After one drunken Friday night, Vesper wakes up and finds herself on a bed, in a room, in an apartment that she neither owns nor recognizes.
She discovers that the man who owns the place is the same man who she threw a dollar at, insulted, and slapped because she thought he was a pervert hobo who hovers around bars to make a pass at drunken girls.
It turns out that "Pervert-Hobo Guy" owns three apartments, a Porsche, seven hit songs, three Grammy awards, and a broken heart paired with a damaged soul. And don't forget to add these things--a raging libido, a skilled mouth, dexterous fingers, and a certain something that may or may not have caused Vesper's eyes to go wide.
"Your m-mother... is... outside," Vesper mumbled breathlessly. His familiar scent wafted through her nostrils--something woodsy, something citrusy--something that screamed sex on legs. His intoxicating scent befuddled her mind and she cursed herself for being so weak. Her eyes widened at the feel of his something that's definitely not his belt buckle pressing against the small of her stomach.
He wickedly grinned. "That's the point. She's outside so she can't see us." He nipped at Vesper's jaw and suckled on that sensitive spot on her neck. He moved towards her lips again and tasted her mouth from corner to corner. "Sweet. So, so, sweet," he said in between kisses.
Vesper was horrified at the fact that her body was betraying her.
She's a person with a very strong personality, but one touch of Andray's soft lips and she's pliant. Feeling herself losing control, she responded to his kisses with equal fervor, mouth still closed. She gasped in surprise when she felt his hands move to the middle of her legs and cupped her there. His tongue took the opportunity and delved into her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers.
This story is intended for mature audiences only. It contains strong language and explicit scenes. Read at your own discretion. You have been warned.