I'm not the knight in this story. I'm the fucking dragon.
"Macy Dunham" is synonymous with "off-limits." Not only is she practically a virgin, but she's a walking, talking angel who's way too good for a devil like me. She's straight-up beautiful, and so far out of my league I think I might cry. Did I mention she's also the godmother to my future niece or nephew?
Now I have to play nice with "Aunt Macy" for the next 18 years. There's just one tiny problem--the first night I met her, I played with her a little too nice.
Macy was only supposed to be a hook-up. I was supposed to show her a night she'd never forget--give her a little taste of what it's like to be bad--and then send her on her way. She wasn't supposed to stick around, and she damn sure wasn't supposed to become my best friend.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend like I don't know how soft her skin feels, how good her lips taste, or how perfect it feels inside her? It's torture. I'd give my left nut for another chance to sink inside Macy, but I can't afford to mess this up and that's exactly what would happen.
Everyone knows "Blake Whitmore" is synonymous with "screw-up."
***This standalone bad boy/friends-to-lovers romance novel is full-length at approximately 86,500 words. No cliffhanger. Guaranteed HEA, but be forewarned: their road to happiness is raw, angsty, and painful. It deals with addiction and loss, so if you're looking for butterflies, rainbows, and unicorns, you won't find any here. You will, however, find a book that's seriously kindle-melting hot and even laugh-out-loud funny at times.***
