Page 35 of Stroked Hard
“It’s funny that you said Paisley heard me.”
“Why’s that?” he asks.
“Only because she spent the night with Reese.” Ha! Take that, you cocky bastard.
He doesn’t even pause in his response. “Wow, she told me you were a loud moaner but I didn’t think it was loud enough to hear over multiple floors in a hotel. Damn, Melony. Look at you being a little Vocal Victoria. I need to see this in person. Come to my place so I can bury my head between your legs and hear that moan of yours.”
“You’re stupid.” It’s the only response I can come up with.But if only my girly parts would get that memo. Do not think about Hollis between your legs. Do. Not.
A deep laugh roars out of him. “Your response makes me actually think you were moaning my name.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Aw, baby, you’re still delusional. That’s okay. We will get you to face reality soon.”
“Is that your only reason for calling?”
“Do I have to have a reason for calling? Sometimes it’s just nice to chat, you know, hold a conversation with someone you’re interested in.”
“Are you saying you’re trying to be friends?”
“No,” he says exasperated. “I want to be way more than friends. I want to be best friends, the kind that tell each other everything, the kind that fuck each other on the couch, in the shower, up against the wall. The kind of best friends who think of each other every minute of every day.”
There it goes again, my freaking heart is pounding in my chest. This is why I shouldn’t talk to this man. He’s dangerous.
“I don’t have those kind of best friends,” I answer honestly.
“You don’t have them yet, but just wait, honey hole, you will have one of those best friends before you know it.”
I cringe from his nickname. “Calling me honey hole is not going to get you any closer to owning that title.”
“Hey, at least there’s hope.”
If only he knew.
“But seriously,” he continues, “Reese is having a barbeque when he gets back from trials, and he said you were invited. It’s just us, him, and Paisley; you know a little celebration for making the team.”
“Congratulations. Sounds fun.” Reese texted me a little bit ago about the barbeque and I told him I would love to attend. I like Reese; he’s a good guy. I just feel bad he has to be roped in with Bellini. I don’t have many friends at all in the area so I will take any chance I can get to make some more.
“Fun fact, did you know I’m a conservationist?”
“No, I did not know that.”
“Well, I am. I’m cool as shit like Leonardo DiCaprio and Orlando Bloom and drive a Prius.”
Why does that not surprise me?
“Orlando Bloom has an impressive penis.”
“His dick is okay. I guess I’m just used to looking at the third leg sitting in my pants on a daily basis.” Nothing I say to him will ever trip him up . . . nothing.
“Third leg? Huh, interesting because when you’re diving it looks more like a little cocktail wiener,” I say with a smirk. I’ve seen his wet Speedo before, and I’ve seen bulge, but to hell if I’ll ever admit that.
“Observing my cock while I’m diving, nice. Don’t worry, sugar tits, what you see isn’t at all what you get. That’s just a third of the prize. This dude has cock.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Oh my God, who even says that?”
“Someone who doesn’t mind talking about his dick. Want a picture? I don’t mind, you know in case you feel like comparing it to the Rolodex of dicks in your head.”
