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Read Online Books/Novels:

Well Hung Over in Vegas

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Kimberly Fox

Book Information:

What happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas. Especially when you wake up with a naked man in your bed and a ring on your finger.

Some people just can’t handle Vegas.
My friend warned me that Vegas can turn the most straight-laced girl into a party-crazed slut.
I didn’t believe her. I’ve always been the straightest of the straight.
Boy, was I wrong.
I hate being wrong.
My first morning in Vegas and I wake up in a hotel room with no memory of the night before.
Oh, and there’s a naked stranger lying next to me who gives a new meaning to the word hung-over.
Things go from bad to worse when I find a wedding ring wrapped around my finger.
Then things escalate from worse to catastrophic when I find out that the infuriating man who gave it to me is my new boss.
When I find out he wants to stay married–all bets are off.
My friend warned me that some people can’t handle Vegas.
I should have listened.
Because I am definitely one of those people.

Books by Author:

Kimberly Fox Books



Is that a man’s watch?

I stare at it in disbelief, but there it is, tick ticking away like a bomb that’s about to go off. There’s a man’s watch lying on my night table.

Wait a minute. This is not my hotel room.

The wallpaper is different, and the lamp is not the—Why is my underwear on the lamp?

My heart is racing as I peek under the covers. Holy shit, I’m naked.

I’m naked in a stranger’s hotel room. A male stranger from the looks of his watch. A rich male stranger according to the diamond encrusted Rolex logo on it.

Why am I naked in a stranger’s hotel room? I try to think back to last night, but my head is a blur of spilled shots, wobbly heels, and—oh shit. We had sex.

It’s all so blurry with my head pounding like a jackhammer at a Metallica concert. I can’t think.

Yes, I can. Think, Dahlia, think.

But all I remember is a flash of me arching my back and screaming out as a rich male stranger fucked me like an animal.

I close my eyes, trying to build up the courage to turn my pounding head to see who is there. Courage isn’t coming. It’s time for a pep talk.

Okay, Dahlia. It’s time to face whatever fucked up reality you got yourself into. Just do it. You’re a winner. You clawed your way up to the COO position at Hospitech with only a high school degree. In only ten months, you cut the company’s costs by twenty percent and increased their profits by a record thirty-two percent. You can do this. Turn your head.

I swallow hard, my mouth tasting like a dry sewer, and carefully turn my head to peek over my shoulder.

Oh, shit!

I whip my head back around and pull the covers up to my chin, feeling extremely naked.

Well, there’s definitely a male.

I couldn’t see his face with it sunken into the pillow, but I did see his body—muscular chest, chiseled abs, arms out of a comic book that are covered in tats.

He’s naked too. At least we have something in common.

I peek back over to get another look. My heart is now pounding harder than my head is.

His muscular thigh is sticking out of the crisp white sheets, and I carefully tilt my head up to see if he’s showing anything else.

The corner of the sheet is resting over his package, his hard pelvis with the mouth-watering V visible in all of its glory. I let out an audible gulp when I see the tip of his trimmed pubic hair sticking out.


Too loud.

I drop my head back down and hold the blankets up to my chin, closing my eyes impossibly tight as he lets out a deep groan and starts moving around.

What’s the game plan here, Dahlia?

I always have a game plan. I always have a backup for my game plan and a backup for my backup.

But this is unexpected. He’s thrown me off my game. I don’t even know what sport we’re playing.

He gets up with a heavy breath and shuffles to the bathroom like a hungover zombie. Mr. Rich Naked Stranger doesn’t even bother to close the door as he fills the toilet bowl with last night’s beverages.

I explode out of the bed like my pubic hair is on fire. I have less than ten seconds to get dressed before he comes out and sees my kibbles and bits.

Pants first. No time for underwear. I yank them up my legs as I keep an eye on the door and an ear on the stream of liquid that’s hitting the water in the toilet bowl like a fire hose.

Where the fuck is my bra? Arghhhh!

I leap across the room when I see it hanging off the desk. I yank it on with my pulse racing, already looking around for my shirt as I snap the clasp closed.

My head is pounding, my stomach churning, and I’m nearly hyperventilating as my bulging eyes dart around the room looking for my shirt.

I’m on my hands and knees looking under the bed when the toilet flushes and Mr. Rich Naked Stranger walks out.

“Looking for something?” he asks in a deep groggy voice.

Yes. My dignity. My self-respect. Have you seen either of them, or are they gone for good?

“Just my—” The words vanish from my throat when I turn around and see Mr. Rich Naked Stranger in all of his naked glory.

My eyes are level with his cock that’s hanging down low between his muscular thighs. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of it. That was in me last night. I know because my hoo-ha is still achingly sore.

With a shake of my head, I pry my eyes off of his dick and drag them up his hard body, my pulse racing dangerously fast with every inch that I climb.

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