Hungry Heart

Hungry Heart SLATER SIBLINGS SERIES MISSY WALKER Copyright © 2023 by Missy Walker All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written consent from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Design: @germancreative Editor: Swish Design & Editing For all the Rosie West’s in the world that keep dreaming. Contents 1. Rosie 2. Vincent 3. Rosie 4. Vincent 5. Rosie 6. Vincent 7. Rosie 8. Vincent 9. Rosie 10. Vincent 11. Rosie 12. Vincent 13. Rosie 14. Vincent 15. Rosie 16. Vincent 17. Rosie 18. Vincent 19. Rosie 20. Vincent 21. Rosie 22. Vincent 23. Rosie 24. Vincent 25. Rosie 26. Vincent 27. Rosie 28. Vincent 29. Rosie 30. Vincent 31. Rosie 32. Vincent 33. Rosie 34. Vincent 35. Rosie 36. Vincent 37. Rosie 38. Vincent 39. Rosie 40. Vincent 41. Rosie Epilogue Want More? Also by MISSY WALKER Join Missy’s Club Acknowledgments About the Author 1 Rosie Have you ever felt that warm, tingly sensation that washes over you when you listen to your favorite song or watch your favorite movie? It’s the moment when emotion takes over your senses, and you’re left with a scattering of goose bumps splintering across your skin or a deep exhalation after holding your breath without even knowing. Sometimes, it is a fluttery sensation in the depths of your stomach or a slash of heat across your chest. It’s a feeling that permeates through you, transcending worries or fears, exciting you while also cloaking you with an unexplainable sense of calm. And at that moment, nothing else seems to matter. Even as the world around you crumbles to ashes, your focus remains solely on that one feeling. I imagine that’s what love is. I imagine because the truth is, I have absolutely no clue. I’m twenty-two and still a virgin. Yes. Seriously. After my mom’s death in a car crash just after my high school graduation, love and sex took a back seat. My focus shifted to learning how to survive. As a result, my experience with love is limited to a string of unsuccessful relationships that never lasted more than a few weeks. Yet, every time I read Darcy or Brontë, I have that feeling. I’m guessing that’s what love feels like, and I’m clinging to that hope with both hands. My roommates, Sara and Ethan, like to call me a pathetic romantic and a foxy bitch. But honestly, I don’t mind it because they always keep it real with me. Yeah, I know I’m a sucker for a fairy-tale ending, but I also know it’s not always going to be rainbows and butterflies. Still, a girl can dream, right? As a die-hard romance novel enthusiast, I spend most of my free time lost in the intricate world of love. However, Sara’s suggestion to check out some ‘recreational’ websites made me realize the need to expand my knowledge beyond the realm of idealistic love stories. Let’s be real here—I don’t want to be clueless when it comes to satisfying my future partner. So, I ventured into the uncharted territory of those websites. Mr. Darcy certainly wasn’t offering his secrets on pay-per-view, so I took the initiative and did some research. I’m not willing to sleep with just anyone to improve my skills, but I want to have some basic expertise in the matter. Sleeping around? That’s not who I am, although you wouldn’t know it if you saw me now. I place my hands on the smooth, cool surface of the marble vanity and lift my head to meet my gaze in the bathroom mirror. As I stand here, the pervasive bass of the music resonates through every inch of my being. The vibrations are so strong that they seem to penetrate even the most intimate parts of my body, heightening my sense of awareness and drawing me further into the moment. With my hands still resting on the cool marble and my eyes fixed on my reflection, I allow myself to be fully immersed in the pulsing rhythm of the music, feeling its energy and power course through my veins. It’s two weeks before the January semester returns, and my senior internship begins. I should be reading up on my final subjects and not pulling double shifts at the Vanilla Club, the exclusive gentlemen’s club where I work. Fortunately, I’m able to get by with studying less, thanks to my scholarship and decent intellect. I twist the ends of my blonde wig and adjust the tight black lace bustier trying to cover my barely encased large breasts. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, nor does the leather pleated mini-skirt that barely covers my bottom. My needle-thin black patent pumps lengthen my legs and round out my slutty and hopefully tip-worthy uniform. I pick up the perfume bottle and depress the nozzle. A fine cool mist scatters along my collarbone as the scent of orchids fills the space. At the same time, the bathroom door flies open, hitting the tiled wall with a thud. “Rosie, hurry up!” Kara tosses me an impatient scowl. Naturally blonde and stunning, Kara has worked at the Vanilla Club for years, showing me the ropes when I started just three months ago. Her eyes lower to my outfit, and her scowl morphs into a dark smile. “That bustier is fucking hot. Hello, tips!” She snaps her fingers above her head, and I exhale through a smile. Damn, I hope so. My gaze drifts back to the mirror where a long blond wig hides my thick brown hair pinned up in a chignon underneath. Layers of mascara coat my long lashes and frame my hazel eyes. My signature Venetian-red lipstick outlines my cupid bow and makes me feel like Marilyn fucking Monroe. I need that boost of confidence when