by Katy Evans
I shiver.
“Fuuuck.” He lifts me in the air, then throws me on the bed. He doesn’t even remove my panties, he tugs them aside until they’re hooked to the side by my swollen labia, and then he slides into the slick depths of my body. I clench reflexively; we groan from the pulsing, lung-stopping pleasure. My head falls back, my body arching with sensations.
“Oh god!”
My pussy is so tight, his dick so big, he’s almost tapping my heart every time he hits deep and I love it. We both do. We’re having steady, noisy, out-of-this-world sex and I won’t last another minute.
I cry out and squeeze my thighs around his hips, tightening my vagina around his shaft, locking him in. He groans.
He thrusts inside me, his mouth on mine, his body as relentless as mine is, neither of us letting the other breathe, or think, or stop.
This is an avalanche of ravaging desire, his need telling me beyond words how much he wants me.
My orgasm thunders through me. My skin melts; I fly away, ecstasy ripping through me. “Callan,” I moan.
He groans in pleasure, saying, “God, I love you,” against my mouth as he rides his own orgasm, fucking me through it.
Seconds—or maybe a year—later, I realize my nails are biting into his back and I’m gasping for breath. He’s throbbing inside my pussy, still impaling me. I groan and nibble on his neck, loving the feel of him. All in.
“Does this mean we won’t have one last cigarette?” I ask, kissing his neck.
“I got a new pack. Somewhere.” He smirks as he edges away, then goes to clean up. When he returns, he pushes the window open and brings a fresh pack.
I sit up in bed as he lights a cigarette. I memorize his movements. His hand cupping the flame, his lips pressing down on the end, his inhale, how he plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and offers it to me, his eyes shining as if he’s giving me the world.
“Sometimes, on a special occasion, we could have one,” I hedge. I already miss this.
“Yeah, we could. If we wanted to.”
“Yes, if we want to. I do.”
“I do too.”
He pries the cigarette off my lips, takes a drag, then passes it back to me as he slides his arm around me, and we lie in my bed and have our last cigarette.
Or so we think.
Mom and Dad are stoked about the engagement. We spend the weekend with them and before heading back, Callan and I visit Nana’s grave.
After a tearful farewell with my happy but jealous friends, on Monday, I’m all packed and ready to move permanently to Chicago.
I’m in Callan’s arms, looking out the plane window at Chicago. My new home.
Callan
Six years and a couple of packs of Marlboros later (what can I say, we’re addicts), we’re expecting. Olivia Carmichael. Fun and sweet girl. Expecting a Callan Junior.
I could spend days listing the things Livvy’s done at Carma. We’re breaking the rules. Always.
Fridays are Easy Fridays—the Carma troops wear whatever the fuck they want.
But what matters, really, are the things my wife has brought to me. Before her, I never wanted to be better or worthy of a single thing. You don’t need to be worthy of what you own if you can afford it. But the love of your girl . . . that’s something a man needs to own.
She has a new plan for herself this year. The year she turns twenty-eight.
She wanted it to be a milestone.
It’s the year she becomes a mother.
I tweak her nipple and turn my head to her stomach and I kiss it. She’s been sleeping like crazy, and I’ve never done more work from the bed than I have these past six months. Weekends are all about my wife lying around, recharging that simmering energy of hers, while she naps with her head on my thigh, listening to me do my thing.
She asked for a hit that first day on my terrace. But I was the one who got punched in the chest. The Carma uniform had never looked better.
I reach out for my pack at the memory, take out a cigarette, then remember I told her I’m quitting because she has. Not good for the baby, after all. I shove it back down and toss the pack way in the back of the nightstand drawer. I’m keeping my word. I’ll quit smoking. But I’m never quitting her.
Watching her walk away all those years ago has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every instinct of mine demanded I chase after her, bring her back where she belongs—with me.
I opted to be patient. Give her space. Cross my i’s, dot my t’s—that’s the way I work, after all.
She’d have time to think, follow up on her plan.
Except she never counted on that plan encountering a glitch.
That’s right, her fucking Drake—Derek, Henrietto—is not waiting until she’s twenty-fucking-eight. I spent years playing the field, not interested, refusing to feel trapped.
I’m trapped and I’ve never felt so fucking free.
I love my lovely fucking infuriating girl.
I’m all in. Every day.
They say you’re never truly wealthy until you have something money can’t buy.
I wake up to that something every morning. Blonde hair, long lines, loving eyes. I’m the wealthiest man alive.
DEAR READERS,
Thanks so much for picking up WOMANIZER. I’m hoping Wynn will soon tell me her story, as well as Callan’s mysterious gambler brother.
As always, and from the bottom of my heart…
Thank you for your support and enthusiasm for this series and my work.
XOXO,
Manwhore series:
MANWHORE
MANWHORE +1
MS. MANWHORE
LADIES MAN
Real series:
REAL
MINE
REMY
ROGUE
RIPPED
LEGEND
I am so lucky to be surrounded by such an amazing team of people who motivate and inspire me. A very special thank you to my bestie, Monica Murphy. For your friendship, enthusiasm, support, and for the long calls and the short messages and the frequent emails. Most of all, for being just plain wonderful and inspiring all the time. Not to mention, thank you for the privilege of reading your babies before anyone else does, just like you do mine. Here’s to many more, bestie.
To my family; I am able to do what I love thanks to you. I adore you.
Thank you to my agent, Amy Tannenbaum, who is everything wonderful and more, and everyone at the Jane Rotrosen Agency (more wonderful!).
To my super editor, Kelli Collins, and the fabulous Ryn Hughes, CeCe Carroll,
Lisa Wolff, Anita Saunders, my proofreader, and Angie McKeon.
Also, Nina Grinstead and the entire fabulous team at Social Butterfly PR.
My author friends, Monica, Emma, Kristy, and Kim. And Gel, thank you!
Thank you to my fabulous audio publisher, S&S Audio, and to my foreign publishers for translating my stories so that they can be read across the world.
To Julie at JT Formatting, and my cover designer James at Bookfly Covers, you both did an amazing job!
To Melissa, you know a thousand reasons why.
And to all of the bloggers out there, thank you for all the times you’ve shared the love and cuddled up with one of my books.
Most of all, to my readers,
your readership, support, and love of my stories and characters means more than I can ever say. Thank you for spending time in our world.
New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Katy Evans is the author of the Real and Manwhore series. She lives with her husband, two kids, and their beloved dogs. To find out more about her or her books, visit her pages. She’d love to hear from you.
Website:
www.katyevans.net
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COPYRIGHT
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet without the publisher’s permission and is a violation of the international copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Ebook copies may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share with a friend, please buy an extra copy, and thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Copyright © 2016 by Katy Evans
Cover design by James T. Egan, www.bookflydesign.com
Interior formatting by JT Formatting
ISBN-13: 978-0-9972636-1-9
ISBN-13: (print) 978-1536958751
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
PLAYLIST
MOVING TO CHICAGO
FIRST DAY
HOT SMOKER GUY
NOT THE MAIL GUY
WORK, WORK, WORK
CLUB
ELEVATOR
PIER
AT THE GALLERY
LATE NIGHTS
BOARD
HIS HOME, AFTER ALCORE
SUMMON TO THE TOP
DATE NIGHT
FLAME
WORK AND PLAY
TALK
DINNER WITH THE GIRLS
CARMA
FUUUCK
NEWS
TREE HOUSE
ONWARD
FAREWELL
LAST CIGARETTE
ALL IN
PLAN
HOME
TWENTY-EIGHT
DEAR READERS,
OTHER TITLES BY KATY EVANS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT
COPYRIGHT