Rev Read online

  An Erotic Story

  Please note that this is a work of adult fiction and contains graphic descriptions of sexual scenarios intended for mature readership ages 18 and over.

  All persons depicted in sexual scenarios are over the age of 18 and no sexual activity occurs between blood relations.

  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, entities, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2015 Chloe Plume

  All Rights Reserved

  Chloe Plume, identified as author of this Work, hereby asserts her rights in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. You must not circulate this book in any format. This book may not be resold. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work and rights of this author.

  Book and Cover Design By Chloe Plume

  Want to hear about new releases and have access to exclusive fan freebies? Then sign up for my Mailing List here:

  http://eepurl.com/bo1ZQz

  Email:

  [email protected]

  My Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/chloe.plume.5

  Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorChloePlume

  Twitter:

  @Read_ChloePlume

  Synopsis

  Don’t expect the bad boy to stick around.

  Rev

  Fast cars. Fast Women.

  That’s all I care about, and luckily I have plenty of both.

  So why the hell am I so hung up on Winter Calloway?

  She’s uptight, snobby, and prissy. And she dresses straight out of a J. Crew catalogue. Worst of all, she’s engaged to another man.

  I should forget about her. But one night with her will never be enough.

  Underneath that cardigan, her smokin’ hot curves match her saucy attitude.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to make her all mine.

  Winter

  He’s the kind of a guy I always avoided.

  He’s reckless, arrogant, and out of control.

  Not to mention, I’m supposed to be getting married to the rich, stable man my mother always wanted for me.

  So why am I drawn to the bad boy and blowing off my responsibilities?

  Maybe it’s his cocky charm and chiseled body. His touch has me craving for more. He lives life a hundred miles an hour, and for the first time I’m excited to be alive.

  I can’t help that I’m about to throw caution to the wind.

  *** This is Book 1 of the Desert Gryffins Trilogy. Each full-length novel focuses on one couple’s love story with it’s own HEA and no cheating. But the larger story arc of the Gryffin Brothers runs through the trilogy.

  For a limited time, I’m including my previous novel Marine for FREE since the characters will make an appearance in this trilogy. ***

  Chapter One

  Winter

  “Oh, you should see the place James and I are closing on in Aspen.”

  “Well, that’s quite nice, but don’t you think Aspen is old news, what with all the renewed interest in rustic escapism? I mean, Lake Tahoe is such a new frontier, and the skiing is certainly approaching what you have in Vail, for example.”

  “And yet, Vail isn’t Aspen. The shopping, the boutiques, the vibrancy of the town…well, the skiing is one thing, but the experience is worth it—not to mention, you can avoid the Denver crowd in Aspen, since it’s just that perfect little bit out of reach for the masses.”

  “Well, what do you think, Winter?”

  The question was posed innocuously. But I knew my friends better. Samantha had just gotten a mortgage on a chalet in Lake Tahoe, and she was eager to defend her purchase from Charlotte’s incessant criticism.

  Honestly, I didn’t know the difference between one ski village and another. My mom married into the Calloway family a couple years ago, and I still hadn’t gotten used to it. We were in our mid-twenties—for Christ’s sake! Never in a million years did I think I’d be sitting around, having just passed my CPA Exam, fresh out of school and ready to just now start real life—and THIS is what I’d be talking about.

  But, then there’s Frank.

  I’d met him in college. He was four years my senior and was finishing the MBA program at my school while I was in my junior year. And of course he was from a great family and on the way to starting a great job at a private equity firm courtesy of family connections. Of course, I felt lucky to even catch his interest. My mother was thrilled when we started dating. And then we got engaged.

  So here I am.

  I’d just returned from one of the most staid, stuffy, and sedate bachelorette parties I’d ever imagined. Samantha had planned it and it was nothing like in the movies. We had martinis and only martinis. We sat tucked away in some private corner of the few clubs and bars we visited, just talking about job offers and housing prices.

  A couple cute guys sent us over a round of fruity, vibrant cocktails, but Charlotte sent them back before I got a chance to taste anything other than chilled vodka. When one of the guys walked over and asked if we’d like anything else, Charlotte sneered and shot back, “Well, what do you think we are? State college girls on spring break in Florida?” We laughed. I laughed. Call it peer pressure.

  So that was pretty much my bachelorette party. After a bland night out, we headed back to the executive suite with all the bridesmaids for an even blander “after-party.” The entire time, I couldn’t help but think there had to be some kind of mistake. What the hell was I getting myself into? This wasn’t me…

  “Well, Winter, what do you think?” Charlotte demanded a response, mirroring Samantha’s pushy tone.

  I hardly knew what to say, mindful that with these girls—more Frank’s acquaintances than my friends—every innocuous question was laden with judgment and critique. Not like what they thought mattered to me. But it mattered to Frank.

