Stroking the Boss's... Ego (Dirty South, #3)

by Kat Addams

After my very young and very dumb marriage to the Douche Who Must Not Be Named,

I think my sex appeal ran away a long time ago.”

I didn’t want anyone to know that I was putting myself back out there, partly because of my fear of failure and partly because I was only supposed to be at this party to oversee my work—not to scout out potential life mates or one-night stands. I wasn’t opposed to either, and admittedly, I’d never had either—not including Douche Who Must Not Be Named. He hadn’t been a life mate. He had been the worst, and I’d closed that chapter of my life, thank you very much.

“Yes, a one-night stand. You find a guy you want to screw and start to flirt. And hell yes, I worry about diseases. That’s why you carry condoms with you. Women have to take care of themselves these days. Don’t rely on a man to have protection. You’ll likely get an excuse. I also do my best not to pick up any weirdos.

You can never trust anyone, and even the most clean-cut, kind man could be crawling with some bugs in his pants. But it is what it is. It’s a risk you have to consider,” she lisped, reaching up and thumbing her fangs.

So far, I didn’t see anyone worth even a pin...

The guests will be here any moment, and I have to finish up a few things before Dicktor—I mean, that asshole, Victor, fires me on the spot for not making sure the food was warm enough or because the lighting was too calm and not exciting.”

I was getting close to unloading two years of built-up sexual tension. That didn’t include the times I’d had to rub one out because I’d read too many romance novels. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a nun, for goodness’ sake.

I was clean and a picture-perfect good boy. There might have been a time or eight when my last name and my bank account had gotten me out of a bit of trouble, but it wasn’t over anything serious, and I was maturer now—kind of.

Just one thought of her, and my dick had woken up, stretched, and was looking around for its next meal.

But when my douche-bag big brother caught me making conversation with my penis, I had to blow smoke up his ass.

“Ha! Are you a Beaumont? We’re all assholes!” He shook his head and left.

I’d told her it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me trying to be more hands-on. Which was true. I wanted to be hands-on with Samantha.

Hot!

I hoped if I saw her again, her uptight personality would put a damper on my insatiable appetite. Surely, she would turn me off and send my dick back into hiding because, lately, the damn prick just wouldn’t go down. I was constantly hard—constantly. I hadn’t jerked off this much since I was in high school.

We’d only had contact through Sara, and she was a certified royal wanker.

Not because Samantha was a hard-ass, but because Samantha was supermodel gorgeous, and Sara had the face of a puckered butthole. Now, that was an asshole statement.

He had grabbed my ass and pushed me into his face, growling like I was his very last meal.

“Squawk. Sookie-sookie now. Squawk,” I heard from the other side of my bedroom wall. The sound of my neighbor’s pervy parrot and his entourage of other birdbrains instantly killed my climax.

My body was becoming a traitorous bitch.

We both shuffled our feet inside as if we had been summoned by the Devil himself, which was plausible.

What the fuck is happening to my brain? My body? My self-control? Why am I not running away from this rat bastard?

I needed to get laid. That pervy parrot had interrupted my alone time, and I could use a release … just this once.

His cock leaped up and out at me, smacking me on the base of my chin.

“Sorry! Oh gosh! Sorry … about deez nuts … on your chin.” He looked at me to make sure he hadn’t offended me before he laughed and caressed my chin with the palm of his hand.

So mature 😂

How is he still hard? What kind of trickery is this?

“Yeah, right! I bet you do that little trick with all the women you fuck on this desk. You’re Bachelor Beaumont.”

Victor Beaumont died as he traveled on an electric scooter and went headfirst into the river, snapping his spine in half.

People came to the city and lost all inhibition—mostly from my rum, but also just from being in Nola. I tugged on my jacket and shuffled my feet as

“Victor?” Samantha called as I passed by with my chest puffed out and my abs tucked in.

My ass felt like it had been ramrodded by a pole … or a streetlamp.

“I mean, I just saw your ass play Whac-A-Mole with that lamp—and you whacked it pretty hard.”

My jaw dropped as I quickly pulled my jacket around my gut. I remembered I’d left the top button of my trousers open after I feasted too much at lunch. This wasn’t sexy. It would be at least a week before this bloat left and I was my former ripped self.

“Samantha! What are you doing here?” I asked. My voice was two times too high, like I had just hit puberty and was trying to hide a boner. True story.

“I can make your cock disappear on the count of three. One.” She kissed me again. “Two.” She kissed me harder. “Three.” She dropped to her knees and took me deep into her mouth. “Fuck. Best. Magic. Trick. Ever,” I groaned, reaching out to steady myself on the window.

“No, no. Gosh. A sexy idea. Turn around and look out the window.” I slowly tilted her body toward the French Quarter view. “Now, just play like you’re looking at that gorgeous view, and I’m going to look at this gorgeous view.” I lowered her leggings down and pulled the back of her sweater up before I spread her thighs with my knee and pushed myself in.

Yes please!

My dick was still hard. He wasn’t ready yet to pack his balls up and go home.

“I can’t believe I’m watching Victor Beaumont dangle his goods in front of me like they’re some kind of jewels. Family jewels. Actually, you know what? I can. I can totally see you thinking that all you have to do is jiggle your jewels, and I’ll come running.” I sighed.

Victor: You told me you were putting yourself back on the market, and I volunteer as tribute. So, how about a real date?

had wanted to scream, This is why you’re single, from the rooftops within the first few minutes of chatting with men on the dating apps. I couldn’t keep up with how many jerks, perverts, creeps, and weirdos I’d come across.

I no longer felt sorry for the lousy lay that my neighbor had probably been. Sara could eat a dick for all I cared.

“You are judging me tonight. Okay, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Spoiler alert: I wouldn’t be.

I was three drinks away from being a dumpster fire, but I was under interrogation, and my pulse was beating in my eardrums.

My reaction time was slow, but even so, my face dive-bombed in between her big balloons, and I motorboated her like I was sailing my ass to China.

“I’m not a complete goob. Just a goob for you.” I honked her boob.

I hiccuped, then laughed, and accidentally squeaked out the girliest of poots.

I flipped myself over—once, twice, seven times—and stood on my hands, poking my legs and my bare ass out of the sunroof. I spread my legs to catch on the sides of the window so that I wouldn’t fall over.

“Close your eyes. You can’t see me get down from here. I’m shriveled like old man balls.”

“What do you mean, a floppy dick? You’ve seen it! You know my stallion is always ready for you to ride! Plus, it’s after midnight. No one is up, watching my amazing one-man show, except you.”

Samantha opened the box and pulled out two neon-green Mexican wrestling masks. “Are you kidding me?” She dropped the masks in her lap.