Valentine's CYOA Chapter 12

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Chapter Twelve

His hands caressed my belly, then stroked my thighs, until I began to writhe. He was dark, dominant, and dangerous, and I wanted Jayson Brant more than any man I'd ever known. I raised my hands and stroked down his broad, muscled back as our tongues tangoed. By the time I reached the waistband of his jeans his tongue had taught mine to fox trot and was now demonstrating a little known rumba from the highlands of Chile.

We staggered together toward my bed—which I’d made that morning, oh, thank you, God!—and fell together. He rolled, placing me firmly underneath, and reached for the zipper of my jeans. A short tussle later and I was naked as a jay bird and he was examining my creative shaving technique.

“Nice,” he said huskily as he traced my heart-shaped pelt. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“You should see how I celebrate Halloween,” I purred, batting my eyelashes. He blinked and then a corner of his mouth kicked up. “Oh, yeah.” His fingers had reached the point of my heart and I arched as he delved below the point, hitting the right spot on the first try. I do like a man with a sense of direction. I clutched his round, firm butt and gasped, “Bedside table.”

“What?”

I felt myself blush. “In the bedside table. I’ve got condoms.”

He smiled, slow and sexy. “They won’t fit.”

I felt heat pool low in my belly. “But they’re extra large.”

“Cara mia,” he whispered in my ear. “I take extra, extra, extra large.”

Oh, God, a size Triple X condom? I’d heard tales whispered in smoky bars just before closing from women who’d had way too many nachos and Long Island Iced Teas, but I’d always thought the fabled Triple X was a myth. Had I just hit the orgasm lottery or would I be crippled for life? I looked up at his face, dominated by a nose of epic proportions. Either way I was about to find out tonight.

Brant reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a foil packet the size of a paper napkin. It was black, it was shiny, and three giant X’s were embossed on the surface. I watched as he tore the packet open with his teeth. What emerged was purple with pink racing stripes and a growth at the tip that wouldn’t look out of place at an ocean aquarium.

He arched a brow just like Spock when he was about to tick Dr. McCoy off. “I hope you like
ticklers.”

I was so excited I almost embarrassed myself by coming right there.

He had his jeans, socks, and shoes off in seconds. When he rolled to his back to sheath himself I think I may’ve heard a heavenly choir. Praise be, the schnoz did not lie. This man was hung like a Clydesdale.

I stretched welcoming arms to him. “Oh, baby!”

But a slight frown marred his handsome, big-nosed face. “Would you mind, uh, rolling over?”

Of course not. If he’d ask that we do it in a bathtub filled with green jell-o I would’ve hopped right in. In fact, so in lust was I with both the man and his magnificent member that it wasn’t until he was at the point of no return, so to speak, that the sinister nature of the position we were in hit me.

Doggy-style.

The words whispered ominously in my brain even as my lover rustled behind me, trying to get just the right angle of approach. Could the tale Imelda Brachos told me in her car be true? Could Brant in fact be a member of PETOP—People for the Ethical Treatment of Poodles?!

I was frozen in a muddy mixture of lust, confusion, and horror when . . .

A) Brant leaned down and whispered, “Can you bark like a dog?”

B) Mrs. Peterson and her poodle burst into the room.

C) Brant did something that made me lose all coherent thought.

D) I remembered that I was a lesbian.

YOUR TURN: You decide what happens next! Leave your vote in the comments by 7pm EST (4pm Pacific) every day between now and Valentine's Day---Tomorrow's story continued by Delilah Marvelle with the twist YOU choose!

Today's installment brought to you by Julia Harper. Vote to win a signed copy of Julia's latest release, Hot!

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