  “Well,” I started, hesitant at first. “You’re talking about skiing and all…I mean, none of us really skis, so that shouldn’t really matter, right?”

  Samantha looked devastated. “That’s not really the point, Winter,” she snapped.

  Charlotte looked equally vexed. “Yeah, Winter. Since when did that matter—you’re completely missing the point.”

  I felt embarrassed. I shouldn’t have, but I did. Ever since Frank and I started dating, I’d felt out of place in his circle. I found little in common with his acquaintances and friends. And it was my fault I slowly lost touch with the people I used to spend time with.

  Little by little my life consisted of studying for the CPA exam and accompanying him to social functions. That was about it. I put on one black dress after another, plastered a fake smile across my face and shook hands with every old established guy Frank was trying to impress, all the while pretending to be interested in everything they were saying.

  It got old pretty fast. But everyone around me suggested that I should feel like I’d won the lottery. I was told, give-or-take, ten times a day how lucky I was. Lucky that Frank chose me. Lucky to be on my way to the top, my fortunes hitched to a well-connected man from a great school. Lucky to be getting married “into a good family,” as my mom would say.

  I didn’t feel so lucky. I grew
more and more isolated every day. I was about to be married, surrounded by so-called friends, celebrating with the people who’d make up my new life—and yet, I’d never felt more lonely.

  “Don’t worry Winter,” Julia chimed in. “I’m sure you’ll learn all the important things once you move in with Frank.”

  Frank’s mother, Elsa Wilson, was very traditional. In an effort to appease her—and it seemed like Frank was always trying to appease her—he’d held off on living together until after the marriage. So, while studying for the CPA in my cramped apartment with a broken heater somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn, I’d once in a while visit him at his swanky place in Manhattan. Frank was finishing a two-year investment-banking program before transitioning into private equity. Basically, he had plenty of money even without his family.

  My mom wanted to help me out with my living situation, but she couldn’t do much of anything without my stepfather’s permission. And, he really didn’t like me. Not sure why.

  Maybe it had something to do with the way I reminded my mom about my father, Dylan. It pained her to think about the man who conned his way through everything in life, including their marriage. One day the gambling debts caught up with him, and he ran off with every bit of cash in the house, as well as every piece of jewelry he’d every bought my mom. He’d left me in a bad situation as well, and I was happy for my mom when she met my stepfather while I was away at college.

  Unfortunately, all my stepfather saw was the daughter of the piece-of-garbage man who’d hurt the woman he loved. There wasn’t much I could do to shake the indelible connection in his mind. When he thought of me, he thought of Dylan. So, I didn’t get much help from my rich stepfather, which was fine by me. And then of course, as my mom would often remind me I’d soon be “married and taken care of by Frank Wilson.”

  “Well, we can all agree you’re about to marry well,” Charlotte loudly declared, shocking me back into the present moment. She took a long sip of her martini and stood up to mix up another. “I’d say it’ll only take him three years to make partner at Catalyst Strategic Group. And the average partner took home an $8 million dollar bonus last year.”

  She poured vodka over the ice in the shaker and then dashed just the tiniest, almost insignificant bit of vermouth over the top. “I know this because I looked it up. It’s much more than James is making as VP at the bank.” Charlotte was very drunk. Smashed even.

  “Well, Winter can count her blessings, that’s for sure,” Samantha added. “Here’s to marrying well.” She raised her glass.

  Charlotte strained her chilled vodka into a clean glass from the stack of dozens she’d made the hotel bring up. “So I can drink like a lady,” she’d said when the receptionist asked why she needed so many for the four people in the suite. “A lady never refills a martini glass.”

  All the while, Samantha stared at her watch until finally standing up and heading towards her bedroom. “Well, it’s basically the morning in New York. I should probably give Roger a call.” She stopped suddenly and turned around to smile at me. “But really, congratulations Winter. God knows what Frank sees in you, but it’s the unexplainable mystery that makes love so special.”

  I didn’t even bother answering. I looked at my watch and then my engagement ring. It was late, and I should go to bed. But the swirl of apprehension and doubt made it impossible to sleep.

  Maybe it’s just normal marriage jitters?

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but I thought about heading over to the other side of the hotel and visiting Frank. He’d texted me half-an-hour ago that he’d be coming back earlier because he had a terrible headache. The rest of his friends would still be partying it up in the VIP section of the club. Since we’d given each other our key cards in case of an emergency, I thought it’d be a great opportunity to surprise him. I stared at the text exchange:

  Hey pumpkin. Splitting headache, so I’m heading in for some rest.

  I’m sorry. Do you want me to bring you anything?

