Six at night rolled around, and I got back to my apartment, tired as hell.

Another crappy, regional sports article had been finished and sent out, which meant I had plenty of time to waste. I wasn’t going to have to work from home tonight like I did so many other nights. I scrolled through Facebook, idly wishing I had everyone else’s life, even though I knew their lives weren’t as exciting as they pretended. Everyone put their best foot forward on social media.

I wondered for a second if there could be a Facebook for the boring moments. People would update their status with things like, “Just took out the trash #yolo” or maybe, “Toast for breakfast? Nah, Captain Crunch time.”

I had an idea of how to kill time. I got out my laptop and then typed “Bull Dixon family” into Google.

Nothing much came up. There were a few references to his mother in some interviews, but basically there was nothing. Frowning, I began to search harder. I tried every combination of “Bull” and “father” and “family” that I could think of, plus a few random “cousin” searches as well, but nothing came up. I tried Bull’s real name, Trent, but even that was a total dead end.

After fifteen minutes of searching, I gave up. It was completely shocking how little there was about Bull’s actual life online. There were plenty of rumor blogs and trashy magazines writing about him killing hookers and other crazy things, but there was nothing about the actual man.

And then I had an idea. I searched “Bull Dixon charity” and finally hit pay dirt.

The third result was the website of a charity called “Gambling is Bull.” Cheeky name aside, it looked like a legitimate charity, and apparently they gave out a lot of money to various gambling rehabs.

I went to the part of the website that listed their founders and board members, and sure enough, there he was: Trent Dixon, founder.

I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been. He had no reason to lie to me about something like that. What surprised me more, though, was that there was no mention of this charity on any of the blogs or in the media at all. As far as I could tell, it was hiding right in plain sight. That, or nobody really cared about it at all.

I leaned back on my couch and imagined that night again, Bull’s mouth between my legs, the way he simply took me when he wanted me, and the way I couldn’t resist him. I should have gotten up and left, but of course I hadn’t been able to.

I knew I was powerless. I knew it the second I agreed to see him again.

As I sat there picturing the way Bull had worked me, getting wet all over again, I heard my door buzz. I got up and hit the intercom. “Yes?”

“Charlotte Williams?”

I didn’t know the voice.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Delivery.”

I frowned. I wasn’t expecting anything. “Okay. Come on up.” I buzzed him inside. After a minute of waiting, he knocked at the door, and I pulled it open. It was a UPS man holding a box.

“Sign here.”

I signed the little electronic device. He hit a button and then handed me the package.

“Have a good one,” he said.

“You too.”

I looked down at the box, mystified. I shut the door and carried it over to my couch, not sure what the hell it was. I’d never gotten a random package like this before. I put it down on the ground and tore it open. Inside was a card on top of packing peanuts.

The card was completely plain white. I opened it, and inside was a message written in messy handwriting.

“Here’s a little something to remind you of the other night. Enjoy. Bull.”

What the hell did Bull send me? My heart beating fast in my chest, I dug through the peanuts. My hands gripped something rubbery, maybe made of silicone, something long and thick, like a baton or something, but with weird ridges. Frowning, I pulled it out.

And nearly screamed.

It was a big, thick dildo. I dropped it instantly and looked around the room, blushing like crazy. I knew I was alone, but suddenly I felt like people were staring at me or something silly.

That freaking asshole. I couldn’t believe Bull had the nerve to mail me a dildo like this out of the blue. What kind of person even did that?

Curious and angry, I quickly glanced at the thing. There at the bottom was a stamp: Bull Toys.

I cocked my head to one side. Did Bull own a sex toy line?

Quickly, I shoved it back into the box, burying it under the peanuts, and put the card on the coffee table. I did a quick search, curious.

According to the first result, Bull didn’t own a sex toy company.

According to the first result, a sex toy company made toys based on Bull’s actual anatomy.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I gaped at the box. That dildo was an actual replica of Bull’s cock.

Holy shit. It was his actual cock.

And it was absolutely freaking huge.

Tentatively, I reached into the box and felt the dildo again, but I didn’t pull it out. It was thick, long, and soft. I bit my lip, imagining Bull pressing it deep between my legs.

And quickly shook my head.

This was so crazy. What kind of man would send someone a replica of his cock?

An absolute asshole; that was what kind of man.

I shivered, strangely excited but so absolutely angry. That arrogant bastard.

I was going to take him down, and he was going to deserve it.