Hi Everyone, my name is Paul and I’m a recovering sex addict. I’ve been managing my addiction for two years.
Paul McNeill loves sex. Good sex. Bad sex. Oral sex. Any kind of sex. You name it; he loves it. But Paul's biggest passion is his greatest flaw. As a recovering sex addict, he's been abstaining and managing his addiction for over two years. Now, all the wants is to fall in love and find that certain someone he can settle down with.
But when he finds himself on his knees on Elle Jacoby’s damp lawn, he knows there's going to be trouble. Elle quickly becomes Paul's biggest challenge yet. She's instantly set him ablaze while he begs to be hosed down. As he gets to know her more, the flames burn even hotter.
How can he resist a hot divorcee who's amped up to have all the fun she's missed?
Warning: for mature audiences only. If you don't like graphic sex, sex talk and curse words in books this story isn't for you.
“Elle, have you ever considered that the whole bunch of men looking to hook-up on Tinder could be bad apples?”
“You’re so funny!”
“I’m not joking,” I say.
“Seriously Paul, I’ve decided to throw myself back into the game.”
“But Tinder’s not really a game, Elle . . . it’s more like the mosh pit. What if you get head butted again?”
“I’ve realized the mistake I made. This time I’m going to spell it out to the dude before we get to the sexing.”
“Spell it out, huh?”
“Yeah, no weird stuff like latex or furry suits. No demeaning talk or behavior. No bondage. No threesomes.”
“Or foursomes?” I ask.
“Ewww, no!” she says.
“Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“What? No, why?”
“I told you about my foursome.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about that. That was when you were a man-whore.”
“Yes, thanks, although I prefer the term ‘sex fiend’.”
“Well . . . that’s still what you told me.”
“I did. So see, I’m the very guy you wouldn’t want to sleep with.”
“Ummm.”
“Yet, you pretty much asked me to screw you when we met. Do you see how complicated this is?”
“Can I ask you something, Paul?”
“Sure, why not? You know so much about me already.”
“Did you do men too back during your sex fiend days?”
I almost drop the phone. “Sex with dudes? No! Why would you ask that?”
“So your orgy was really just you and a bunch of women. Did you have a harem or something?”
“I could have.”
She huffs into the phone. “Oh really? A harem? What if you’re making all this stuff up? Why should I believe you and all your big talk?”
“If you don’t believe me, I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything.”
“What if you made up all those sexy stories . . . like that you were addicted to sex. What if you’re really more like your accountant brother?”
I feel the vein pop out on my forehead. Why is she screwing
with me?
“I know what this is about,” I whisper in a dark voice.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“You’re provoking me, trying to get me to come over there and fuck you and break my oath. Well, it’s not going to happen.”
“Good!”
“Yup, good.”
“Because you know what, mister? You don’t fit into my profile anyway.”
“Oh that’s rich. You must have one hell of a profile.”
“Well look at you. You’re searching for a little complacent wifey who will roast your chicken and birth you a bevy of babies.”
“Roast my chicken? What’s that a metaphor for?”
“It’s not a metaphor, it’s dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re pretty weird, you know.”
“And you don’t want to fuck anymore and nothing’s weirder than that . . . so who’s calling the kettle black?”
“Who says I don’t want to fuck? I never said that. I want it.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” I want it bad. So bad it hurts, but I don’t tell her that.
“So it’s that you just don’t want to fuck me?”
“Oh, I want to fuck you. Right now I want to throw you on the bed and ride you so hard you won’t be able to walk the next day.”
There’s a long silent pause. Maybe that was too much.
“Ms. Jacoby, are you still there?”
“I’m here, Paul Junior. I’m just distracted thinking about you throwing me on the bed.”
“And mounting you?”
“Yes.”
I hear a soft moan.
“And fucking you hard?”
“God, yes.”
“So you really want that, do you?”
“You’re cruel. Are you going to make me beg for it?”
“Maybe.”
“Please . . . Paul, are you touching yourself? Because I am.”
I pause.
“Maybe.”
“Mmm.”
Ruth Clampett, daughter of legendary animation director Bob Clampett, grew up surrounded by artists and animators. A graduate of Art Center College of Design, she has been VP of Design for Warner Brothers Studio Stores and taught photography at UCLA. Today she runs her own studio and as the Fine Art publisher for Warner Brothers Studios has come to know and work with some of the world’s greatest artists in the fields of animation and comics.
From this colorful background comes Ruth’s first novel, Animate Me, a fun and sexy, unique and engaging contemporary romance.
Ruth lives and works in Los Angeles, strictly supervised by her teenage daughter, who helps plan their summer around their yearly pilgrimage to the San Diego Comic Con.
