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To my readers— May you find your inner villain, and a partner worth taming it for.
Most people marry for love—and most divorces happen within five years. Love is overrated. Life is meant to be filled with hobbies, like traveling, Netflix, and reading. When it comes to love, the book is always better.
I hold back a sarcastic response about sending nudes.
his fiancée is drop-dead gorgeous and, other than the resting bitch face, she seems like a decent person, if you’ve got a Stepford wife kink.
“We’re fine.” Not the right answer.
I caught him, and his response is to finish?
“If you say one fucking thing to her, you’re out of the wedding and our friendship is over!” Promise? What a piece of shit.
Call me a basic white boy, I don’t give a fuck.
“You play hard, you party hard, and you—” “Fuck hard?” “And you’re a womanizer. Just because I was in a committed relationship, doesn’t mean I can’t spot a fuckboy. You’re not coming near my vagina.” “I could come on your back if that works better?”
“Try doing it with seven bars in your cock,” I growl, submerging. “Acts like a fuckin’ heatsink.” “Hard pass. How do you jack off with that shit? Your dick looks like Inspector Gadget.” “Very happily.” I love my ladder, and so do all the women that climb it.
“Why do you want to know so much?” “I dunno, curiosity?” “Curious? Or a whore for drama?” “Can’t it be both?”
