Doctor Levitt - Tomorrow, 11am.
“Yeah, I fucking knew that,” I grumble.
The corners of my mouth tug down as I grab my phone, intent on flipping it over. I don’t need the reminder that I have court-mandated therapy—or why what happened was covered up, and I ended up with a shrink instead of in juvie for assault charges that magically disappeared. That magic being dirty hush money to grease the wheels and bribe the police chief. If I could get out of going, I would’ve figured out how to do that by now. Court-ordered makes it damn near impossible to escape. Faking it with Doctor Levitt gets me by.
Before I slam my phone face down on the desk, I get a new text. Assuming it’s my boy Devlin bitching about sitting alone in his big ass house in the mountains in a roundabout way without saying how lonely he is, I swipe it open without looking. I’ve already got the perfect GIF to send that will cheer the mopey bastard up before I invite myself over.
It’s not Devlin.
The tip of the joint burns down as I tap on the photo to see it full size.
My brows hike up in appreciation of the fine as fuck body this chick has. Damn, baby.
Her face is cropped, but I focus on the sexy little smile—pink glossy lips, fuck me—and take in the perfect tits practically spilling out of the little number she’s got on. What is that, a one-piece nightie? Who knows, but it has lace and highlights every one of her curves.
My hands flex, the desire to grab those hips shooting through me. They look perfect for my hands to grip as I pound into her.
The number isn’t one I recognize, but who cares? It doesn’t matter if I deleted this chick’s number. She’s texting me about missing me and I sure as fuck am down to play with her to take my mind off the shit I’m dealing with.
I take one last hit of the joint before putting it out to finish later. Heat coils in my groin, my dick tenting my sweatpants while I admire the babe in the hot little selfie. Blowing out the smoke, I drop my knees open, grinding my semi against the heel of my palm and mumble, “Shit, girl. Wish you were here with that dime body to take care of what you started in person.”
There’s a birthmark on her thigh, where the material rides up. I tilt my head, tracing my upper lip with my thumb in fascination. It’s shaped like a sun.
Too many urges and scenarios run through my head at once, each better than the last. I could call her up and get her ass here now—I bet it will look amazing bouncing on my cock. But first I want to have some fun with the mystery texter.
As I get up and move to the bed, I dip my hand inside my sweats to pump my cock, dropping my head back and groaning with my eyes hooded. She’s got me raring to go from one selfie, even with my buzz. Weed dick won’t hold me back from enjoying myself with this chick.
I settle on the bed with my legs spread enough to pull the material of my pants tighter, outlining my erection. After clicking on the lamp on the nightstand, flipping up my shirt, and tugging the waistband low enough to show off that I’m trimmed, I rest my hand on my stomach and snap a photo to respond with.
A lopsided smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I fire off my response.
Tonight just got a lot better.
Three
Thea
The air feels as if it’s been sucked from the room. Or maybe that’s the effect of forgetting to breathe while staring at the super sexy photo Wyatt texted in response. My prior worries have flown out the window as I melt into the floral print armchair, eyes locked on the photo like I’m in danger of missing out on his delicious six-pack.
He texted back.
He. Texted. Back.
“Oh my flipping god.” The words come out as a strained whisper.
