Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel)

by K. M. Golland

  Cover Design by: Buying Ham

  Copyright 2016

  Published by KM Golland

  ISBN: 9780987497772

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders

  If I pretend it never happened,

  I hope that one day I’ll truly believe it didn’t.

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  COMMITMENT PROLOGUE

  Diary Note:

  I never considered myself to be one who played with fire.

  Fire burns. Skin burns. And I like my skin. I’m comfortable in it for the most part, despite the scars and flaws it bares. It’s mine to wear and be proud of. It is unique and tells my life’s story. Skin can be cut, and when it’s cut, we bleed. And when we bleed, it’s our body’s way of crying a loss. Sometimes that loss is substantial. Sometimes it’s not. Regardless, the crimson we shed is a reminder that we are not invincible and that we all have something to lose, and that if we play with fire, we will eventually burn and bleed.

  I played with fire.

  I burned.

  I bled.

  I lost.

  And would I do it again? Hell no.

  One year earlier

  From the moment we said hello,

  goodbye was inevitable.

  Humid air whipped my face as I walked through the arrival gate at Gold Coast Airport. Its wild caress made me smile and take in a deep breath, slowly letting it back out again and savouring the moment. Ah … beautiful Queensland, oh how I love thee.

  The sun, surf and sand beckoned, as did my best friend, Cori. She and her new man, Josh, were supposed to be waiting for me at baggage claim, and I couldn’t wait to see her. We’d been separated for several weeks due to her touring the country for work. It was a good job for her. Not so much for me. She needed to get out more and be among people. I just needed my roommate back. Home was lonely without her.

  Wheeling my carry-on luggage behind me, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone and switched it from airplane mode. It buzzed almost instantly, alerting me of an incoming message.

  Mr Happy: My hand is on my cock.

  Tell me what to do, love.

  His words had my jaw dropping open, wide—this wasn’t unusual—so I smiled and shook my head. Mr Happy was always happy. Happy and horny. And I adored him for it.

  Giggling, I stopped walking and quickly shot him back a text.

  Em: Do you have lube?

  As per usual, I didn’t have to wait long for a response.

  Mr Happy: Of course.

  Em: Squeeze some into your hand.

  Mr Happy: Then what?

  I playfully rolled my eyes. Clap like a fucking retarded seal, that’s what. Inwardly laughing, I quickly stepped out of the passenger traffic and stationed my carry-on luggage beside me before messaging him back.

  Em: Glide your hand along your hard length.

  Nice and slow.

  Mr Happy: Doin’ it, love. Feels good.

  But what do I do with my other hand?

  I bit my thumbnail, a sinister grin together with a flush of heat waving across my face. This was the part I loved, the part where I pushed his boundaries—the part where I gained control.

  Em: Hmm … that’s where the fun begins.

  Mr Happy: Yeah?

  Em: Yeah.

  Mr Happy: How so?

  Em: Well …

  I want you to coat the middle finger of your other hand with lube.

  Then I want you to slowly circle your tight, puckered arsehole with it.

  I pressed send and bit my lip, knowing his response would be er … let’s say … colourful.

  Mr Happy: Fuck no!

  And there it is! In all honesty, his answer didn’t surprise me, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

  Em: Do it. You owe me.

  Silence.

  I waited.

  “Come on,” I mumbled quietly, my foot tapping an anxious tune in anticipation. You can do it, H. I know you want to.

  Mr Happy: Switching to voice-to-text.

  Give me a sec.

  I practically squealed and danced a jig. Good boy.

  Mr Happy: I’m fucking circling.

  You gonna continue or what?

  Biting my bottom lip again, I smiled as heat burned my cheeks.

  Em: Mm … nice and slow.

  Now, gently press that teasing finger into your arse.

  But don’t you dare stop caressing your cock with your other hand.

  My nipples tingled and hardened at the thought of him on the edge of a chair, his strong muscular thighs spread apart, his hard glossy cock slicked within his hand … his finger slowly inching its way inside his sexy arse. Fuck! I licked my lips and swallowed hard.

  Em: That’s it, babe. Keep going.

  Just keep pumping and pushing,

  pumping and pushing.

  I want you to think of how wet my panties are right now.

  Yeah, they’re fucking soaked.

  I shifted on the spot, tightening my pelvic-floor muscles. Being in this situation wasn’t new to me; he always made me wet and excited. He was one of the few guys who could. There was just something about him that set my body alight. Something foreign. Something taboo.

