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“Macy Dunham” is synonymous with “off-limits.” Not only is she practically a virgin, but she’s a walking, talking angel who’s way too good for a devil like me. She’s straight-up beautiful, and so far out of my league I want to cry. Did I mention she’s also the godmother to my future niece or nephew?

Now I have to play nice with “Aunt Macy” for the next 18 years. There’s just one tiny problem—the first night I met her, I played with her a little too nice.

Macy was only supposed to be a hook-up. I was supposed to show her a night she’d never forget—give her a little taste of what it’s like to be bad—and then send her on her way. She wasn’t supposed to stick around, and she damn sure wasn’t supposed to become my best friend.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend like I don’t know how soft her skin feels, how good her lips taste, or how perfect it feels inside her? It’s torture. I’d give my left nut for another chance to sink inside Macy, but I can’t afford to mess this up and that’s exactly what would happen.

It’s too bad “Blake Whitmore” is synonymous with “screw-up.” Macy’s a sweet girl who deserves an epic love story. She deserves romance, and a knight in shining armor who slays dragons. I’m not the knight in this story.

I’m the fucking dragon.