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    Slick
    Slick
    Slick
    Ebook34 pages23 minutes

    Slick

    By N.L. Allen

    ()

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    About this ebook

    He seemed like the perfect guy...

    Slick is what her friend called him. Janice didn't even know his real name. She just knew how he made her feel, the unquestionable attraction between them. How wet he made her with the slightest touch.

    She never expected the erotic horrors which awaited her once the man of her dreams revealed his true nature...or how wet he could make her!

    This 6,000 word story contains explicit sexual scenes and descriptions of perverse tentacle sex, and as such is intended for those aged 18+ only.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherN.L. Allen
    Release dateJul 4, 2014
    ISBN9781501479717
    Slick
    Author

    N.L. Allen

    Erotic e-book writer, living in the heart of the UK with her willing partner and even more willing collection of sex toys.

    Read more from N.L. Allen

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      Book preview

      Slick - N.L. Allen

      Slick

      by N.L. Allen

      ––––––––

      © 2014 N.L. Allen

      The following work of fiction is intended for adult audiences only.

      Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and all characters are aged 18 or above.

      Please do not reproduce illegally. This story is the property of N.L. Allen.

      —-o0o—-

      Table of Contents

      Copyright Page

      Slick

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Epilogue

      Further Reading: Cocktopus

      Also By N.L. Allen

      Slick

      N.L. Allen

      ––––––––

      He seemed like the perfect guy, so naturally, I snorted coffee up my nose when he approached our table. I shot a look at Danielle to make sure she kept her mouth shut. I knew exactly what the words behind her pursed smile would be. Classic Janice.

      You seem to have made a mess, he said, in an accent I couldn't place. Not that it mattered. It was deeply pitched, the kind of voice that spoke directly to my crotch.

      Anyway, I was trying to wipe macchiato from my face when he leaned in, plucked a napkin from under Danielle's second lunchtime martini and dabbed the paper against my thigh. I'd barely gotten any coffee on me, but he was making sure – very sure – that there was no liquid on me. He pressed the soft paper hard against my leg, gave it a few quick rubs in an exacting circle, then screwed up the napkin. He tossed it away like he was performing a magic trick, showing me his empty hand.

      There, he said, All better.

      I didn't know if it was a question or a statement, so I just hid behind my sleeve for a moment, my brain in neutral, staring at Danielle for assistance. I'd gone stupid. No grasp of the English language. Just one primal urge, to get this guy to put his hand back on my thigh and keep rubbing.

      Moving my hand, I said Coffee,

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