City Life

By Priscilla Laster

Things get erotically interesting for Christine. She's a farm & country gal’ who decides to experience the light, glamour & hunks of the 'Big City Life'. Christine’s a college student who enjoys every minute of her new boy-toy (Derrick). There's something magical about dating a classmate or co-worker. Sexing her man (unapologetically) makes her city life everything she wanted it to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Priscilla Laster
• Release date: Jul 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310369612

Priscilla Laster

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Book preview

City Life

by: Priscilla Laster

Women’s Romance, Erotica, Male/Female, Romance, City, Life, Christine

Christine experiences the light, glamour and hunks of the city life. She’s a college student who is loving her intimate encounters with Derrick. Dodging the Professor's suspicions makes it even more devilish.

Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Chapter 1

A young woman with luxurious dirty-blonde hair and dark eye shadow flops down on a queen mattress between a pile of clothes on hangars. A box labeled 'Stuff that goes with other stuff' isn’t too far from her pampered feet. She fumbles behind her head for her purse, finally grabbed the strap and pulls her wallet out. She pulls a twenty (her second to last one) out. She lay patiently on the bed staring at the ceiling and hoping the air conditioning would take hold at some point and begin to cool the room when there’s a knock on her door. She forced herself to get up and navigated the maze of boxes and bags and cases that littered the floor. She checks through the peephole, unlocks the door and smiles at her Savior. He’s maybe 18, handsome in that pimply-faced, college freshman way and best of all, he had her pizza. He read off the ticket attached to the warmer bag.

Medium pizza and breadsticks and sauce?

He looks up, his eyes pops and then Christine realized what she must look like. She’s wearing a gray half shirt that said 'Property of'. The remaining half which indicated to which major league franchise she belonged was a distant memory. The length of the shirt did little to hide the bottom of her dark scarlet, satin bra and her flat stomach gleamed with sweat. Her jean shorts were just that also showing evidence of some rather daring scissors work sometime in the past and her lithe legs seemed to go on pretty much forever down to toes painted with Scarlet Pumpernickel. She mentally shrugged and held out the $20. He continued to stare at her legs until she coughed lightly and flashed the smile that (when coupled with her hazel eyes) make men throw their underwear at her. He could stand the smile for only a minute and looks down at the ticket again.

Ummm. It's $12.80.

She wiggles the twenty again and laughed.

Just give me $5 back and tell me if there's a place around here that sells grape soda. Crush if they have it.

He slips the two boxes and one plastic container filled with marinara sauce out of the warmer bag, handed it to her, took the money and fumbles for a $5 which he gave to her. As she turned back into her apartment and set the pizza down on a box, he watched her shorts ride the rest of the way up her tight buns.

Umm. Foster's is around the corner on Commonwealth. They've got a lot of stuff…beer, pop, snacks. I don't know if they have any grape soda though.

He stood there staring at her and then blinks his eyes.

Thanks for the tip.

Christine smiles and steps back into her apartment.

You're welcome. Night.

Christine closed the door and giggled. She grabbed the pizza, breadsticks and sauce, detoured once to the kitchen for a cold beer and kicks a pile of pillows together in front of the soon-to-be- bedroom TV which sat precariously atop one of her bulging suitcases. As she devoured the first piece, she flips on the TV thankful that her apartment building had its own cable setup. ESPN's game of the week was her beloved Yankees and the hated Red Sox. She rotated pizza, breadsticks, sauce and beer careful to give each its proper due as she watched the altogether too cute and Petite spin a masterful 3 hit shutout. With a yawn, she clicks off the TV, left the empty boxes to cure overnight on the floor and carefully removed a suit from one of her garment bags. It’s a