Dear Mr. Hunk – A Steamy Standalone Instalove Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45773 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Dear Mr. Hunk - A Steamy Standalone Instalove

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

Language:
English
Book Information:

Bennet Bradshaw has been my dad’s hunky best friend for as long as I can remember. They served in the SEALs together, and dad would freak if he knew about my crush.
When Bennet almost kisses me on my eighteenth birthday, I can’t believe it’s happening. He’s older, tall, and muscular, with piercing eyes and a body carved of steel.
I’m curvy, shy, and inexperienced. It’s crazy to think he’d ever be attracted to me. But at the last second, he stops. “We can’t do this.”
Then he disappears for a year, hiding away in his big expensive house, as though he can’t trust himself to be close to me. A year later, my best friend gives me a dare. Write him a letter, confessing my crush, telling him how badly I’ve wanted him ever since we nearly kissed…
It’s a mistake. I’m sure of it. But I get caught up in the moment and not only write him a letter I deliver it personally. I don’t expect anything in return, and I definitely don’t expect what happens…
A series of letters, each one steamier than the last, as Bennet tells me all the ways he wants to make me tremble. He tells me I belong to him, possessively claiming me, telling me I better do every little thing he says.
That would be intimidating enough, considering I’m a virgin with zero experience. But what happens if my dad finds out? Am I going to ruin their friendship, the bond they formed as soldiers?
With three little words, Dear Mr. Hunk, I know nothing will ever be the same again.
**** Dear Mr. Hunk is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger
Books by Author:

Flora Ferrari



Chapter One

Rory

We sit in Yasmin’s car opposite the mansion, looking more like a fortress with its high walls and imposing iron gates. Peering through the autumn rain, I see that none of the lights are on, at least at the front of the house – the part I can see from this angle since a lot of it is blocked by his gigantic keep-out walls.

“What if he’s in?” I murmur, nerves swirling in my belly.

Yasmin giggles and digs playfully into my side. “He’s not in. Look at the place.”

“He could just be sleeping. Or in a different room.”

Yasmin smiles across at me. When I return her gaze, it’s easy to look past our nineteen years to the girl she was when we first met, a four year old with bright red hair and freckles across her face. She used to hate her vivid hair, but now she’s grown into it, letting it fall down to her shoulders while owning her freckles.

“Think of it as a reverse birthday gift,” she goes on, ignoring my comment.

It’s probably because she knows it’s true.

Bennet Bradshaw could be in that large house somewhere, lying down in his underwear, his muscled chest heaving and his lips tipped into his characteristic smirk even as he rests.

My heartbeat quickens at the thought of him, pounding like it’s trying to drag me back to the past, to my eighteenth birthday.

I try not to think about that just in case I lose control and let my mind dance off to ridiculous places, but it’s difficult to beat back that part of me as I remember how close we came.

“It’s not like you’re going to leave your name,” she says, softer now. “But if you really don’t want to leave the letter, I’ll understand.”

“Do you think I’ve been vague enough?” I ask.

Yasmin shrugs. “I’m not sure. I think so. You didn’t mention any specifics about the party or anything. Maybe this was a silly idea. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, Rory.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say quickly. “I agreed to this. It’s just now that we’re here I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

She giggles. “Lorelei Clark please open the window if you feel that urge.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin your car.”

We grin and then turn wordlessly back to the house.

My whole body buzzes with excitement and doubt and a whole cacophony of emotions as I try to convince myself to step from the car and stride up to his mailbox, which sits just beside the gate.

It’s my nineteenth birthday, an exact year since I almost kissed Bennet Bradshaw, my dad’s hunky best friend.


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