Joyride: Steamy Twisty FF Instalove Collection by Syd West

Author:Syd West [West, Syd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PulpBoom
Published: 2020-06-12T22:00:00+00:00

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Kit steals my proverbial breath away. I despise precisely manufactured women as a rule but when my eyes lock with hers I make an exception. She is a pool of cool and I am hard-pressed to resist taking a dip in her violet eyes, courtesy of cosmetic contacts. “I am Marley,” I say, introducing myself with a healthy side of awkward. Looks like I’ll be stuffing myself silly with any and every distraction our bar offers before I seal Kit’s fate.

“What’s up! I’m Kit!” The pronouncement echoes the method of introduction she likely unfurls for all her would-be sycophants - an intimacy offered for a price, and I sense a kinship here. Does Kit also hate her hustle, like me? Would she also, under the correct circumstances, admit to the repugnance of our professions?

Kit appears to have sprung from an OG Full House episode - rainbow knee socks and a tight white midriff tee with a neon headline: The Rite Stuf. Her cascade of curls is freshly dyed millennial rose gold, the rest of her outfit doesn’t register because I am hook, line, and sinker, all-in on her smile - her lips to be exact. Penny pink and perfect. Soft, I’m sure. Super soft. A shot of pure adrenaline moves from my cunt to my panties in less time than it takes to drag on my cigarette holder, my tongue tickling the smoke I exhale away from her round face.

“Allow me to introduce you to Chateau.” Grazing her elbow with my wrist, my manners kick-in by rote - I am, and will always be, a hostess before anything else. My bottom line is all about showing my guests the time of their brief lives. Her scent is pure delicious, and I hone in on it wafting from every pore and orifice, my imagination running wild in ways I will never act out. Not only am I not repulsed by flesh and blood Kit as I was by her social media visage, but I find her more and more fine by the moment. So obsessed I am with my own reaction, I fail to clock Kit’s vibe on me until I grasp her wrist and feel her pulse racing - skin prickled with gooseflesh.

Instead of following the proscribed tour, I flip the script and - feathering my fingers through her own - squeeze her hand and navigate towards Chateau’s chill space - the veranda. Flame torches are the only source of light and heat, and though we are alone, together our bodies radiate plenty of both. I offer Kit an overstuffed velvet cushioned chaise and as she sprawls, she brings me down with her. Her face is open, without a shred of the mountain of baggage I haul everywhere with me. She plays with my palm across her bare tummy and I wait for the extended remix of her perky narration. But there are no followers here to appease, and Kit’s not once since her arrival pulled out her phone to capture content or even tease future posts.

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