Double Dog Dare You

  Lacey Black

  Double Dog Dare You

  Copyright © 2020 Lacey Black

  Cover Design by Melissa Gill Designs

  Editing by Kara Hildebrand

  Proofreading by Joanne Thompson & Karen Hrdlicka

  Format by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved.

  Index

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Also by Lacey Black

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Royce

  Unknown: It was horrible. H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E!

  I stare at my phone, at the mystery number I just received a text message from. It’s not completely rare to receive them at nine at night, but it is a little odd to get one from a number not programmed into my phone.

  Before I can reply, another message pops up.

  Unknown: Why do men feel the need to talk about their penis sizes on a date? On a FIRST date nonetheless.

  Color me intrigued, as I glance down at my own naked crotch, a smirk spreading across my face.

  Me: Because it’s a favorite amongst all appendages?

  Thanks to a freaked out woman at work, I had to shower the moment I got home to wash the vomit off my leg. I toss my wet towel into my hamper and grab a pair of shorts. The entire time, watching for a reply from whoever is on the other end of this chat. I’m already smiling when my device lights up.

  Unknown: It’s only a favorite with them. No woman has ever been excited to get a dick pic, Sabrina. None. Ever.

  I snort a laugh, my fingers already flying across the screen.

  Me: I think you’ve been receiving the wrong pics of dicks then.

  I fire it off, a burst of pride sweeping through my body as I preen like a proud papa bear. My dick is glorious, if I do say so myself. Any woman who gets a picture should be honored to receive it. A solid nine inches, thick and straight. A unicorn amongst guys, if you will. Many a lady friend has complimented me repeatedly about how impressive my cock is. You know, screaming my name over and over again.

  There’s no greater compliment than multiple orgasms and hollering the Lord’s name.

  Unknown: Not true. The dicks worth photographing are all taken or attached to a cocky manwhore, who has every intention of shoving his dick in every vajayjay this side of the Mississippi.

  Again, I snort, because she’s not wrong. Guys like me aren’t looking to settle down, at least not yet. We’re having too much fun playing the field, or as my mystery texter said, shoving our dicks into available vajayjays. And let’s be real here. Life is about having fun, living it to its fullest. Why muddy the water with commitment and monogamy?

  Take my brother, Rueben, for example. The asshole went to a class reunion last fall as single as you can get, met up with an old friend, and is now engaged to be married. Why? He’s essentially cutting off his own balls and handing them to one woman to carry in her purse for the rest of his life.

  I shiver at the thought.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like Cricket. A lot, actually. She’s funny and smart and loves to give my brother hell. That alone is a key selling point in her favor. But the one woman thing for the rest of your life? Yeah, not for me.

  Me: Variety is the spice of life… *inserts smiling devil emoji*

  Unknown: Who are you and what have you done with my BFF?

  I almost tell her who I am and that I haven’t done anything to her friend—yet—but I keep it to myself. This is too much fun. Before I can respond, she adds:

  Unknown: Anyway, I’m calling it a night. I need to drown my sorrows in tequila and wake up in the morning, pretending this night never happened. Here’s to not remembering this date with Gill.

  Gill? Well, no wonder the date sucked with a name like Gill. I can almost guarantee that guy measures in at just under five inches but boasts about a solid sixer. He’s probably a stockbroker or insurance agent to boot.

  I focus in on her reference to tequila. The last time I did shooters of it, they were out of the belly button of a petite redhead named Candy, who I met at a tourist bar on Parkway. I live and work in Gatlinburg, in the heart of tourism USA. While I prefer the small dive bars on the nights I’m looking to have a few drinks and be alone, it’s the busy bars and restaurants in downtown that I frequent when I don’t want to be alone. Bachelorette parties, girls’ trips, and divorce celebrations all have one thing in common: single ladies looking for a little no-strings fun between the sheets. Or in the shower. Hell, even against the wall in the VIP bathroom at the club.

  That’s where I come in.

  Me and my nine inches of earth-shattering fun.

  Unknown: Talk to you in the morning, Rina.

  I’m nothing but smiles as I send my reply.

  Me: Night, sweetness. Looking forward to it.

  I toss my phone on my bed, suddenly wishing it would light up again with another message. That’s not a feeling I’m used to. Desire, sure. Excitement, definitely. But this feels more like…longing. A desire and excitement all wrapped up together, and not in a sexual way. In an ‘I want to talk to her some more’ way, which is absolute fucking madness, considering I don’t even know who she is.

  Part of me wants to get dressed and head to town, find a new willing friend to get lost in for an hour or two. But another part, the chunk that’s outweighing the power of my cock, tells me to throw on my running shoes and go pound the pavement for a bit. That’s the part that overrules the sex-fueled piece of my brain and has me reaching for my favorite runners and slipping on a T-shirt.

