Page 41 of The Kiss Keeper
What a little vixen she’d become! Her mind went back to Jake number four. The jerk who’d said she wasn’t adventurous enough in bed. Well, screw you, Jake number four! Wait! She did not want to screw number four again. But look at her now, having mind-blowing sex with Jake number seven.
But he wasn’t Jake number seven.
He didn’t count as one of her Jakes, and she couldn’t get attached to this one. Even with his magical penis, he was still a Jake, and she was done with Jakes.
Done.
And then it hit her. Maybe ditching the Jakes would break the stupid Kiss Keeper Curse! Could the Jakes be to blame? Yes, it was crazy to blame a lifetime of bad luck on her dating pool of Jakes, but she had to do something, change something. And she would—after she got through this week with the help of her final Jake.
She craned her head back to get a look at her spooning partner when his hand slid from where it rested on her belly, and he cupped her breast. His thumb stroked the tight peak of her nipple as her body trembled, clearly remembering all the delicious things this man had done to it last night.
“Jake?” she whispered.
“Hmm,” he hummed as his hips rocked against her lazily.
Was he even awake? Was he this good of a lover even when he was unconscious?
“You smell so good,” he mumbled sleepily against the shell of her ear, and a shiver danced its way down her spine.
This man’s gravelly morning voice could melt panties.
Lucky for her, she wasn’t wearing any.
Half-awake, a fully erect fake Jake slid his cock past her delicate folds. Warmth pooled between her thighs as they made love slowly in a tangle of lazy limbs. She released a low hum of satisfaction when the distant sound of a bell carried in on the morning breeze.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
They froze.
“Is this real?” he asked, the grogginess replaced with a perplexed bend to his words.
She needed a little clarification. “What exactly are you asking about? There’s a decent amount of fake and real stuff going on between us.”
“This. Me, taking you from behind,” he replied.
She turned and caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye. “That part is real.”
He released her body, scrambled away, then sprang out of bed. “Jesus, I thought I was dreaming!” he said, running his hands down his face.
She wrapped the quilt around her body and stared at him, wide-eyed. He glanced around the cottage and pulled a doily off an end table and held it in front of his still very erect cock.
She couldn’t look away. “You need a bigger doily.”
“What?” he asked, completely confused.
She waved her hand toward his crotch. “I can still see your…”
“Shit!” he whisper-shouted, dropping the doily and substituting it with a carved wooden mallard.
This was weird. They’d slept together last night, and he’d seemed ready for round two until…
Ding! Ding!
She dragged her eyes from the mallard penis protector and met his gaze. “That was two dings!”
At Camp Woolwich, you lived by the bells. And two rings meant five minutes until breakfast.
And you did not want to be late for breakfast.
