I get up and shake my limbs like a prize fighter getting ready for the fight of his life. My balls are aching from how fucking hard she got me, and it’s all I can do to save myself for when Miss Mysterious shows up.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself, as I take out a bottle of nice wine and some glasses, “what if she doesn’t even show up?”

I stamp the thought all the way into the back of my mind – like I do most things these days – and jog on up to the second floor to change.

I get dressed and go back downstairs. I put a little music on in the den, something slow, but edgy – none of that sugary shit. I like a little dirt in my music. Then I proceed to walk around the room, checking my watch as I pace like I’m scared of getting stood up in my own home.

I stop as soon as I hear a sound, not sure if it’s real, and too involved in my own imagination to hear it properly. Was that a car door slamming? I hear footsteps on my porch.

And there goes the fucking doorbell.

Continue reading Bootycall by JD Hawkins

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I would like to dedicate this book to my readers. Your support (and money) helped me follow my dream, quit my corporate job to do what I love full time. I would also like to thank Kate Upton, Jennifer Lawrence and Rihanna – I appreciate your support but please stop messaging me, I’m happily married.