Happy Sunday guys!
For those in the frigid areas of the US, I hope you’re staying warm! There’s a cool sunny day here in SF, and I wish I could share it with you all! <3
So I hope you’re ready for The Heartbreaker, the prequel novella to DAMIAN! I’m going through the final edits and will be uploading the book onto Amazon, BN, iTunes, Kobo, and Google Play tomorrow!Who’s excited for their Damian fix???
To hold you over until then (especially for those having Damian withdrawal symptoms!), here’s another unedited teaser!
***
There was a big black box that I had under my bed. No one else knew that it was there. No one else would care that it was there—the contents would had been worthless to them. But yet, it was one of my most prized possessions.
Why was it this box special to only me?
Because it reminded me every day that I was in control of my life, that no one else—especially no woman—could ever do anything to hurt me.
There had been hundreds of different items that’d made its way into this box—torn pieces of paper, business cards, coasters, post-its, and even two dozen panties. And every week, a couple of more items were added to this ever-growing collection. Each item had a name and a phone number written on it, usually written by the woman the number belonged to. Each item represented a woman I’d had my way with while she screamed out my name.
This was my “little black book.” But it was really a box—a little black book wouldn’t be able to hold all the women I’ve fucked in the last eight years. So this was my “big black box.”
Many women’s numbers were collected into this box over the years. I never remembered their names. What was the point? Instead, I gave these women a number based on my 1 to 10 fuckability ranking system, with 1 being unfuckable and 10 being so-fuckable-my-cock’s-already-inside-her. For the record, none of the numbers in the box were less than a 7 ranking.
All these women were all hot, but I loved none of them. Don’t make me hurl at the thought. The only thing I loved about them was how wet and wild they got for me. And believe me, there were some fucking wild ones. I rarely needed to ask a woman if she wanted to fuck—women seemed to drop their panties at the sight of me. And who could blame them. Have you met me?
Sure, I’ve broken some of their hearts. But these ladies knew what they were getting themselves into. I always gave fair warning that I was in it for fun and not for a relationship. The important thing was, I was happy, my cock was happy, and the ladies were happy after I was done with them. And no one got hurt—especially not me. That was the one thing I could thank my bitch of a mother for: you won’t get hurt if you don’t get attached.
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