Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Kendall Ryan’s new release: Junk Mail
It all started with a sexy selfie.
Texted to the wrong number.
Not my finest moment—but I have nothing to be ashamed of.
She thought I was no better, and I quote, than the knuckle-dragging douche-bags she was never dating again.
It was a stupid dare from a girl I’d met online, but since she’d given me a fake number, I didn’t feel bad that my interests were suddenly focused elsewhere—on the fiery and sharp-tongued, Peyton that I found myself sparring with over text for the rest of the evening.
The following day, my case of mistaken identity came back to bite me in the banana.
When I strolled into the office, I was introduced to Peyton as the new client I needed to win over. The Peyton, in case you’re not tracking.
And let’s just say she had my full attention.
Beauty? Oh yeah.
And the best part? She hated me on sight.
Dear God, do I love a challenge.
Let the games begin.
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Junk Mail
I smile down at my phone at the message ButterflyGirl6 has just sent me. We’ve been talking in that getting to know you to see if we’re compatible lingo for the past three nights, and tonight looks like we’ll graduate to dirty talk. Perfect.
Her profile says she’s looking for Mr. Right, and I honestly wouldn’t mind playing that part for the right woman. But so far tonight, her flirty tone suggests she’s looking for Mr. Right Now. And I’m completely down with that scenario too.
She’s asked me what I’m wearing.
She wants to know my favorite positions.
She’s curious if I can go all night long.
We moved on pretty quickly from the hobbies-and-interests portion of the chat, but hey, I’m not going to complain.
The last message she sent is her cell phone number, along with a note saying Let’s take this to text, if you know what I mean.
Oh yes I do, you sexy little butterfly. I know exactly what you mean.
After working my ass off to continue building my company for the past year, I’m a man on the edge. I have my limits, and the desire to pillage and plunder my way through the New York City singles scene is a sharp throb of need that can’t be contained any longer.
With one of the biggest opportunities of my life coming up, you might think I should focus on buckling down and stop chasing that wonderful warm spot between a woman’s thighs. And the thing is, you’d be right.
It’s just . . .
This dry spell can’t go on, and that’s why I’m scrolling through that dating app—you know the one. It’s not even really for dating. It’s for hookups. And while that’s not usually my style, Exhibit A is the monster in my pants demanding to be fed, so I’m willing to make some adjustments, both literally and figuratively.
But, hey, I’m also a big believer in giving a woman what she wants. And this woman, this sexy, flirty, naughty ButterflyGirl6—who I’ve been chatting with for the last three nights via a dating app—has asked for a dick pic.
Look, I’m going to be blunt here. I’ve never taken a dick pic before. It’s not that my second-favorite organ isn’t photo worthy. It absolutely is. It’s a goddamned work of art, if I do say so myself.
But I still haven’t captured its glory on candid camera.
It’s just that, well, dick pics are a little uncool. Right? Generally, I pride myself on being a gentleman when interacting with women. And maybe I’m a little old-fashioned.
Sure, I get that sexts and dirty pictures are part of the dating scene these days, but I’ve found that there are few true surprises left anymore, and undressing a woman you’ve never seen naked before and exploring every inch of her body is one of them. I’d presume the same applies to a lady. So, I do enjoy leaving that aspect of dating until, you know, the actual date.
From my spot on the leather couch in my spacious living room, I slide down my boxer briefs, my cock already conveniently in a semi state. And let me tell you, I look pretty damn good already.
Here we go. Time to lose my dick-pic virginity.
I hold the phone a foot or so above the goods and snap a couple of shots, hoping they do the trick. I suppose I could have googled how to take a dick pic, but then I’d have to turn in my man card. Some tasks you just need to dive right into and figure out as you go. Besides, how hard can it be—pun intended—to capture a great shot of a great cock?
But when I scroll through the camera roll, I cringe.
Getting the right angle, lighting, and vantage point to show off my favorite appendage is harder than it seems. Again, pun intended.
I delete the first few trial shots. And by delete, I mean I send them straight to the trash can on the phone, and make sure they are deleted for-fucking-ever.
I realize what my first few attempts were lacking.
I need to be fully hard.
Yup. That’s the trick.
I head to my bedroom and flick on the light to reveal a neatly made bed, dresser, and a pile of folded clothes still in the laundry basket beside my closet door.
Settling myself on the bed against the headboard, I smile. My white duvet will make the perfect backdrop for the photo. There’s nothing to compete for attention with my junk. Impressive as it is, I don’t need anything distracting from the mood I’m trying to set for ButterflyGirl6. And that mood is—at your service, come and ride me all night long.
Chuckling to myself, I shove off my boxer briefs and stare down at the prize.
I would have assumed I’d need a few stiff tugs to prep the package, but yet here is my dick, ready to impress our new lady friend.
Note to self—never go four months again without some action. It turns you into a horny teenage boy. Forget the fact I’m a grown-ass man at thirty-four. I have needs. And what I need in this moment? To impress the lovely ButterflyGirl6 so she says yes to my request for a date.
Do I find it a little strange that this woman wants to see my goods before taking a look at my face? Sure I do. But whatever, I’m flexible.
A quick glance in the mirror above my dresser reveals tanned skin, a five o’clock shadow, and a mess of dark hair that I keep a little longer than I should.
Making sure the angle is perfect, I snap a shot. When I check out my camera roll, I have to say I’m pretty impressed with my work.
I hit SEND and toss my phone on my nightstand. I can’t wait for her reply. I’m sure it’ll come any minute.
Any minute now.
Maybe just one more minute.
I check my phone once more. Sadly, it’s still silent.
I set it down and head for the shower. When I wander out a few minutes later, toweling off my hair, my phone is buzzing with a reply.
I may or may not have run over to the phone to see what she had to say about the goods.
When I slide open the message, though, her response isn’t what I expected at all.
Excerpt. ©Kendall Ryan. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
Giveaway: An eBook copy of JUNK MAIL
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Meet the Author:
A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than three dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 2.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world.
Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than 70 times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.
She lives in Texas with her husband and two sons.
Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras.
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