Katy Evans | New York Times Bestselling Author

Ms. Manwhore

Manwhore, Book 2.5

Katy Evans returns with a sexy novella, the final installment of the unforgettable love story that began in Manwhore.

What lies ahead for Chicago’s most envied couple, Malcolm Saint and Rachel Livingston?

Sparks flew between them in Manwhore. Separated by deception, they felt the intensity and heat of their attraction turn up in Manwhore +1.

Will Chicago’s wealthiest and most notorious player finally settle down, or will one woman never be enough? Find out in Ms. Manwhore, the ultimate conclusion to their electric, breathtaking story.

Other Books in the Manwhore series

That evening, I’m finally at his place. Malcolm’s in a phone call when I arrive, and he trails off when I walk in. I had showered and changed and I am wearing a tight track suit and a pony tail. He’s in tan slacks and a black button shirt, and both of these clothing articles fuck his body every which way possible.

I melt first. Then I wave at him hello, walk up to kiss his jaw, and feel him give my ass a little possessive squeeze, his eyes meeting mine—hot and approving and welcoming.

I mouth: I’m going to go and invade your male space.

And as he murmurs something in German into the headset, he lifts his thumb and rubs it against the corner of my lips, his eyes silently saying, It’s all yours to invade.

God.

He makes my knees go weak, this fiancé I’ve gotten myself.

I go start making myself some room in Saint’s closet and en suite bath.

I hang all my clothes to the left side of the closet and put my sweaters, jeans, and shoes on one of the shelves next to rows and rows of identical designer items.

I’m finding space for my lipsticks and stuff in his bathroom when he stalks in, still speaking into the headset. A little cold, a little demanding. Kicking off his shoes, he yanks his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks and I can’t stop looking at him.

I can never seem to screw my head on right when he’s near.

Today, especially, when I think of how awful it would be to not have sex with him.

Torture.

Purgatory.

Absolute torment.

No, no, no, no abstinence.

My Sin is physical and hot for me, and I’m always a wet mess for him.

It would be hell for us. Hell.

I take off my shoes, kick them aside. He looks down at the sound of them falling, and then, frowns a little as he stares at my legs hugged by my tracksuit. He looks at my hand, my ring, smiling to himself, and his eyes slide up to meet mine.

And he looks so possessive right now.

Right now…that I moved in.

My stomach gives a squeeze and my hormones just won’t stay under control.

Not touching him?

By choice?

Alas, it’s only so that you can have the most perfect wedding night, Livingston, I tell myself.

And the thought of our wedding night makes me even hotter.

He unbuttons his shirt. Seeing him bare chested causes a whirlwind in my body, unstoppable. Tanned pecs, tight brown nipples, flexing biceps, all promising to wreck me again. I want to look away, survival instinct, my body too wired, too tense, but I am thirstily drinking him up, the way his shoulders stretch as he removes his shirt, how his dark hair gleams under the lights, the small smile on his lips that reaches all the way to his eyes when he finally cuts the call and pulls off his headset, setting it aside.

“My…invasion was a success. As you can see. It’s all yin and yang now,” I say, my voice thick with lust.

Still bare chested, he opens a drawer on the side I just overtook and peers inside. “Pink.”

“Yes.”

I see him check out the second drawer on the same side. Also mine. While he scans all of my neatly organized cosmetics, clips, toothbrush and comb, I tug the hairband that has been holding my hair back and send it tumbling down my shoulders.

I tap the outside of a drawer on the opposite side of the sink. “This side is yours. And that side is mine.” I signal to my side, with the pink stuff, and grin.

His green eyes look liquid like seas as he slowly winds an arm around me, and pulls me to his chest. “You’re mine.”

My breath catches happily, and our eyes meet. We both look so satisfied right now, it’s like we’re smiling with our eyes.

And suddenly I burn with need.

I want those hot eyes.

I want him to look at me with those hot eyes on our honeymoon. Eyes that burn me like they do now. That unapologetically say that they want me, and only me, for eternity. I take his hand and lead us into the bedroom, and then I let go and just stand there, looking up at him.

He’s unzipping my tracksuit jacket.

“Malcolm…” I begin, curling my fingers around his to stop him. And suddenly I know I’m going to do this. One wedding night in all our lives. It’s worth it. It’s so worth it. He deserves a perfect bride, and a wedding night that he will never forget. “I was thinking about possibly…abstaining from sex until the wedding.”

I step back a little, fighting my own hormones and need for this man.

He looks at me intently. His smile starts to disappear as he lifts one dark eyebrow. Then two. “You’re not kidding.”

I slowly shake my head. “Unfortunately no.” I gaze into his eyes and already miss him. “This would make the wedding night so perfect. Almost like the first time. I mean it’s just a week and we’ll be busy anyway.”

“Are you asking me? Or telling me?”

“If I ask you, you’ll say no.”

“So you’re telling me.” The eyes looking at me through those sable lashes are already brimming in frustration. They’re silently demanding that I say no.

But I can’t. I only nod.

He laughs and scrapes his hand down his face.

“Saint…come on.”

“Do I get you one last time? Before the wedding?” His hungry tree-bark voice is back full force. “Do I?”

I walk toward the window to gather my strength, then turn. “I need to do this cold turkey or I couldn’t do this at all.”

With long, purposeful strides, he comes over and lifts me in his arms. “I strongly disagree.” A warning cloud settles over his features.

“Come on. Please.”

He shakes his head and sets a soft kiss on my lips. “Not for a thousand pleases.”

“Four thousand?”

He sets me down on my feet, but keeps me so close to him that he leaves no room between us at all, frowning as he looks down at me. “I get you tonight. All night.”

“Malcolm. You’re a shark in negotiations. You’ll say another night tomorrow and so on.”

“I never change the deal,” he says calmly. “This is irrelevant to our wedding night.”

“But it’s not.”

He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and angles my face upward, his voice uncompromising yet oddly gentle. “I get you tonight, Rachel. All night. No sleep. Nothing but you naked under my sheets.”

My sex is so tightly clenched, my knees are weak. “Okay.”

He scoops me up and tosses me on the bed, falling on top of me. “Saint!” I cry, laughing in protest, but he smothers my mouth with his hot one and I curl my limbs around him, needing him to breathe.

“Firestone” by Kygo
Want to Want Me” by Jason Derulo
Nothing Really Matters” by Mr. Probz
Gold Dust” by Galantis
Paradise” by Tove Lo
All We Need” by Odesza
Addicted” by Saving Abel
Kiss You Slow” by Andy Grammer
Peace” by O.A.R.

Order Print

Pocket Star
October 5, 2015
ISBN-13: 9781517356422
ISBN-10: 1517356423
Amazon

Order Audio

Simon & Schuster Audio
Narrated by: Grace Grant
Length: 3 hrs and 27 mins
Audible
iTunes

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