  I do a few stretches in my front yard and get ready to go. I start down the hill where my small cabin is situated and make my way to the road. Most of these roadways are more of a single lane until you get down to the base of the mountain. That’s one of the things that attracted me to Gatlinburg when my mom and brother relocated here: the scenery. It’s like being secluded away from the action, even though houses are somewhat close together.

  My cabin sits on the side of the Great Smoky Mountains, facing downtown Gatlinburg. I love the lights and the sounds that float my way without actually being in the city. My space is a single bedroom, loft-style home with the biggest shower and Jacuzzi tub known to man. In fact, besides the view, it was the selling point that tipped the scale. Do you know how many women will fit in that shower?

  The answer is five.

  Comfortably.

  Plus me.

  No, I didn’t screw them all in the shower. This isn’t a cheesy porno. But I did enjoy the company of one particular lady later that night,
after her friends partied in my hot tub, showered, and left.

  Did I mention they were all in their suits when they showered together?

  See, not a cheesy porno.

  My pace picks up as I reach the bottom of the mountain and start to make my way through the side streets. Running in Gatlinburg is a great workout. There’s not a single road that’s flat or straight for any reasonable length of pavement, and some of the inclines are fucking brutal. Like the one that’ll take me home. Going back up the mountain, especially at the end of your run, is never an easy feat.

  I glance at my watch and notice I’m already three miles in and barely breathing hard. After my time in the Army, physical fitness and endurance was such an engrained part of my day, I kept the routine going. Running, some light weight training, and kayaking are my favorite ways to keep in shape, and I do all three as much as possible.

  As I make my way down the road through a small grouping of houses, a shadow sweeping across a front porch catches my attention. When I’m right in front of the house, a loud thud sounds, followed quickly by, “Shit.” The voice is soft and feminine, yet laced with authority. No-nonsense, of sorts.

  I find myself slowing my pace and stopping completely when I reach the short sidewalk that takes me to the front porch. “Is everything all right?” I ask, spying the shadow crouched over.

  She quickly stands up and looks my way. The light is behind her making it difficult to see her features, but I can tell she’s a tad on the short side with curves for days. “Hello?” she whispers, taking a step to the edge of the porch.

  The sound of her voice makes my cock start to thicken in my shorts.

  That’s never happened before. Never have I gotten an erection from a voice alone. Usually it’s what the voice is saying that has me firing on all cylinders and raring to go.

  “Uhh, sorry, I was just passing by and heard a noise. Just checking you’re okay,” I answer, making sure I stay at the edge of the street. The last thing I want is a jealous boyfriend to come out with a shotgun and a pissed-off attitude.

  Unfortunately, that’s happened before.

  “Oh,” she replies with a slight chuckle. The sound is like Viagra. “I dropped my drink.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Ahh, well, that’s cause for the use of profanity,” I justify.

  “Yeah, especially because it was the last of my tequila.”

  The mention of the hard liquor reminds me instantly of my mystery texter. “Well, shit. Your day just got a whole lot worse,” I tease.

  “No kidding,” she replies with a deep sigh. “I guess that means I’m done drinking for the night.”

  “Or you could head down the street to the twenty-four seven liquor store and restock,” I suggest, a smile on my face, even though she can’t see it in the darkness of night.

  “I could, but I’ve already taken off my shoes,” the woman replies, lifting her leg up knee-level and wiggling her toes. Even though I can’t see detail, I’m suddenly wondering what color those toes are painted, if they’re ticklish, and what exactly they’d look like hitched over my shoulder.

  “And taking off your shoes is equivalent to taking off your bra at the end of the workday, am I right?”

  She barks out a laugh, the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, and makes me smile even wider. “I guess that’s true.”

  I’d love to ask about said bra, find out whether or not that’s already off too, but I figure that’s probably pushing it. I don’t know this woman, nor anything about her. Could have a husband inside or at the very least, a boyfriend. A woman with those kinda curves and a laugh that can erect a cock faster than the opening BJ scene in a skin flick, definitely isn’t single.

  Damn.

  “Well, I should probably let you figure out what you’re going to do without the rest of your tequila,” I say, lifting my hand in a departing wave.

  “Yeah, probably off to bed in a state of sad despair,” she replies with a giggle.

  My cock jumps at the sound, and I almost groan.

  Then she steps forward, the outdoor security light illuminating the woman for the first time. Blonde hair the color of sunshine and the most beautiful set of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Even from about twenty feet away and the darkness around us, I can see the sapphire hue blazing brightly. She has high cheekbones and the sexiest pair of lips I’ve ever seen.

  And I’ve seen my share of lips.

  “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she replies, her smile captivating.

  “Well, I didn’t do anything,” I tell her, the whole time wondering if she can hear the loud pounding of my heart in my chest. “Maybe another time I’ll save the tequila,” I add with my own grin.

