I grin.
They want more. I can feel it.
I’ve got their balls in my hand while they sit on the edges of their seats.
Lucky for them, I’m no tease—no matter what Chase and Eric might say.
If they fucking want it, I’ll fucking give it to them.
“Once upon a time, I masturbated in the shower of a men’s locker room to the thought of being fucked by two men I literally just met. And they heard me do it, too.”
I look at the crowd and add, “They heard me screaming their names while I orgasmed against my fingers, and they took it upon themselves to make that fantasy a reality.”
I gesture to my slick, curvaceous, and muscled body. “I didn’t always look like this. Some of you might even remember me from my plus-size modeling days. Kara Gilmore, queen of size eighteen.”
Whispers spread through the crowd, and a few people gasp. “I didn’t feel good about myself at that weight. And the worse I felt, the more I ended up eating—and the bigger I became. I got so big that I lost everything—my career, my shitty, pencil-dicked boyfriend—”
The crowd boos at that point, which I appreciate the fuck out of them for.
“I got so big,” I tell them, “that once I lost the weight, I couldn’t even see myself for the woman I’d become. But these two men—they changed that for me. They changed everything. They fucked me and used my body for their pleasure—”
I’m like, ninety percent certain that at least half of the crowd now has their dicks out to the sound of my voice.
“They made me orgasm around their thick 12-inch cocks and realize that I’m a woman—a sexy, powerful, sensual woman—and that all women deserve to feel like the universe begins and ends with their pleasure.”
The crowd is loving it, so I give them more—but it’s not just for them. It’s for me, too.
“Learning these men’s bodies, letting them learn mine, sucking them off, coming for them, making them come for me, and slurping up every last ounce of their delicious, salty sweet cum—” My voice is rising, and I think I’m about to fucking explode.
“That’s the best sex of my life!” I shout into the mic. “Hands down, no contest. In fact, if you’ll excuse me...They’re waiting for me backstage, and I think I’m going to go fuck them again right now.”
If I was holding the mic instead of leaning into the mic stand, I would have fucking dropped it. Kara out.
Instead, I blow a kiss at the camera and strut off stage while the crowd fucking loses it behind me.
I know damn well that I’ve won this entire fucking pageant—and also that the camera zoomed on my ass when I left the stage.
Chapter 22
Kara
“Okay, seriously. Where are we going?” I ask, climbing into the car and sitting on Chase’s lap. This has become my new favorite mode of transportation: less than legal doubling-up in the passenger seat of Eric’s Tesla.
“We already told you, silly girl. It’s a surprise,” says Chase.
I pretend to pout. “I’m not good with surprises.”
The guys see right through me.
“Don’t lie. You fucking love it,” Eric puts his hand on my thigh as he starts the car, and I purr.
“Should I keep wearing my crown?” I ask as I readjust it. I can’t stop touching the damn thing—it’s beautiful and impossibly cool, and I can hardly believe it’s really mine.
“Sweetheart, you need to wear the whole ensemble,” Chase instructs, running his finger down the length of my pink sash.
Miss Sexy USA, the sash reads. Which is, unbelievably, me…somehow. I’d pinch myself, except Chance beats me to it, running his thumbs over my nipples and making me short of breath.
“I can’t believe I actually won,” I whisper.