Pucked by Helena Hunting EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Helena Hunting
- Language: English
- Genre: Sports Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
VIOLET
It’s 6:51 on Thursday morning, and I’m thirty seconds away from an amazing
orgasm. Women everywhere should take a page from the man manual. Just
because I don’t sport the obvious signs men do, such as morning wood,
doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take care of my personal needs before I hit the
shower. My day is always better when I start with a shot from the orgasm
bottle.
I’m right there, teetering on the brink of heaven. Every nerve ending is
on fire in the best way possible. My muscles are tight, fingers moving at a
furious pace, the vibrator—God bless the damn vibrator—is hitting the s-s-sspot, and everything is about to go blissfully white.
And that’s the moment my mother’s shrill voice breaks all orgasmic
magic, destroying my morning jill-off. She must have let herself in again, as
is typical.
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Here’s the thing; I don’t live with my mom. I moved out more than four
years ago—into the damn pool house. Technically, it’s on the same piece of
property, but it’s supposed to be my private space. My refuge from my crazy
awesome, albeit super-inappropriate mother.
The door to my bedroom crashes open as I shut off the vibe and pull up
the covers. My vagina is raging. I can’t even begin to explain. It’s the female
equivalent of blue balls.
“Mom!” I slump further under the comforter. “How many times do we
need to have this talk?”
“You should be out of bed already! I have something for you!” She
waves her hands around in the air like the crazy inflatable balloon guy on TV.
It’s too much this early in my day.
“I literally just woke up. I need five minutes before we have a
conversation, okay?”
Her arms fall to her sides, her shoulders dropping with her smile, which
would make me feel bad, except she’s let herself into my home and barged
into my bedroom unannounced. So all I have is frustration.
“Oh, sure.” Her dejection is blissfully short-lived. “How about I put on a
pot of coffee?”
My mom loves to be useful, and while I’m annoyed, I don’t want to hurt
her feelings in spite of the inconvenient interruption. “That’d be great.” Any
reason to get her out of my room is a good one, but a fresh pot of coffee is
more than welcome.
She backs out and closes the door, leaving me in peace. For three
seconds I contemplate finishing what I started, but there’s no way I’m going
to come with my mom tooling around in my kitchen. Instead, I toss my vibe
into the nightstand and make a stop in the bathroom to wash my hands.
At twenty-two, I should be able to maintain some distance from my
mother. However, she has a great deal of difficulty with the concept of
personal space. In my freshman year of college, I threw out the idea of
moving into an apartment close to campus. My mom and Sidney—my
stepdad—had recently tied the knot. They were worse than virginal
teenagers.
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