Tessa Layne [Layne - Pu$$y Magnet: A Very Naughty RomCom (Titans of Tech Book 1)

Copyright 2019 by Tessa Layne

Paperback Edition ISBN-13: 978-1-948526-14-2

EPUB Edition ISBN-13: 978-1-948526-15-9

Published by Shady Layne Media

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, stored, or transmitted in any form or in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of copious amounts of wine, long walks, and the authors overactive imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Lets get one thing straight. I love pussy. Fucking. Love. It.

Call me shallow, call me a perv, call me a fucking manwhore, but the reason I know theres a heaven is because God made pussy. Because when my tongue, fingers or cock is buried in its sweetness I know without a doubt, Im in heaven.

My lifes mission, to sample as much of the pussy garden as possible, began when I was thirteen and found a stack of playboy magazines in the shed out behind my grandfathers summer house. There, I was initiated into the exotic, mysterious world of pussy. Black pussy, white pussy, Asian pussy, Mexican pussy, Italian pussy, Irish pussy, Turkish pussy. Each a perfect pink flower, reflecting the personality of its owner - trimmed, waxed, or wild and free, they hold the key to a womans undoing. Because no matter who a woman is, a ball buster in the courtroom or a flower child at an Avitt Brothers concert, I have the keys to the kingdom, and they all want it.

Until Mariah Sanchez - aka Sparky

She wants me.

I can feel it. I can smell it. But for nine months, sixteen days, twelve hours and forty-seven minutes shes had my cock in irons. Worse, my mouth and my fingers, too. Locked up in an invisible prison of my own making. And because Im a stupid idiot, the only person I can blame for my predicament is me.

But thats about to change

F ootball players are pussies. Baseball players? Pussies. Hockey players? Maybe not pussies, but with all the gear they hide under its hard to tell.

You want to fuck a real athlete? Someone whos all muscle with endurance for days? The kind of athlete who can make you come for an hour straight? Then let me tell you where its at. Crew.

Whats that? Youve never even heard of crew? Eight men in a boat, using one-hundred-percent of their God-given muscles, stressing every system in the body to the max in an all out sprint- just them against the water and the wind. Man against nature. You want a man with arms? With abs? With a rock hard ass? Oh- and a brain? Fuck the rest of the athletes. You want a man in a boat.

A man like me.

Someone with a hot bod, an enormous cock, and a bank account with so many zeroes behind the number, itll make your panties wet.

D ude, tuck your junk away. Sparky, my boats coxswain, rolls her eyes as she walks past. Press is on their way for a photo-op.

My chest puffs a little. Theres no tucking this bad boy away, Sparky. You know that. Especially when we smoked the competition.

She scoffs deep in her throat not bothering to turn around. Im putting you in the back row then. No one needs to see that shit on the front page of the London Times.

Then they shouldnt design these uniforms so tight, chimes in my CTO and best friend Stockton Forde as he falls into step beside me.

Right? I add, following her down the dock to where the press and our fans wait to congratulate us. The ladies dont give two fucks about rowing, or who wins a regatta. Theyre here for one thing only. I slide a glance Fordes direction.

The uniforms. We both chortle simultaneously.

Twelve-year-olds, Sparky mutters under her breath as she keeps walking.

I fucking love this about her. We all do. Being a female cox for an eight-man rowing team is half motivation, half toleration, and fulltime ego management. And Sparky has those qualities in spades. Its why we hired her fresh out of college to help whip our team back into shape. And today its paid off big-time.

Sparky stops and turns on a dime, holding out her hands, and giving us one of those Im not fucking around looks. Dont be assholes in front of the press. No one likes losing at home. She looks all eight of us in the eye. Steele, since youre stroke position, the press is going to be directing most of the questions to you.

This is why our team loves Sparky. Shes so much more than a coxswain. Shes the heart and soul of our boat, we do things with her we cant do on our own. And sure, Fitz, our official coach is a phenom when it comes to technique to helping each of us understand timing, feathering the oar, and making our strokes as efficient and streamlined as possible. But its Sparky that helps us make the boat swing. And when it swings like it did today, its fucking magic.

And the women, grumbles Owen, my CFO and the tallest guy on our boat. Share the love with the other guys, asshole.

A ripple of laughter spreads through the group.

There were three camped outside his hotel room this morning, adds Mac, our most powerful rower. Half Scot, half Italian, the guy is a beast.

And two more inside, adds Jackson, our lawyer, cheerily throwing me under the bus.

I spread my hands. Hey, I cant help it that the ladies love me. And I cant help it that I love the ladies. Their soft curves, the way they coo and purr when I lick their nipples into hard peaks. The way they arch and clutch the covers when I feast on their honeyed treasure. I refuse to collect wine because it would take more than a lifetime to sample all the good stuff. Same with pussy. Why limit myself to just one when theres a buffet of perfection waiting to be pleasured?

Sparky gives me the full-on evil-eye. Just make sure they love you far from the cameras. We dont need any videos of your shenanigans posted online, got it? She shakes her head and mutters something else under her breath that I dont quite catch.

My ears perk up. What was that?

Her eyes jerk back to mine, and I swear her sun-kissed cheeks darken a shade. Dont forget to invite the London Rowing Club to a rematch at our regatta in August.

Thats not what she said. I want to press the question, but nows not the time. Not with the reporters and the ladies practically crawling over the barriers. Instead I nod and follow as she turns and marches toward the meet and greet area where Fitz is already taking questions. She stops at a bench and motions for us to grab our sweats. Gotta protect the family jewels, she says with a sly smile, pulling a pint-sized sweatshirt over her own head.

Hey, whatd you say back there? I ask.

Let it go, Steele. It was nothing. Go meet your fans.

Theyre your fans, too.

She glances over her shoulder at the throng of young co-eds clambering for a view from behind the wall of cameras. Im pretty sure theyre not lesbians. Go let them down gently. And dont forget we have a three a.m. wake-up for the airport.

Way to be a buzzkill, Sparks.

She flashes me a super-sized grin. Thats me, and you love it.