A Night of Flesh and Gluttony | Part One

Copyright © 2023 B. Livingstone Published by B. Livingstone In USA All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced/transmitted/distributed in any form. No part of this publication shall be shared by any means including photocopying, recording, or any electronic/mechanical method, or the Internet, without prior written consent of the author. Cases of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law are the exception. The unauthorized reproduction/transmitting of this work is illegal. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. * * * Cover Art by: TRC Designs Formatted by: Kismet New Moon Graphics and Design This book is for anyone who has ever felt uncomfortable in their own skin. You are perfect just the way you are. Contents Description Content Warning Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Epilogue Acknowledgements About the Author Also by B Livingstone Stalk Me One Night. I spent one night being shown everything I've been missing. Everything that I didn't know I needed. Everything that would irrevocably change me forever. 365 days have passed since that night of gluttonous pleasure, and still my body and soul remember every moment.. Every reverent touch. Every whispered word. Every promise of pleasure. As I settle into my new life, the men who turned me inside out, come crashing back into my world. Their silver-tongued promises of filthy devotion set my soul on fire. But as it turns out, things aren’t as simple as they made it seem and in the end, my gluttonous heart might just end up shattered. Heed the Warnings A Night of Flesh and Gluttony is a two part duet of the multi-author Vices and Hedonism Shared World, though it can be read separately from the others. This is a medium burn novel that features three possessive and territorial men that will stop at nothing to show the woman they’ve claimed as theirs that she is loved. Warnings: This novel includes swearing and sexual content suitable for +18 audience. Devin “God, what is wrong with you, Devin?” Kyle asks incredulously while sitting on the end of my bed with his foot pulled up on the edge to lace his black runners. I pull the white cotton sheet higher up my naked body, a sad attempt to cover the heat crawling up my chest and coming to settle in my cheeks. Anger and embarrassment war for dominance inside of me. How dare he make me feel like some kind of freak? “I warned you, Kyle. Before we ever made it to this stage in our relationship, I warned you that I had a medical condition, that my libido worked on hyperdrive. You assured me it wouldn’t be a problem. That you liked a woman who could, and I quote—go ten rounds between the sheets—as you put it.” Still refusing to make eye contact with me, he focuses hard on the laces of his shoe. “Yes. But I didn’t think you’d want to go at it every night of the week. That’s not normal, Devin.” He stands from the bed and slips on his jacket. A visible shudder rolls through him and he shakes his head as though he’s trying to clear whatever is flitting through it. He takes two long strides towards the front door of my studio loft apartment, before stopping to rest his hand on the doorknob. I watch the tension in his back as his shoulders rise and fall with a deep inhalation. I know what’s coming long before he ever mutters another word. “Look, Devy …” “Forget it, Kyle. I know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard Devin A nervous energy pulses through my veins, and my hands shake as they wring together in my dark denim clad lap. “What am I doing here?” I ask myself out loud. The driver I hired for this evening’s ride from Bloomfield to New York City looks at me in his rearview mirror. “Did you ask me something?” he questions in a heavy accent I can’t quite place, his dark brows furrowing together as he continues to eye me speculatively. “Oh, no. Sorry. I was just talking to myself. I tend to do that a lot when I’m nervous. I also ramble, spout facts and useless information, but information that I find interesting. You see, I work …” Inhaling a deep lungful of air, I release it with a heavy sigh, dispelling some of the restless energy wreaking havoc on my body. “Sorry,” I squeak, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. He chuckles, and, with eyes back on the road, he says, “Not to worry. My wife is a nervous clicker.” He mimes clicking a pen repeatedly. I nod in understanding and drag my gaze from the rearview mirror. With a trembling hand, I pull my phone from my purse and hit dial next to the one person who knows exactly what I’m about to do and why I’m a jumble of nerves. “Bitch, you better not be calling to tell me you’ve turned around.” The raspy voice of my childhood best friend, Nicole—better known as Nyx—crackles through the speaker of my cheap phone. “No, but I need you to keep me from doing just that. Remind me