Window For Two

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From author Ashlee F. Astinns, Window For Two is the third episode in the Confessions of a Man Hunter series of fictional memoirs that recounts the incredible story of Katlyn Lansford’s self-exploration into the nature of her sexuality, the dysfunction of modern day relationships and the extraordinary capacity for love and forgiveness embedded within the human heart. Not a traditional HEA, but the uplifting hope of new beginnings. 40,000 words.

Buy Window For Two to continue Katlyn's journey today!

(An excerpt)

My entire body constricted around Grant, squeezing him harder and harder with each shaking, quivering pulse of my spasming body.

“Jesus H,” I croaked, twisting my cheeks upon Grant’s chest as they kept coming, and coming, and coming.

What literally felt like minutes later, the last of my convulsions rippled across me, leaving me flaccid and docile and grinning like a Cheshire cat in its pleasant little tingles of aftershock.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” Grant chuckled, twisting over and lying beside me.

I held up a finger, my eyes sealed tight behind my lids, as I attempted to form a coherent thought. “I might…I might.”

I’m not sure what to chalk it up to; the three-month hiatus? McDonalds? The phase of the moon? All the above? Whatever that magic combination was, I needed to capture it somehow—or, at least write it down. (Uff-da.)

My eyes opened, feeling an eager finger tapping upon my shoulder.

“Huh?"

“Your turn,” Grant said, gesturing his eyes towards his nether regions.

“Just flip me over and have your way with me,” I sighed. “I’m spent.”

“That works for me,” he cackled.

Five minutes, and an abdomen full of little Lansford swimmers later, Grant plopped down beside me. My face was still buried in my pillow, my rear pitched up in the air.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” I asked in a muffled voice.

“It was better than my hand, I guess.”

Besides my beating heart, I hadn't twitched a muscle during Grant’s backside attack. As much as I wanted to reciprocate, to flex and bend and jerk with his movements, I simply couldn’t, having been tapped dry of every ounce of energy by my first non-self-administered orgasm in a quarter year.

Yep, I had basically been a human dumping receptacle.

Oh well, he didn’t seem to be complaining.

Much.

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