  Her smile remains on her lips as her fingers wrap around the porch post. All sorts of dirty images parade through my mind like a movie, most prominently, my cock playing the role of the lucky post. “Good night,” she whispers, her sweet voice like a cool breeze that washes over my fevered skin.

  “Night,” I reply, throwing her a second wave before taking off again. It’s uncomfortable running with a hard-on, but I ignore it. It’s not like I can do anything about the state of my hardness right now anyway.

  I reach the end of the road and head to the right. It’ll loop back around and spit me out on the main roadway. From there, I’ll work my way back up the mountain and toward home. To my little slice of solitude and peace.

  Just as I reach the base of the mountain, my watch alerts me to a text message. It’s my brother, of course, who’s a night owl. He has some cyber security job for the government that he can’t talk a lot about, and I find I talk more to him late at night than any other time of day.

  Rueben: Hot date tonight?

  I push through my last half mile uphill, relieved when I reach the point to start my cooldown. Hands on my head and sucking in greedy gulps of air, I walk the rest of the way to my house and plop down on the front yard. I stretch my legs and back, relishing in the pull of the well-used muscles. My mind returns to a certain blonde with blue eyes and the muscle I’d like to use on her…

  Finally, when I’m good and stretched, I unlock the door and grab my phone to fire off a reply to my little brother.

  Me: Why, jealous since you’ve locked yourself in on one pussy for the rest of your life?

  The bubbles appear immediately. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head out to the back deck. As soon as I prop my feet up on a chair, his message appears.

  Rueben: Why would I be jealous of you? When you find the right woman, none of that bullshit matters anymore.

  Me: I call bullshit. I mean if you like BJs and the girl you’re marrying thinks it’s gross, how can you say that’s the best option? Women are like cars. You have to test drive. Lots of test drives, my friend.

  Rueben: There’s no way we’re related. You’re a sick individual.

  I snort and finish off my bottle of water.

  Me: Think whatever you want, but my dick isn’t anywhere near hibernation like yours.

  Rueben: Who said anything about hibernation? We just had sex twice tonight. Once in the shower and then out on the back deck.

  I whistle at his reply, a wide smile on my face.

  Me: Twice in one night? I taught you well, young grasshopper.

  Rueben: You didn’t teach me jack shit except what our neighbor Mrs. Hanson sounds like when she’s coming.

  I bark out a laugh that echoes up the mountain and through the trees. Ah yes, Mrs. Hanson. A young newlywed that might have taken a few rides on my cock at the tail end of my senior year in high school. She was twenty-four, maybe? And her husband worked long hours.

  Me: She got lonely.

  Rueben: I still have no clue how her husband didn’t find out.

  Me: You and me both…

  I don’t have an excuse for sleeping with my older and very married neighbor except I was young and dumb. She was flirty and had a pool. One day after school, I went over to pick up something for my mom and
found her lounging by the pool in a teeny bikini. What’s a young, horny eighteen-year-old to do when he has sex on his brain twenty-four seven and an opportunity presents itself on a silver platter?

  Yeah, not my proudest moment, but at the time, I thought I was king of the world.

  Now, if I get the hint that a woman is married or in a relationship, I’m out of there. The last thing I want is the drama that accompanies that. You want to cheat? Fine. Enjoy. But don’t use me to do it.

  Rueben: Anyway, I’m off to bed. Lunch later in the week?

  Me: Sounds good. You’re buying.

  Rueben: Wouldn’t expect any less. *eye roll gif*

  Me: Later

  I toss my phone onto the table and lean back in the chair, gazing up at the stars. There’s nothing better than Tennessee nights in the mountains. They sure beat the hell out of southern Illinois where I grew up.

  My phone pings with a text, and I wonder if it’s my mystery woman. I should definitely tell her she has the wrong number, but I’m having a little innocent fun. If she texts me tomorrow, I’ll let her know I’m not Sabrina. When I glance at my phone, I see a work-related message from one of my employees.

  Damn, not her.

  In the meantime, I guess I’ll just sit here and think about the woman down the mountain with striking blue eyes and blonde hair that looks soft enough to tangle my fingers in it.

  Chapter Two

  Quinn

  It’s a gorgeous night.

  And that was one gorgeous man.

  His features were shadowed by the light, but I could still see enough to make my heart flutter in my chest. Dark hair, firm, stubbled jaw, and a smile that did a number on my trusty cotton panties in a shockingly short amount of time. I don’t even know who he was, but he did more to my libido than the last three dates I’ve had…combined.

  I slip back inside my house and set my empty glass on the counter. I can’t believe I actually spilled the only alcohol I have in my possession. I’m not a drinker really, and am surprised I even found it in the back of the cabinet, covered in a thin layer of dust. Sabrina brought it over a few years ago after I broke up with Malcolm. Ice cream and margaritas do a broken heart good.