Page 23 of Three Bossy Boyfriends (Honeysuckle Harbor #3)

Finley

I’m exhausted from pretending all day that I don’t want Christopher to spank me over his desk. That had to be the longest, horniest day I’ve ever spent at work.

Evan and Christopher knew exactly what they were doing this morning—setting me up to lust after them all day.

I should be annoyed, but instead I’m just…horny.

Now I’m in my room, having shrugged off the well-intentioned questions of my sisters after taking them up on their pity offer of ordering Chinese takeout and watching a psychological thriller.

The creepy movie was supposed to take my mind off of men, but the masked stalker was honestly a little sexy, and now I’m just spiraling out.

I’m in pajamas and debating what volume I need my iPad to be on so my sisters don’t hear my vibrator when I get a text from Tucker.

This day only needed that. He’s been on my mind nonstop since he suggested a hate fuck, especially since I’m not even sure that it would be a hate fuck at this point…more like a ‘I-want-to-hate-you-but-I’m-not-sure-I-do.’

But then I read his text.

Hey, what’s up?

That’s all it takes to ignite my rage all over again. I settle back against my headboard, cuddling my Jack Skellington pillow and prepare to put Tucker Hastings in his place.

Wrong.

What’s wrong?

Your bullshit text.

Uh…are you busy?

No. But if you text me what’s up or hey beautiful or what ru doing rn or any other lazy ass man text that puts the burden of conversation on me, I will not respond. This is your warning.

Bubbles appear and then disappear. I gleefully reach for the four-pack of Oreos I bought on the way home from work as a substitute for sex and rip the wrapper open.

I’ve confused Tucker and, hopefully, put him back in his place, where he belongs.

With us on equal footing, not me all doe-eyed, breathy, and obedient the way I was with him yesterday.

Fuck. That.

When can I fuck you? I’m free tonight.

A shiver rolls over me. Now that is tempting.

But I’ve just wrested back control from him—at least in my mind. I can’t hand it right back.

All I can think about is how big Tucker’s hands are and where they could be on my body right now. He could cover a whole lot of territory in no time with those fingers. My nipples tingle at the thought.

I’m busy tonight. I’m busy until after you declare your love for me at karaoke.

That’s going to take a while to write my speech, then. So next Friday. Seven PM. I’ll have the whole crowd eating out of my hand.

Fuck. He brought up his hands!

And next Friday is a whole ten days from now. I feel like he turned this back around on me.

I groan aloud in my room.

Immediately, there’s a knock on my door. “Fin, you okay?”

It’s Frannie. Jesus, was she standing outside my door waiting to be needed?

“No! I’m fine. I’m groaning because these girls on Love Island always go for the wrong guys.” I tap my tablet to start playing the reality show. It’s already open on my screen. It was the last thing I was watching. I turn up the volume and stuff an Oreo in my mouth.

“Okay, but if you need anything…”

“I love you, but I’m fine.”

Horny. I’m horny.

These last few months of studying for the bar, I was definitely ignoring my physical needs. Now, three totally different guys have me thinking about sex every minute of every day.

I’ll be there.

Pack a toothbrush because I’m taking you straight to my place. The second you’re in my house, I’m going to shove your sexy little ass against the wall and take your pussy. Hard.

I almost choke on the cookie. I like this Tucker better than the caring, concerned Tucker. I can handle this Tucker.

I think.

He’s not done.

Then I’m going to fuck you all night long. Then, fuck you again in the morning. It is going to give me great fucking pleasure to wake you up with my cock in your wet, wet pussy while my name falls off of your lips.

Damn. He gets right to the point. Which is perfect, because I don’t want sweet words from Tucker. I want his mouth doing other things.

Is that going to be in your speech at the bar?

I’ll be so convincing, telling everyone I’m in love with you that you might even believe it yourself.

Not a chance.

As in, God, I hope not.

See you Friday, weirdo.

I’ll think about it, asshole.

Otherwise known as wild fucking horses won’t be able to keep me out of that bar Friday night.