Howling at the Moon: The Complete Series Read Free

few hours. We can look at everything over dinner.” That was a good idea. All curvy girls wanted to eat. But was this a date?
    “Great. That will give me time to put things away.” I smiled, holding the door. “Thanks, guys, for your help,” I said loud enough for his employees to hear me. I would have asked them their names, but I was still too embarrassed from the vibrator spill.
    They both nodded at me as they walked away, but Warren was still on the porch staring at me.
    “Good. I’ll see you at dinner. Keys are on the kitchen counter, and that’s my house there up the hill.” He pointed toward the house where the employees had walked from.
    I smiled, but speaking wasn’t possible anymore. Say something, Jaime, I coaxed myself, but nothing came out. I watched him walk away, getting another glimpse of the outline of his ass through his old, paint-splattered jeans. He did some pointing at some things and shook the hands of the guys.
    Slowly closing the door, I sat down on the couch waiting for my head to stop spinning and the butterflies to calm down. Dinner at Warren’s house would be interesting. If I wanted to keep this a business relationship, I was going to have to release.
    A release was what I called a reliving of tension; something to take my mind off the buildup from the road. Doing that would allow me to keep my emotions in check. The only way to think clearly was not to be horny, and right then, I wasn’t able to order a pizza let alone keep my hands off that handsome man if I had the chance.
    I opened a few windows and finding some towels in a suitcase. A few hours was plenty of time to release before I exploded into a raging sex monster all over Warren.

*****
    T he shower knob was turned to hot and the water was beating directly down onto me as I thought of Warren. Those big muscles covered in grease from my car filled my consciousness. I wished he could have bent me over the hood and taken me right there on the side of the highway.
    You’re desperate, Jaime , my conscience told me, and for once it was right, but at that moment, I didn’t care.
    Imagining a scene with me and Warren was easy. With one of my legs propped up on the side of the tub and my back against the shower wall, I closed my eyes thinking of his gold-rimmed eyes—those radiant eyes that looked as if he could see straight through me. I rubbed my clit imagining him ripping my clothes off.
    The water was one degree from scalding as I rubbed myself like I thought Warren would. I pressed my back against the shower wall, imagining it is was Warren pushing me, that he was pressing down between my thighs, heating my clit like an oven.
    His raspy voice was in my ear calling my name. His muscles pressed against my chest as he held me in his brutish arms. I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to keep this mirage of this man alive. My fingers worked feverishly, but my imaginary Warren wanted more. He wanted to be inside me.
    Two fingers substituted Warren as I pressed them slowly inside me. My crevice was tight, the fault of too many months of forced celibacy. But my hot fingers feeling inside took my breath away, and fingering my G-spot sent me into an orgasm.
    “Warren... Warren.” I called his name as if he were there. My eyes fluttered open as the feeling of the fresh orgasm exploded across my body. My legs almost slipped from under me, and I reached for the shower curtain for something to hold onto. Luckily, I didn’t fall. How would I explain breaking my leg in a shower after I was masturbating to a man I only met today?
    This was a mistake. A huge mistake. I turned off the water and tried to regain my composure, but my spasming legs, heaving chest, and the tingling euphoria weren’t going away. I had opened a Pandora’s Box in my mind. Having fake sex with Warren was just as bad as having real sex with him. Now I wanted the real thing, and mixing business with pleasure was never a good idea.

*****
    W hat does one wear to their