  Don’t worry about me. Just enjoy yourself. Plus, we don’t want to break tradition. ;)

  Frank’s mother insisted we stay in separate rooms for every part of the marriage including the bachelor and bachelorette parties. I didn’t want his mother to catch wind and cause him trouble, but I really felt I should see him. Maybe talking with Frank right now was just what I needed. Maybe he shared some of my nervousness and being close would be comforting. Maybe it would stir up the emotion we once had for each other when we met.

  So I waited until Charlotte dosed off in her chair, martini glasses all around her. I stood up and grabbed my coat, throwing it over my short black dress. And then I headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Juliet asked, glancing up with sagging eyes as she slumped in the expensively upholstered chair.

  “Out to get some air,” I answered.

  “Okay.” Juliet stood up, wobbling. “I’m off to sleep anyway.” She staggered over to the opposite side of the huge hotel suite. “You be good,” she said, wagging her finger. “Good for Frank.”

  She was also very drunk. I nodded, said goodnight, and stepped out into the hall. Shrugging off my coat, I headed to the elevators, down sixty floors and across the casino floor toward the opposite tower.

  The elevator zoomed almost nauseatingly fast straight up 65 floors. I grasped the handlebars for support, teetering on my tall heels. Exiting the elevator, I straightened my dress, smoothing the tight fabric against my body.

  I hope Frank likes it.

  I’d gotten a full-blown makeover before going out earlier. The whole shebang: hair, facial, nails, and professional makeup. I couldn’t help thinking the whole night long that I wished Frank was there, that he could see me like that.

  In a way, I’d always felt like I needed to get his attention. When we met, he was in a whole other league: valedictorian of his MBA class, the popular, wealthy guy on campus with great job prospects lined-up. Women were doing anything they could to get his attention and possibly lock him down. Within blue blood elite society, Frank Wilson was quite the catch.

  And of course there was my own insecurity. I grew up as the daughter of a swindler, a grifter, a con man. I spent my childhood without any real money and went to college on scholarship. Suddenly, everyone was wearing expensive clothes and talking about exotic family vacations. I stood out like a sore thumb.

  When my mom married into the Calloway family, she encouraged me to take her new last name. After all, my dad was nowhere to be seen and hadn’t been heard from. She encouraged me to go do everything I could to fit into the “right circles,” and bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t found “the right kind of boyfriend” yet.

  That is, until Frank and I met at a house party during his last year in business school. My new last name opened a lot of doors to elite social environments I hadn’t even known existed. Some girls from the undergraduate college were invited over to a graduate student gathering, and the rest is history.

  Amid an atmosphere of small talk about knowing so-and-so and being able to get you a meeting with you-know-who, I caught Frank’s eye. To me, he was ambitious, educated, well spoken, and financially secure—the archetype of the world I was trying so hard to fit into. My mom, needless to see, was thrilled.

  There was something attractive about Frank’s complete confidence, which admittedly often bordered on entitlement. Unlike me, he knew exactly where he was going. His certainty and control over every situation was engaging and enticing—it made me want him.

  And to him, at least according to what he told me, I was down-to-earth and had a golden heart. I hoped he found me attractive as well. I loved that look when he ran his eyes over me and wrapped his arms around me. To me, it was an embrace of acceptance. Like I finally had somewhere I was desired, somewhere I unequivocally belonged.

  Finally, there I was standing at the door to his skyline terrace suite, I ran my hands through my dark coffee hair, which I’d had smoothed earlier during the spa-day retre
at. The stylist had recommended highlights, but I felt attached to the shade as it was. Maybe it was because my dad used to call me coffee bean, patting my mess of tangled hair and laughing out loud as I poured myself a cup at breakfast even when I was 12. I would get extremely hyper and start making schedules of all the important stuff I had to do for the day, from homework to reading to painting my nails.

  Those were simpler times.

  I pushed the door open. The lights were out and only the soft glow of small fixtures guided me through the entrance hallway into the expansive, open living space between the rooms.

  “Frank, it’s me—Winter,” I called out, hushing my voice mid-sentence as I realized he might already be asleep, out like a light, and recovering from a brutal hangover. I heard a groan coming from the bedroom to my right and walked quietly over, pushing the door open.

  What the fuck?!

  Frank was there, alright. Basked in the eerie glow of the bedside nightlight, his pasty ass tensed between two tan, smooth thighs. The woman was moaning in an artificial, lazy kind of way. And Frank was panting like a dog, still in his open shirt and socks, grinding his cock into some club hostess he’d brought back to an impressive, expensive hotel suite.

  He turned his head to the side and did a double take when he saw me at the door. His expression was full of shock, but lacked the shame I would have expected. In fact, he didn’t even get off of her, whoever she was.

  “What the hell, Winter!” he shouted as if I was to blame. “You’re not supposed to be here.”