Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Lick my fingers,” he commanded. I didn’t hesitate. I sucked two digits, leaving more saliva than strictly necessary in the hopes that this was a lube substitute situation. “Good boy.”
Oh, fuck. My cock twitched at the praise. Yeah, my cock was a damn ho. I bit my lip to stifle a moan as he traced my crack, alternately nipping my neck and pressing kisses.
Graham tapped my entrance, massaging the puckered hole in a wicked tease that made me sweat. No kidding. The pressure hinted at intense pleasure, and I wanted to beg for it. I wanted to fall sideways onto the seat and pull him over me. I wanted him inside me, fucking me senseless. Yes, that was an extreme reaction, but there was something about him that turned me on like nothing had in ages.
He read me like a book. Every tap, every lick, every fleeting touch sent anticipatory shivers through me. I didn’t trust myself to stay quiet much longer, and when he slid the tip of his finger into my hole, I officially lost the battle.
“Ungh!”
“Shh.” He kissed my ear and bit my lobe. “Relax and be quiet. Can you do that?”
I swallowed hard, nodding into the crook of his neck. “Yes.”
“Good boy.”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” I chastised halfheartedly, pushing against his digit and gasping as he added a second, and stroked my prostate.
He chuckled low and deep. “Maybe not, but you love it. The front of my shirt is soaked with your precum. Fuck yourself on my fingers. That’s it. You’re so bloody pretty, aren’t you?”
I didn’t have words now—just gurgling, nonsensical grunts as I rode his hand, jutting my hips forward and backward. I humped his cock, bouncing on his fingers, blushing at the stream of dirty sweet nothings. He licked his free hand and gripped us both. And that was it for me.
“I’m gonna…”
“Come,” he purred in my ear. “Come now.”
I shot between us, trembling in his arms through a mega orgasm. I saw lights and stars and…time even stopped for a moment or two.
No, wait. That was the SUV, turning into The Palazzo and stalling behind a taxi in front of the reception area. Holy fuck. Any second now, a valet or a bellman would open the door and find me in Graham’s lap stuck to him with cum, my tight jeans around my thighs, constricting blood flow to my extremities, and my ass on display.
And because this was me we were talking about, Cecil would probably just happen to be there to witness the whole thing. Or the police…and I’d be arrested for indecent exposure, spend the night in the pokey, and miss my flight tomorrow.
“Collins, stop here, please,” Graham barked.
“Yes, sir,” a distant voice replied.
I wiped my cummy hand on my shirt, wincing at the mess as I scrambled off his lap. “Give me a minute and I’ll—”
“Shh. It’s all right,” Graham soothed, capturing my wrist. “Don’t panic. The door won’t open until you’re ready. There’s no need to hurry, and if you’d like, we can continue this elsewhere.”
I froze. “Where?”
“Come to my hotel…if you want.”
It was half request, half command, and one thousand percent hot.
His delivery was matter-of-fact, as if he were offering another option on a menu. Don’t like steak? No problem. I’ve got lobster too. There was no smarmy undertone, though. No dare, no censure, no judgment. But his cool authority calmed me.
Was this smart? Probably not, but this new chapter of my life was about taking chances. And while that wasn’t supposed to include going home with a stranger I’d just met at a gross bar, I granted myself one last hall pass ’cause…Vegas, and a few hours with a sexy British bear the night before I left for England was a poetic send-off.
Best of all, no one would ever know.
“Okay.”
3
GRAHAM
Collins didn’t bat an eyelash when I instructed him to reverse course and head to Mandalay Bay. Of course he didn’t. He was paid handsomely to navigate city streets all over the world and even more for his discretion. He’d worked for me for a decade or longer. We were friendly…but not friends.
He was a retired British Army lieutenant, forty-two, divorced, and a Liverpool-faithful fanatic. We could talk football for hours on end, discuss traffic patterns in London versus Los Angeles, Las Vegas, New York, or Paris, and debate which city truly could boast the best sushi outside of Tokyo. However, we never discussed my private affairs.
Ever.
Collins knew better than to comment on my choice of entertainment off the beaten path in a city where anything I desired could be delivered within minutes for the right price. That was all well and good, but it was never quite anonymous enough. And ordering a lover like takeaway had never done it for me. I preferred old-fashioned meetings in dark pubs over a pint.