Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“You’ll make it through dinner because you enjoy foreplay so much.”
She knows me well already. “I really fucking do,” I say, then I amend that statement. Personalize it. “With you, beautiful. With you.”
“Same…Want to switch to FaceTime?”
I say yes so goddamn fast. Moments later, I’m lying on my bed while she asks me a crucial question: “What do you want to do to me when you see me?”
She likes it when I take my time, so I cock my head, gazing at her lush body. “Why don’t you slide your hand down your stomach and play with those pretty panties? It’ll help me think.”
She complies, her fingers teasing at the silky fabric. “Is this giving you dirty thoughts about me?”
I groan, then answer, “Filthy ones. It’s definitely helping me along. But maybe take off that tank, beautiful.”
Her white top flies off, then her bra. I hiss at the sight of her full breasts, those dusky-rose nipples already hard. “Thinking more, Nick?”
“I’d like to bite those perky nipples, then suck on them till you squirm.”
She writhes, her hand sliding into her panties. Soon, she’s putting on a show for me. Panting, moaning, begging. “More. What else, Nick?”
That’s so fucking easy. I miss her sweetness badly. “I’d pull you on top of me and tell you to sit on my face.” My cock thumps against my pants. He likes that idea.
Her carnal moan tells me she does too. “I want that,” she says, with desperation that makes my dick even harder.
“You’d grind that sweet pussy against my mouth,” I rasp as I undo my pants.
Her eyes flutter closed, and she rocks her hips faster, murmuring yes, god yes.
“I’d lick and kiss you. Devour you,” I say, gripping my cock to get some goddamn relief. I stroke as I paint a dirty picture. “I’m dying to taste you again. To hold those hips and eat you while you fuck my face.”
The pictures…Dear god, the erotic pictures flipping before me—her grinding on me in a week, and her fucking herself right now—are driving me wild. My fist is flying. “I want you to ride my face till I can’t breathe.”
“Nick,” she moans, then arches her back, crying out as I give her a fifth orgasm.
It’s breathtaking to watch.
Then, it’s mind-numbing to feel as my own arousal takes over, a climax barreling mercilessly through me.
When we’ve caught our breath, I excuse myself and go wash my hands, then I return to our FaceTime, my pants still unzipped.
“That’s one of my favorite things,” she says in a sexy confession.
“Getting off? Yeah, me too.”
With a naughty smile, she shakes her head. “My go-to is gifs of men or women touching themselves.”
That’s too hot. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I like to watch pleasure. When I watch women, I imagine it’s me and you’re doing dirty things that make me want to touch myself. When I watch men, I picture you, getting off to me.”
My throat grows dry. “I swear you’re going to make me ready to go again,” I growl.
“Good,” she says with a satisfied grin. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
“Every night. Every morning,” I agree. I don’t know that I can survive her sensuality, but I will try. Too soon, I have to say goodbye. “I’ll see you Friday night. We’ll go to Hugo’s. I’ll make a reservation, and I’ll get a car and pick you up.”
“I can’t wait,” she says.
When I see her, I’ll tell her more about me. The things I haven’t shared yet. Things about my family. Things about my plans.
Like the fact that I’m not only coming to New York for a weekend.
I’m relocating there, merging my VC firm with my brother’s under the name Strong Ventures, and I just bought a new place in Gramercy Park—a penthouse apartment overlooking the city.
That’s where I intend to take her after our dinner. There I’ll fuck her to her sixth, seventh, eighth orgasm, and then some.
13
A HINT AND A HEADLINE
Layla
My mom doesn’t spend much time on the Upper East Side if she can avoid it.
But sometimes she has to visit our former neighborhood for meetings, or, like today, for a quick lunch appointment with moi before she sees her stylist on Madison.
I brace myself for a new set-up. Surely, she’s had enough time now to flick through her Rolodex of families she trusts—Lennoxes, Christies, or Bettencourts.
But I’m not agreeing to a date when I’m seeing Nick tomorrow night, so I’ll tell her I’m too busy with work.
With that bulwark in mind, I head into Patricia’s Hole in the Wall. The lowbrow name is ironic. The place is owned by one of Mom’s sorority sisters, and with oak walls and deep green booths with backgammon boards, it’s as old money as you can get.
At the hostess stand, a perky brunette smiles, showing off straight white teeth. She’s new here. “How can I help you?”