Page 34 of Playboy Pitcher

Willow… With her crazy blue hair and tough girl look.

And full red lips.

And rich toffee brown eyes.

And perfect ass.

She’s not tall and thin like I’m used to. She’s short and voluptuous in all the right places. Willow McBaine is no wilting flower. That girl is a fucking snapdragon.

The more she fills my head, the more that phantom scent of hers surrounds me. That sweet, floral scent that screws with more than my head. Groaning, I rub my hand over my swollen cock, remembering the way she fluffed her hair and turned away. The way those pouty lips smirked up at me, refusing to back down.

“Go fuck yourself, LaCroix.”

Hmmm…not a bad idea.

Dipping my hand underneath the band of my sweatpants, I pull my dick out, and the tip weeps with gratitude. Walking around half-hard all day has been bad enough, but now, the ache is nearly unbearable.

Gripping the beer bottle in one hand and my shaft in the other, I lean my head back and imagine bending Willow over the hood of that ugly blue Chevy. Keeping her face down, I’d yank that long black dress up over her hips, ripping off whatever else got in my way.

I bite my lip, stroking faster and harder as the image plays out in my mind.

She’d act like a prude, of course, but the moment I shoved my fingers in her pussy, she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth. I’d bring her right to the edge, and then deny her what she wanted. She’d call me a motherfucker, and I’d laugh because she’d be right.

Then I’d slam into her from behind.

“Christ…” The beer bottle falls from my hand as I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and fist a handful of my own hair. My cock feels like steel as I thrust into my palm, imagining it’s Willow’s wet pussy.

Taking my cock would ruin her. Destroy her. Her nails would leave deep scratches on the hood she couldn’t fix, and I’d leave a deep mark inside her she’d never erase.

My fist flies over my cock, squeezing as I pump. A few more jerks and my balls tighten, my back jackknifing off the couch. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I clench my teeth, seconds away from coming, when the doorbell rings. Freezing, I sit there with my cock in my hand, contemplating whether to answer the door covered in cum or with a pissed-off dick. Either way, shit is about to get awkward.

Chapter Twelve

I’mseconds away from pushing the doorbell for the third time when the door wrenches open.

“This had better be…” Ben’s narrowed eyes widen as his hardened stare fades into shock. “Willow.”

That’s it? His boss shows up at his condo unannounced at ten o’clock at night and the only thing he has to say is my name?Well, man up, Playboy.This bitch is up to bat, and she has a line drive with your name written all over it.

Which ends up being more like a foul ball.

Into the parking lot.

“Ben…”

Awesome.This is off to a great start.

Okay, to be fair, he threw a deliberate beanball by answering the door looking likethat, knocking me stupid.

Stupid and breathless.

Cocking his chin, Ben leans against the open door, a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. His dark hair is wild, like restless fingers spent hours burrowing through it. Those perfect cheekbones hover over flushed skin as if I’ve interrupted him mid-exercise, only his chest isn’t sweaty.

Hisbarechest.

Hard. Defined. Tanned.