Remember that out-of-this-world erotic romance serial I haven’t stopped talking about for months now? Heck, I even almost drowned in my bathtub while reading it! Well, I have the Prologue from the third and final instalment in Andrew and Alyssa’s steamy affair for you!! If you haven’t checked this serial out yet, I cannot recommend it highly enough. This story is the full package – fun, sexy, cleverly written, and it will hook you from the very first page!
Durham, North Carolina
Several months ago…
Relocating to Durham was an immeasurable mistake.
All the research I’d done six years ago—weighing the pros and cons, checking the records of all the top firms, and scouring the makeup of women on Date-Match, was now seemingly invalid. The condo I purchased was a mere remnant of what had been advertised, there was only one firm worthy of my time, and the pool of f*ck-worthy women was dwindling by the day.
Just hours ago, I’d gone on a date with a woman who’d told me she was a kindergarten teacher with a penchant for the color red and history books. In reality, she was twice my age, color blind, and she just wanted to “remember what some good cock felt like.”
I can’t take too much more of this…
Annoyed, I turned my head toward the images that were playing on my TV screen: A little blond girl playing in the rain—stomping her red boots in every puddle she could find.
“It’s time to go, Emma…”
I winced at hearing the sound of my old voice, but I continued watching the scene.
“Five more minutes!” She begged with a smile.
“You don’t even know what that means. You’ve just heard me say it…”
“Five more minutes!” She jumped into another puddle, laughing. “Five more minutes, Daddy!”
“It’s going to rain all week. Don’t you want to go home and—”
“No!” She stomped her feet in a puddle again, splashing me. And then she smiled innocently into the camera before running away—begging me to chase her.
I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I turned off the TV and knocked the DVD player to the floor.
Walking down the hallway, I straightened the “E” and “H” frames that hung on the wall—trying my best not to look too hard.
I was going to need more than my usual few shots to get through tonight, and I was starting to become extremely annoyed that I hadn’t f*cked someone in what felt like forever.
I poured two shots of bourbon and tossed them down back to back. Before I could pour another, my phone vibrated. An email.
Subject: Performance Quality.
I’m sure that right now you’re in the middle of f*cking yet another conquest, and are seconds away from giving her your infamous “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” line, but I was just thinking about something and HAD to email you…
If you enjoy sex as much as you claim you do, why do you only insist on one night? Why not a strictly friends with benefits relationship so you won’t have so many dry spells? (I mean, this is day thirty of “Operation: Still No Pussy” for you, correct?)
I’m actually starting to wonder if the only reason you give one night is because you already know that your performance won’t be good enough to warrant another…
Having a subpar dick isn’t the end of the world,
I shook my head and typed a response.
Subject: Re: Performance Quality.
Unfortunately, I am not in the middle of f*cking another conquest. Instead I’m busy typing a response to your latest ridiculous email.
This is indeed day thirty of your appropriately named “Operation: Still No Pussy,” but since I’ve f*cked you over the phone and made you cum, it hasn’t been a complete failure…
I do in fact enjoy sex—my cock has an insatiable appetite for it, but I’ve told you countless times that I don’t do relationships. Ever.
I refuse to even address your last paragraph, as I’ve never received a single complaint about my “performance” and my cock is far from being subpar.
You are quite correct in your closing statement though: Having a subpar dick really isn’t the end of the world.
Having an un-f*cked pussy is.
My phone rang immediately.
“Seriously?” Alyssa blurted out when I answered. “Does your message really say what I think it says?”
“Have you suddenly forgotten how to read?”
“You are ridiculous!” She laughed. “What happened to your date tonight?”
“It was another f*cking liar…”
“Aww. Poor Thoreau. I was really hoping the thirtieth day would be the charm.”
I rolled my eyes and made another drink. “Is living vicariously through my sex life your newfound hobby?”
“Of course not.” Her light laughter drifted over the line, and I could hear the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Where are you from?”
“What do you mean, where am I from?”
“Exactly what I asked,” she said. “You can’t be from the South. There’s no slight Southern drawl or even a hint of an accent in your voice.”
I hesitated. “I’m from New York City.”
“New York?” Her voice rose an octave. “Why would you ever leave there to come to Durham?”
“I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave New York. It seems so perfect and there’s just something about the lights and the…”
I tuned her out and tossed back my shot. Her poetical waxing about that desolate place needed to be put to a stop. Fast.
“And wouldn’t the law firms in New York be far more alluring than the ones here?” She was still talking. “Like, one of my favorite—”
“What’s the name of that ballet you’re auditioning for this year?” I cut her off.
“Swan Lake.” She always dropped the subject if I said anything about ballet. “Why?”
“Just wondering. When is the audition?”
“A few months from now. I’m trying as hard as I can to balance my classes—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m trying really hard to balance my case loads with my practice time.”
“Why don’t you just ask your boss if you can work weekends in exchange for a couple weekdays off?”
“I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”
“Of course it would work,” I said. “There’s a lawyer at my firm who works Saturdays through Wednesdays so he can pursue music. If the firm you work for is worth a damn, they’ll be flexible with you.”
“Yeah, um, I guess I’ll have to look into that…”
“What firm do you work for?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“What’s one of the partners’ names?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
“But you can tell me how deep you want my cock to be buried inside of you later tonight?”
She sucked in a short breath, a sexy sound that was beginning to drive me insane the more I heard it.
“How much longer do you think I’m going to put up with just talking to you on the phone, Alyssa?”
“For as long as I want you to.” Her voice sounded more confident now.
“You think I’m going to talk to you for another month without being able to f*ck you? Without being able to see you in person?”
“I think you’ll talk to me for several months without f*cking me. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll talk to me for years without f*cking me because I’m your friend, and friends—”
“If I haven’t f*cked you within the next month or two, we won’t be friends anymore.”
“You want to bet?”
“I don’t have to.” I hung up and grabbed my laptop, ready to give Date-Match another try. The second I clicked the prettiest woman on the page, an email from Alyssa popped onto my screen.
Subject: Trust Me
You and I will still be friends a few months from now, and you’ll be completely okay with not seeing my face.
Subject: Re: Trust Me
You and I will be f*cking a few months from now, and the only reason I’ll be okay with not seeing your face is because you’ll be riding my cock as I bend your ass over a table.