Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle (48 page)

Here’s the problem with every woman’s wardrobe:

The person who buys the clothes is not the same person who later has to wear them.

Perhaps it’s a brain disorder? A type of split personality? Rampant, unfettered optimism?

I swear the girl who buys my clothes weighs about ten pounds less, and stands two inches shorter. Why else can the rise of my pants and the hem of my shirt not meet somewhere over top my middle? Perhaps with a slight overlap?

I know what you’re thinking:
Peaches Monroe, you wash your clothes in hot water.

But I don’t! Our washing machine isn’t even capable of washing on hot, because it’s not hooked up to the tank. And I don’t use the dryer, choosing instead to string up all my clothes on an indoor drying rack.

With few viable options for attending a
Vanity fucking Fair
photo shoot, I finally settled on a pair of jean shorts, paired with my layered black and white camisole, and then my green lace tank top on top. The front of everything dipped down to show an appealing view of my peaches, even if the back view was nothing to write blog posts about. I topped the outfit with blue-framed sunglasses.

“Too casual?” I asked Shayla.

“You look like you’re going to the beach.”

“Right.” I switched my black sandals for a pair of flats with a floral pattern. Nothing I wore matched anything else, and for some reason this struck me as funny. It was the exact opposite of the way refined older ladies dressed, with everything in matched sets.

“Did you pack some condoms in your purse?” Shayla asked. We were standing in the kitchen, and I was picking sliced vegetables off the cutting board as she sliced them for her big salad.

“Condoms, yes. And a tube of your ass lube,” I joked.

“That’s too bad. I was planning to stick things up my ass tonight.” She held up a large zucchini from Mr. Galloway’s garden.

“Right, vegetables. And definitely not your boss.”

She grimaced. “We’re off again. He’s trying to have a baby with his wife, and he needs to reserve all his seed.”

“His
seed
? If he calls it that, there’s the first reason you shouldn’t be fucking him.”

“Who should I be fucking?”

“Call Golden’s brother Garret and see if the back acne’s cleared up.”

“He’s dating Chantalle Hart. Didn’t you know? Pretty casual, but Golden walked in on them going at it in their parents’ bed.”

“Fuck me. Why always the parents’ bed? What is wrong with people?”

“Taboo is fun.”

“But why?”

She shrugged. “Must be some human drive, to fuck everything, everywhere. Our horny ancestors had more babies than the ones who had a bunch of hang-ups. We come from a long line of horny people with no self-control.”

“One of them being our great-grandfather.”

She grinned. “God bless his horny soul, or none of us would be here today.”

“And this house would be on Larch Street, not Lurch Street.”

“Fucking makes the world go round.” She grabbed a cherry tomato and closed her eyes as she chewed it. My mouth watered, imagining the soft flesh bursting in my mouth.

“Enjoy your salad,” I said.

“Enjoy your cock,” she replied.

“I’d share if I could.”

“Ugh. I need to get laid.”

The doorbell rang, and we both leaned to peer up the hall at the window, where butler Vern was silhouetted against the tall window next to the front door.

“He’s gay,” I said.

“His loss.” She popped another tomato into her mouth.

Vern was all smiles and chuckles as he held open the door of the car for me.

“What’s shakin’?” I asked. “Are you excited about this photo shoot thing?”

“I guess.” He stood at my door for a moment, like he wanted to ask me something, then he shook his head and gently closed my door.

Once we were driving, I pressed the green button overhead to speak to him. “Thanks for coming to pick me up,” I said.

“That’s my job, miss.”

“I appreciate it, though. You make me feel like a lady, even though I’m wearing jean shorts.”

“Everyone here is so nice,” he said over the speaker. “I’ve been here almost two weeks now. I thought I’d get tired of all the trees and nature, but now I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave. I’ve made some friends, thanks to your suggestion.”

“I’d offer you a job being my butler, but I think Dalton would be mad.”

“Oh, miss, I don’t think you could ever do anything to make Mr. Deangelo angry. He really likes you.”

“Thank you.” Damn. If making me like Dalton even more was part of his job, he sure was good at it.

We drove for a ways, past Dragonfly Lake and then still a bit farther. The car turned onto an access road with a metal gate, the upper arch reading Double D Ranch in wrought iron letters, with horse shoes on either side.

I hugged my chest and smiled at the quiet joke that my own Double Ds were getting their very own ranch. A few years back, I’d looked online and discovered there were a number of ranches across America named Double D. The ranch names came from the brands the farmers used to put on their cattle, back in the Wild West days, and then from the time of community pastures.

Another thought occurred to me: Dalton Deangelo was also a Double D. So, that was a funny coincidence.

We parked next to a fence, where some horses grazing on the other side eyed us with curiosity.

I stepped out of the car and went to pet the gorgeous beasts. Most of them had glossy red-brown coats plus black manes and tales. One horse with a white lighting stripe down her face took a real liking to me, smelling deeply along the side of my head and brushing her velvet lips against my cheek.

Vern joined me in petting the horses, his eyes wide and his hands timid. He squealed as a young colt reached his head through the fence to nibble at his black trousers.

The horses paused as a group, sniffing the air. I heard the sound of an engine, then turned to see a helicopter was approaching. The horses snorted and took off at a gallop, disappearing over a hill.

The helicopter landed, whipping up dust from the dry, dirt road. A group of four people stepped out, and then the helicopter lifted up again and flew off.

“That’s the photographer,” Vern said to me. “And her three assistants. They aren't staying here tonight, as far as I know.” He waved toward the largest building nearby, a thing one might be tempted to call a cabin, as it was apparently made from logs. The enormous ranch house really was more of a castle, by the size of it.

