She tells me she’s a lover of chicken pizza and video games, a hot sorority girl with the nickname Sloth. She wants to know something about me in return. She says I owe her.
This is how she saves my life. She doesn’t even know it. We’ve never even seen each other. But I need a reason. Just one reason to continue. She becomes mine.
The anonymity is good. She doesn’t need to know me, but I need her kindness. We both live our lives: a letter here, a post card there. For three years, I escape my demons. And then one day I’m pulled back in.
I’ve resigned myself to what I know is coming. Until the girl I’m spanking gives her safe word: Sloth.
And then the lie I’m living starts to unravel.
--
Sloth is an erotic romance. It’s a dark mystery, so if you’re sad, read another book. This one is real, and hard. Not that kind of hard. (That kind of hard, too). Consider yourself warned.
P.S. The book ends on a beach. That’s all I’m saying. As for an HEA, you’ll have to read and see.
P.S.S. Sloth is long—about 500 pages. It was supposed to be short and quick. Instead it’s a behemoth that consumed its author for six months. As such, the price is going from $2.99 to $4.99 shortly after release.
Excerpt:
I read once that everyone has a finite supply of willpower, and tonight I’ve used up all of mine. Not going after Cleo and giving her the whipping she earned. Not calling one of the girls on my list of dirty fucks.
I pull up the text feature first, but I know as soon as I see it that I’m not going to text Cleo.
I need to hear her voice.
I punch her number in and sit at the top of the front staircase, looking down on the foyer: a dark cavern, sparkled and polished—all for naught. No one who comes here cares about those sorts of things.
No one but me.
I like order.
Cleo lets it ring so many times, I’m surprised when the ringing gives way to silence. A little rush jolts through my body when I realize she’s breathing into the phone.
“Cleo.”
It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, she sounds…young. “It’s me.”
I curl my fingers around the phone, remembering how good she tasted on my fingers. My dick hardens, and as it does, my balls draw up and ache. I ignore the pain and focus on the pleasure. My hand drifts down and wraps around the thick head of my dick. I tug and grin, imagining how I’m going to discipline Miss Whatley as soon as I get the chance.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask.
I know she’s got something to say to me. Otherwise she wouldn’t have answered my call. I wait a minute, stroking myself through the opening of my robe.
Finally she says, “What do you have to say for yourself? You made me feel cornered and set up. I don’t trust you. If you try to rat me out, I’ll say you lured me to your house and tried to force me. The bruise between your legs can back me up.”
I laugh—a low hoot, surprising myself. “Can it?”
“Yeah, it can. I don’t like you, Kellan. I don’t want to talk to you again.”
“Tell me—how does your pussy feel? My cock is wounded. Even now, as it salutes you, it feels…misunderstood. Discarded.”
“Are you really trying to sexy talk me after what happened today?”
“No trying to. I am. Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”
“Is that a threat?” Her voice is high, like she really thinks it might be.
“Cleo. Cleo, Cleo… We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid. If you think I would hurt you, I’m forced to wonder if you’re fanaticizing. I’d never hurt a woman who didn’t beg for it.”
“What does that mean?” she whispers.
“Have you ever been whipped?”
“No.” Her voice is still a whisper.
“Have you ever had your cunt spanked?”
“No.”
“Ever been bound?”
She hesitates.
“You have.” My pulse quickens.
“Not really. My ex tried to tie me to the bed posts with one of his ties.”
“What did you think of it?” My throat is so dry, the words stick a little.
“It was fun I guess, but he wasn’t very good at knots. I got out in like ten seconds.”
“Maybe you’re just good at escaping.”
“Maybe.” Another pause. “Kellan, can I go now? I’m sorry I offended your dick or whatever. I did that because I was freaked out. Thank you for not following me, and for not threatening me or being any weirder. I enjoyed…” She fumbles for the words.
I stroke my cock. “You enjoyed my mouth on your pussy?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “If you have to put it that way.”
“My tongue in your slit? My lips on your clit? I know you enjoyed it. I’d like to do it again.”
“Not happening.”
“What will it take? How many bricks?”
“You want to pay me like a prostitute, with marijuana?”
“I’d make an exchange involving that, yes.” I add, “Don’t say it on the phone, Cleo.”