Fallen Feather (The Forgotten Angel, #2)

by Merri Bright

My mind ached. My heart would have, too, if I still had one. Dangit, now I was thinking of the tin man… and that made me remember a super disturbing amateur porno I’d seen where Dorothy got it on with her three guys, the wizard, and two flying monkeys. I still didn’t understand how she’d gotten both those ruby slippers inside the tin man’s—

my third-favorite dream, with the seven cordon bleu chefs who took turns rubbing buttercream frosting on my lady parts, licking it off, and hand-feeding me tiny candied flowers between orgasms,

I Love this girls imagination 😉

Why, oh why had I read so many age gap romances? That had to be the reason I kept thinking these hot-as-fudge geezers would want to be with me. I resolved, if I ever got to hold a book again, to only read sweet, clean Amish romances. No more dragon daddies or monster peen for me.

NOOO! Not the Monster peen!!!

I snatched my hands back when I realized I’d almost reached out to tug his pants down and see where the trail ended. Probably in Scotland. That’s where the Loch Ness monster lives, after all. I had no business touching Righteous, or even thinking about his enormous, Jurassic-sized package,

“It ate his dick?” I piped up, when no one else spoke. “A demon baby ate my dick. That’s a headline I saw once in a tabloid.”

“If you die on me, you’ll never get to hear what I want to do with you, a gallon of warm maple syrup, a pair of padded handcuffs, and a baby pool filled with whipped cream.

“Are we in Heaven, Feather?” “Does it look like I have a rechargeable vibrator here?” I snapped, trying not to cry. “Do you see any puppies? Is there a shirtless rowing team carrying me on a palanquin and feeding me frozen raspberries dipped in dark chocolate? No, Righteous. This is not Heaven.”

“Hi, Trouser Snake.” Feather’s whisper interrupted my musings. In the semi-darkness, I couldn’t see her expression, but when she blew a soft puff of breath across my groin, my cock jolted at the sudden attention. “You’re a friendly fella, aren’t you?” She reached out and stroked the sides of it with her fingertips, giggling as it seemed to move on its own. I stifled a laugh. “Are you talking to my cock, Scrap?” She hummed an affirmative. “Who’d a thunk I’d be dickmatized so easily? That thing you’re carrying down there—and I’m not sure how you haven’t thrown out your back hauling it around all these years—must be some sort of snake-charming monster. Or Feather-charming. Thoroughly dickmatized.” She flopped back, resting on my torso. “Dickmatized?” I repeated. That didn’t sound like a bad thing. She nodded solemnly. “One hundred percent lured to the dick side by your Jurassic peen.

“You know, depending on what they got under the togas. Take the skin boat to tuna town, or maybe play a few friendly games of cornhole. Stash the wand in the chamber of secrets. Bake the potato, butter the biscuit, toss a hot dog down the hallway. Ugh. Now I’m hungry, and not for peen.

Righteous spoke over him. “No, Feather. Mikhail and I will not be—how did you put it—throwing hot dogs. Or cornholing. Or stashing… wands in biscuits, was it?”