Vern saw me looking and waved to the ranch house, explaining, “Some of the filming takes place inside there, but we’ve also got a smaller cabin at the back, and that’s where this evening’s photo shoot is happening.”

I turned and held my hand up to block the glare of the sun. “We’re losing light, so I guess it’s happening soon?”

“It sure is. Follow me.”

There were two dozen vehicles parked along the front road, and close to a hundred people milling about, all talking on phones or walkie talkies and looking really busy and annoyed.

Vern pointed out people and explained to me which ones were part of the indie film crew versus who was there for the Vanity Fair shoot. I was beyond relieved to have him at my side, explaining everything.

I spotted some attractive young women who weren’t looking busy or annoyed, but enjoying some late-day sunshine on lounge chairs. “Who are they?”

“Extras. They’re only in a scene or two, but they’re kept around so the director has some tail to chase around and doesn’t bother the leading ladies.”

“No!”

He held up his hands, grinning. “Standard practice. I imagine this is all rather sordid compared to running a bookstore?”

“Scandalous.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said.

We walked up to the smaller building, which was also made of logs, and could safely be called a cabin, though it was still rather majestic. Speaking of majestic, my eyes didn’t spend much time on the cabin, because a muscular torso drew my attention. A shirtless man in plaid shorts and a brown, wide-brimmed hat brushed past us, bumping into me hard enough to make me lose my stride.

“Sorry, miss,” he muttered.

I sniffed the air, detecting a familiar musk, and wheeled around. “Dalton?”

Dalton Deangelo stopped and pulled off the hat, grinning. “So much for my disguise.”

“I’d know that chest of yours anywhere. I probably know your nipples better than your face.”

He frowned and looked over at Vern, who was struggling to maintain composure.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said.

Jokingly, he frowned and said, “I’m just a sex symbol to you girls. The way you fetishize me. It makes me feel dirty.”

“Sir, may I fetch you anything else?” Vern asked.

Dalton grabbed me and pulled me against him, my back to his front. He wrapped his arms around my torso possessively and rested his chin on top of my head.

“You’ve brought me everything,” Dalton said. “You brought my Peaches, and she brought her peaches, and that’s all I need.”

“You’re so bad,” I said, spanking his forearm as I chided him. The girls in the lounger chairs were looking our way with interest. My anger flared up momentarily as one pulled out her phone, and I imagined her taking my picture and posting it on a gossip site.

Vern excused himself to go check on some details, and I was alone with my guy again.
My guy.
Because I was there as
his girl.

Turning around to face him, I said, “I signed that NDA for you, not for the cash. I’d rather have your trust than your money.”

He glanced around, then kissed my forehead, right over my eyebrow. “Good. Let’s go smooch behind a tree for two minutes, before you have to get into hair and wardrobe.”

“What?”

“Smooch. It’s sort of a slang word for kissing.” He tugged my hand and led me over to a big tree, pulling me into his arms on the opposite side of the crowd of people milling about.

“What do you mean, hair and ward—” He didn’t shush me, but he did press his lips firmly against mine, which made my knees as weak as ever.

He hadn’t answered my question, but I understood the favor he was asking me. With my pictures all over the internet, and me being
linked to
him, having me in some of today’s
Vanity Fair
photos would be good for publicity on the film. I still hadn’t figured out what the movie was about, exactly, but if he cared about it, that was good enough for me.

His lips did most of the convincing. And then his tongue helped, as did his bare chest, his flesh hot and wonderful under my hands. With my back against the rough tree bark, I savored his kisses and his gentle, passionate touch.

He rubbed his lightly-stubbled cheek against mine and murmured in my ear, “It’s a shame we only have one more minute. We could do a lot of damage to each other if we had maybe five minutes.”

I pulled him close, my palms flat on his back between his shoulder blades. “Five minutes? But you have me all night.”

“So you’ll pose for a couple of photos? It would really help me out.”

“I will do anything for you, baby.”

He grinned and took my hand, guiding it down to feel his hardness.

“Feel how hot you make me.”

I squeezed his rocket. “You’ve got quite the situation in those shorts.”

“Don’t plan on getting any sleep tonight.”

I stroked the length of him, feeling equally engorged myself. “I think I’m making your situation even worse.” I squeezed the head, pressing my thumb into the groove and feeling everything through the thin fabric of his plaid shorts.

For a second, I remembered his confession about being in the adult films when he was younger. Stereotypical porn images flashed through my mind, and it didn’t turn me off at all. It made me feel frisky. So frisky, I could have screamed.

He pressed up against me suddenly, pinning me to the tree and grinding himself against my hip bone and stomach. Nuzzling my neck, he murmured, “Tonight.”

“Tonight.”

He took my earlobe into his mouth and sucked, hard. I whimpered as electric feelings shot through me.

After two more nibbles on my sensitive earlobe, he whispered, “Hair and makeup is in the yellow trailer. You’d better run, because you’re late, naughty girl.”

He pulled away, turned quickly, and jogged off in the direction of the smaller cabin, his hat off his head and held casually in front of his shorts.

I staggered toward the trio of mobile dressing rooms, drunk on lust. Two of the trailers were brown, and one bright yellow, so at least that part was easy.

The next part, however, was not so easy.

Inside the trailer, I was introduced to about a dozen people, each of whom passed me on to another person. Finally, a buxom girl with coal-black hair and tattoos up and down both arms shook my hand, and suddenly the two of us were alone in the trailer.

“I guess you’re stuck with me,” I said.

She winked, her full cheeks rising merrily. “We’re stuck with each other. Is this your first shoot?”

“Not counting the ones I didn’t know I was a part of, yes.”

She gasped. “You’re Peach Tits!”

I nearly slapped the bitch. I probably should have. That’s grounds for slapping someone, isn’t it?