  Leaning up against the wall, I watched the rush of people pass by as I crossed one leg over the other before uncrossing and then recrossing them once more, the indecisive adjustment easing my aching clit—but only a little. Damn it!

  I shook my head mildly, placed my phone on top of my hand luggage, and reached for my bottle of water, which sat in my handbag. The cool liquid quenched my parched mouth and doused my fiery need, allowing me to literally cool down before picking up my phone again and typing my final message.

  Em: Okay. I want you to come now.

  I want you to fucking pump your cock fast and hard.

  I want you to slip another finger inside your arse,

  and I want you to growl my name.

  That’s right, babe, coat your hand in cum

  and taint your lips with me as you do it.

  I’m so bad. So, so bad. But I loved it. I was a lewd enchantress, a horny temptress, and when all was said and done, I was kinda evil. But damn, did I love it
. I loved the rush of adrenaline, the taboo of written words, and the knowledge that I’d just been the cause of him experiencing the height of pleasure. That right there was power—the very best kind.

  Taking another swig of water, I waited eagerly for his response, which didn’t take too long.

  Mr Happy: Thanks, love.

  I needed that.

  I need you.

  I sighed sadly and stared at my phone, swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat. A lump that always presented itself when he said things like that to me. Don’t say that, H. Why do you always say that?

  I had no choice. He knew this. So I typed what I always did.

  Em: You can’t have me.

  I’m not his.

  He’s not mine.

  Yet we own each other.

  I felt awful, something I always felt when H steered our conversations down that particular path. I knew he wanted more. I just couldn’t be anything else to him than what I already was.

  We owned each other … to an extent. We were like magnets, and I didn’t know when it had happened … when I first crossed the line. But I had, and I couldn’t retract it. And to be honest, I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t label what we shared a mistake, because it felt right just as much as it felt wrong.

  Sliding my phone into my pocket, I grabbed my hand luggage and continued on to baggage claim. I had to temporarily erase him from my head, something I should be quite accomplished at doing by now, yet I wasn’t. He was always there, always flittering across the recesses of my mind. Always taunting me because I didn’t know what to do with him.

  Em, snap out of it and keep walking.

  I obeyed my inner self and increased my pace. In mere minutes I’d see Cori. She didn’t know about H. No one did. He was my well-kept secret, a part of me I wasn’t sure I could ever reveal.

  He was my little white lie.

  Well … a portion of it.

  Willing the thought of him to blow away with the swish of the automatic glass exit doors as they swung open, I stepped through and headed for carousel three, craning my neck to try and spot a familiar blonde head. I honestly couldn’t wait to see Cori and her new guy, Josh, because it was my duty as a BFF to assess whether or not he was worthy.

  He probably wasn’t.

  They never were.

  At least not to begin with.

  And anyway, from what Cori had relayed of their relationship thus far, my verdict was still out. Apparently he was a man-slut: an extremely sexy, dirty, aggravating man-slut, which was definitely not the type of guy Cori was normally attracted to. In fact, she generally despised men like him, hence my doubt and uncertainty—and my readiness to kick him in the balls if required.

  Lucky for him, I was exceptionally open-minded and never assumed or judged a person based on another’s opinion. That was just stupid. The opinions of others lacked authenticity and could never be exclusive.

  To be honest, Cori and Josh’s dynamic intrigued me, as it wasn’t everyday that your ‘hopeless romantic’ best friend toured with Australia’s leading male revue show as their official photographer, and then ended up sleeping with the star man-slut performer.

  Yeah … Josh was a stripper.

  A very sought-after stripper.

  How Cori landed this awesome job was actually a funny story. Well, not for her brother, Tom. He was in hospital, so it wasn’t funny for him. But for Cori, yep … it was funny stuff. You see, she didn’t normally photograph people, especially near-naked people. She was a scenic photographer. She took photos of things that didn’t breathe, let alone dance and dry-hump people. So when Tom—the original tour photographer—broke his hip in a motorbike accident, and because Cori was his business partner, she had no choice but to take his place on the tour.

  Poor Cori. Pfft. Please!

  Clearly, my sympathy for her was non-existent. I mean, give me a camera and I’d be more than happy to take photos of those men in their native habitat. I would endure the abs, biceps, thighs and bare arses. I would endure it in the name of professionalism.

  What am I saying? I’d endure it in the name of being a woman with a hungry vagina.

