Hex and the Single Girl Read Online Free PDF

man in at least eight months. And all she
    remembered of that night was the guy’s bare ass as he stumbled into the hallway, his clothes a bundle under his arm.
    Hoff knelt in front of Emma, who was still on her back on the couch. He put his hand on her belly. She cringed.
    Hoff said, “Relax.”
    “Sorry,” she said.
    “Don’t apologize.”
    “Sorry for apologizing.” Emma took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down.
    “You’re all stiff,” he said.
    “As are you,” she replied. His hard-on stretched the purple polka dot shorts before forcing itself through the gap, jerking and twitching like a puppet on a string.
    Now or never, she said to herself. Emma patted the couch and Hoff sat. She took his place, kneeling on the floor in front of him. She opened her mouth and closed her eyes. Emma began moving her head slowly, her hands resting on his legs.
    Emma had to be doing something right. Hoff moaned and put his hands in her hair. He was throbbing, puffing bigger in her mouth with each movement. William Dearborn, from what she could tell, had a bigger dick than Hoff. During their kiss, he’d pressed himself, rocked himself, against her hips. Emma imagined William now, on her couch, naked, legs spread, cock big and red as a fire hydrant, jerking himself off with one hand while the other hand rested on his stomach like a wounded bird.
    Hoff made a strangled, caged sound. Then he went limp as a shoestring in her mouth.
    Emma released him and thought, “Here we go again.”
    Hoff sprang to his feet, tucked himself back into his boxers, and reeled away from her as if he’d discovered a pair of horns under her hair. He stammered, “I…I…I’ve got to go.”
    He turned his back to her and searched crazily for his clothes. His face was bright red. When he put one leg in his pants, he tripped forward and fell on the floor. Rolling onto his back like a beetle, he tried to put his other foot in, the empty pant leg flapping above him.
    Emma slipped on her pajama top and said, “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what just happened.” She’d said the same thing to over a dozen men in the past. None had given her satisfaction.
    Hoff got his khakis on and was buttoning his shirt. He said, “This has nothing to do with you.”
    “My sex life has nothing to do with me?” she asked. “I’m repellant. I disgust you.”
    “No, you’re gorgeous. Your body is fantasy material. It’s not you. Something’s wrong with me. I need to think about it alone. It’s private. I can’t talk about it.” When he said the last part, his voice caught like he might start crying.
    Most of the men cried. Some wept. Some cursed, groaned in psychic pain, squeaked with fear. “I’m not anorgasmic,”
    she confessed. “I only said that so we wouldn’t end up exactly where we are now.”
    “I was on the verge of a massive orgasm, and then…’’ Hoff looked terrified.
    “Please sit down,” said Emma, managing to lower him to the couch.
    He moved slowly, as if in shock. He said, “It’s not you, I swear it. You are amazing. What you were doing, I was in ecstasy. I was impressing myself with how hard I was, how big, and…then…”
    “Go ahead,” she urged.
    “At a very critical moment, I thought of something…it was horrible.”
    “What was it?”
    “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes.
    “You’ll feel better if you just tell me,” she said softly.
    “It was William Dearborn,” he blurted, voice jagged. “I saw William Dearborn, completely naked. He was…I can’t say it. He was performing a sex act.”
    Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Was it possible? Had she sent an image by accident, without flicking the mental switch to transfer mode?
    Hoff said, “I’ve always admired William Dearborn. I thought it was based on respect and envy. But now I see that I haven’t wanted to be William Dearborn. I’ve wanted to be with him.”
    Emma head spun with