With A Whie (Roosters 4)
Author: Stephanie Burke
Cover Art: Bryan Keller
Series: Roosters (#4)
Book Length: Novella
Page Count: 50
Evan Whie has a big brain, a big company and an even bigger issue… in his pants. Being that big can be a problem when it comes to dating… but he’s not interested in dating just anybody. He wants his queen.
Cleopatra Cockie has a big problem when it comes to love, and an even bigger solution to fix her woes… Seduce her business partner and man of her dreams, no matter what the rumor mill has to say.
They’re two gamer geeks on a mission and if they can work it out, Cockie will always be connected to a Whie.
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Stephanie Burke
Evan Whie had a huge problem… right between his legs. He looked down at his crotch and winced, not only at the horrible bunching in his crotch area, but at the feel of having a good solid ten and a half inches of cock shoved into an area that was not designed to hold all that mass. Maybe he should have gone for the kilt?
“You have to come out of there sometime,” a nasally voice called, and Evan knew it had been the biggest fucking mistake of his life to bring along his best friend on this particular shopping trip.
“I’m not coming out and you can’t make me,” he shouted back, going up on one leg to try to pull down at the crotch. There had to be some more room in there… somewhere.
“Look, you big baby, either the pants don’t fit or they do. If they don’t I have a few more pairs of slacks for you to try.”
“Who says slacks anymore?” Evan grimaced in the mirror and gave up. The pants had to go.
“I do, you fashion disaster. And I want you to try the pleated front pants next. You’d be less prone to meat explosion that way.”
“What? You know it’s true. Those cute granddaddy little slacks you like so much don’t have enough give in the crotch. That’s why you need pleats. Reinforcements.”
“That’s it. I’m wearing a kilt.”
“At least you have the legs for that. Working off sexual tension in the weight room is good for a few things.”
“I’m your boss,” he called back.
“And if you just tell the woman how you feel –”
“I will end you.”
“No, you won’t. You’d get an anger boner and pass out before you could reach me. That much blood suddenly rushing down has that effect on people.”
Evan slapped a broad, calloused hand over his face. He was blushing. He knew he was blushing. He could feel the heat in his face and chest.
“Lydia Summerwell, you are the worst,” he grumbled as he tried to pull himself together. He was an adult. He was a business owner, a successful business owner at that. He could handle this.
“But am I wrong?”
“The absolute worst.” He really did hate his best friend sometimes.
Evan forced himself to stare into the mirror again and examined the reflection there.
He was a reasonably good-looking man, nothing to make him one of People’s “Sexiest Men on Earth,” but his looks wouldn’t curdle milk either. And he had nice eyes. It was like Mother Nature couldn’t decide if they should be green or blue so she threw them both in there in equal amounts and let the colors fight it out.
He was in decent shape for a glorified computer jock. A Boffin was what she called him. And he had to admit that Lydia was right in that working off sexual frustration with weights was a good way to keep fit, as proven by his twenty-inch guns. He flexed a bicep in the mirror and resisted the urge to giggle like a teenage boy. Yeah, after all those years of Dorito’s, 7-11 Big Bites, and Mountain Dew, he finally had muscle tone.
He still didn’t quite have a six-pack in the belly, but hey, it was flat as hell and hard to boot. It was when you got below his stomach that the problems began.
Evan Whie had a huge dick.