That Man 3 by Nelle L'Amour Read Free Book Online Page B

look. He’d promised to behave.
     I should have never trusted him. He grinned that devastating diabolic grin. I raced
     to the guest bathroom and let myself come with waves of pleasure.
    “Beautiful bastard,” I sighed as I pulled out the egg. He’d made me hunger for him
     all over again. I craved and loved him so much.

Chapter 7
    Jennifer
    B y the time we finished breakfast and I helped my mom clear the table, it was close
     to noon. My parents lingered over coffee, telling Blake childhood stories about me.
     While I was grateful Blake wasn’t forced to tell work-related stories, mortification
     raced through me. Blake, however, seemed to enjoy each and every one and frequently
     laughed out loud. God, he was sexy when he let out that deep laugh, his two little
     dimples lighting up his face. Even I had to laugh when my parents shared the time
     my father had told me I needed a little elbow grease to finish building my dollhouse.
     Silly me ran to my mother’s pantry, yanked out the shortening, and smeared it all
     over my arms. What a doofgirl!
    Shortly after breakfast, my father shrugged on his heavy alpaca coat. “We’re going
     to visit the Joneses.” It was a tradition. Every Christmas day for as long as I could
     remember, my parents stopped by their best friends’ house for an exchange of presents
     and a little grog. Dad looked my way. I was seated on the living room couch next to
     Blake, cuddling my snow tiger. I longed to be cuddling him.
    “Why don’t you two kids relax and romp in the snow,” he said, buttoning up his coat.
    “Are you sure, Dad?” I asked as my mother joined him. She looked positively stunning
     in the cherry red wool coat she wore only on Christmas. The heavy snow boots on her
     feet only accentuated everything lovely above them.
    “Of course, darling,” chimed in my mother.
    With a wink targeted at Blake, my dad told us to have fun.
    *
    It was the perfect first snow of the winter. Three feet deep and powdery. Our house—in
     fact, the entire street, looked like a Hallmark Christmas card—with the trees and
     rooftops dusted with a thick layer of the pearl white powder. The temperature was
     cold, but not unbearable, and the sun was shining brightly, creating a glare from
     the snow.
    Bundled up in waterproof winter gear, Blake and I wasted no time frolicking in my
     backyard. I beat him to it and threw a snowball at him. I got him good in the chest.
    “You’re going to pay for that, McCoy,” he growled. Wasting no time, he retaliated
     and got me hard in the ass as I tried to escape.
    “That hurt,” I giggled.
    “Not as much as this one,” he shouted back at me, throwing yet another ready made
     one straight at me. Hah! This time I ducked behind a tree, and he missed.
    Our snowball fight escalated until we were out of breath and doubled over with laughter.
     Blake wrapped his arms around me from behind and nuzzled the little exposed area of
     my scarf-shrouded neck. “Come on. Let’s build a snowman.”
    “Cool.” Crouching, I instantly formed a snowball and began packing it with snow. Blake
     squatted down and followed suit. Side by side, we rolled our snowballs across the
     dense white powder. In no time, we built three giant but different sized snowballs
     as well as built up a sweat beneath our heavy clothes. Blake stacked the three weighty
     balls, one on top of the other. I scouted the yard for anything we could use to make
     a face—coming up with a few chunks of coal and twigs for his arms. Blake topped him
     off with his silly reindeer hat, stretching it over Mr. Snowman’s head until it almost
     ripped. I couldn’t stop laughing.
    “Too bad we don’t have a carrot for his nose,” I snorted through my tears of laughter.
    “Too bad we don’t have a cucumber for his dick,” laughed my companion. I laughed harder,
     so hard my face hurt.
    And then, without warning, Blake collapsed onto the snow-covered ground, flat on his
     back with his arms