  Anyway, from what Cori had told me over the phone, she’d had one hell of a month on tour.

  And not in a good way.

  In a bad way.

  In an opposites attract kind of way.

  Apparently, her and Josh clashed … all the time. They fought … all the time. And they made up … all the time, which was where I came into the picture. Why? Because I could put Cori on the straight and narrow … all the time. I could sort out the jumbled mess she thought she was in when, more often than not, she wasn’t that messy to begin with. Cori only ever thought she was messy. And, just quietly, as a roommate, she was. I mean, how hard is it to put the fucking dishes in the dishwasher? It’s seriously not that hard.

  Dishes and messy roommate aside, Cori was a worrywart when it came to herself. And because the revue was having a five-day break, she’d summoned me to join her in order to restore balance and good juju in her life.

  I was her relationship whisperer. How ironic.

  Falling in step with a tall brunette on one side of me, and a real-life Barbie doll on the other, I admired Barbie’s fake boobs as we walked to the baggage carousel. They didn’t bounce like real boobs bounced, but that didn’t matter to me. I’d always wanted bigger boobs, because mine were less than adequate—a con of being a dancer from such a young age. Due to my current profession as a theatre performer, I was extremely fit and had next to no body fat, which also meant no boobs.

  Oh well, one day … maybe.

  The click of heels drew my attention from Barbie’s rack to the brunette’s legs, which were striding underneath an A-line pinstriped skirt. She looked great in her business attire. Powerful. Confident. Fierce. I looked scruffy in my get-up—denim shorts, white crochet top, and flip-flops. Not that I was complaining. What I was wearing was a nice change from my normal workout gear, not to mention I was decked out for the beach. Seriously, sun, sand and lifeguards, come at me!

  Feeling even more eager to hit the beautiful white sands of Surfers Paradise, I looked up and spotted Cori walking toward me. I smiled. God, I missed her. Home just wasn’t home when she was gone. She was a part of me, of my life, and had been for eleven years. We’d met in high school and then studied together at the Victorian College of the Arts. Plus, she always did the food shopping and paid the bills. And I hated doing the food shopping and paying the bills.

  Breathing in, I let out “Coriiiiii!” in a cappella.

  She ran.

  I ran.

  She hugged.

  I hugged back.

  Then we both jumped up and down and held hands like a couple of schoolgirls.

  “Oh my God, Em, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her arms squeezing me like a freakin’ boa constrictor. “It’s such a cock-forest on this tour. Too many men is never a good thing.”

  I laughed. “Glad I could come and plant my vagina in this forest you speak of.”

  “Oh, you have no idea how welcome your vagina is.” She pulled away and placed her hands on my shoulders, smiling brightly. “Come on. I want you to meet some people.”

  My eyes lit up. “Camera-smasher Josh?”

  Her eyes lit up, too. “Yes, and SurferBrad.”

  Linking arms, she directed me to a table where two guys stood up, one of them smoothing down his shoulder-length blond hair. Holy fucking hot guy who looks like Fabio, except super hot!

  “Brad, this is my best friend, Em. Em, this is Brad,” she said, gesturing to the sun-kissed sex god.

  I released my arm from hers with the speed of light and held my hand out to him. “Pleasure to meet you, Brad.” I smiled and faced my palm downward, wanting Sex God to place his luscious lips on the top of my hand. Actually, he could grab it and put it down his pants if he wanted to. I totally wouldn’t be opposed to that at all.

  Brad didn’t hesitate
and kissed my offered hand, searing me with devilish eyes in the process. “Pleasure is all mine. Can I get your suitcase for you?”

  My suitcase! “Oh shit! My other suitcase,” I screeched, taking off and running toward the carousel. My checked case had one of my prized possessions in it—my BOB. BOB couldn’t be left behind. No BOB could ever be left behind. Mind you, if Brad was single—and I hoped he was—BOB could probably take some time off.

  “So what’s in the case? Gold?” he asked, stopping beside me as I scanned the multitude of luggage slowly passing us by.

  I laughed. “Better than gold.”

  “Yeah? What’s better than gold? Chocolate?”

  I glanced out the corner of my eye at him, because what I was about to say was sure to elicit a surprised reaction. After all, it’s not the ‘norm’ to talk about sex toys with someone you just met … unless they worked at a sex-toy shop, then that would totally be the ‘norm’. “My vibrator, that’s what.”