Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Hot ropes of cum fill my pussy, coating my insides as he comes deep inside of me. I moan as Carter’s cock spurts and twitches inside of me. My pussy is filled with cum and as Carter pulls his cock from me I feel his creamy cum slipping down my thighs. Carter drags his fingers through the cum on my thighs, and he brings those fingers to my lips, smearing the cum across my mouth. My tongue darts out, snaking around his fingers, chasing the taste of Carter. Fuck, why can't I get enough of him?
Carter smiles at me devilish and dirty before his tongue joins mine. The two of us chase the flavor of his cum, licking his fingers clean before Carter wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. My breasts press against his hard pectorals, and we bring our lips together. Carter plunges his tongue into my mouth, tangling it with his own. There's something delightfully filthy about kissing a man’s lips when they’re sticky with his own cum.
I can still feel Carter’s cum leaking from my pussy, and slipping down my thighs as we kiss until the need for air forces our lips to part. Carter throws another devastating smile at me before sliding to his knees and pushing me back against the desk. I lean back on my arms and lift my legs onto his shoulders. He licks the trail of cum that's slowly sliding down my inner thigh. He follows that trail all the way up to my pulsing pussy, his tongue slipping inside my sensitive swollen folds and licking his seed from inside my pussy. Light little teasing licks that threaten to spark a fresh fire of lust and desire in my veins. Damn, Carter just might kill me, but I'd sure as hell go with the world's biggest smile. I may not have gotten the advice I was looking for, but my meeting with Carter was a real eye opener. That’s for certain. Maybe I need to meet with Derek again, see what he has to offer?
I mean after all, I do need to think long and hard about my investments.
Chapter Eleven
Derek
It's early—but this morning, I'm on a mission. I have a plan that I hope will work.
The barista behind the bar calls out my name. "Derek! Derek! I have a triple shot Americano for Derek!"
I walk up to retrieve my drink and she smiles, batting her eyelashes.
"I heard you the first time," I laugh.
"Derek, huh? I don't hear that name too often in Manhattan … Texas maybe, but the city? Never. And you're more James Bond than a cowboy, anyway … by the looks of you." She says this with a devilish grin.
"There's a first time for everything," I reply, grabbing my drink and turning to leave. I can tell she doesn't want the conversation to end; she's practically undressing me with her eyes, and yes, I'll admit it; she's cute enough to fuck. But today, I've only got one woman on my mind.
I give the barista a quick wave, walk out onto the street with my drink in hand, and I pass a local flower shop.
Flowers aren't normally my thing, but today I stop, turn around, and walk in. Without hesitation, I ask the florist for 100 long-stemmed roses, and I watch as they reach into a small refrigerator and gather them all.
What? Don't roll your eyes at me.
Trust me, roses aren't as cliché as you think they are. They work every time.
Have you ever seen a bunch of 100 long-stemmed red roses? Because it's fucking striking, and today, I'm out to make an impression.
To say I'm competitive is an understatement. I eat competition for fucking breakfast.
And if you think I'm going to let Carter gain the upper hand with Eliza, you're mistaken.
I walk out of the flower shop with a box in my arms that's bigger than I imagined it'd be. I envisioned tucking something slender under one arm, but no, this box is massive, complete with a red velvet bow bigger than my face.
Holding the box in both arms, I reach the elevator to Eliza's apartment. Without any free hands, I have to lift my leg and tap the button with my knee.
The door slides open and I walk in.
There's an older gentleman standing in the back corner of the elevator, and he looks at my box, looks back at me, and gives me a shrill whistle.
"Who's the lucky lady?" he asks.
I don't know whether to take this as a rhetorical question or not, but I decide to keep the banter light. "Just a friend," I smile.
"She must be some friend," he replies with emphasis, and as the doors slide open to his floor, he turns around and gives me a quick nod, saying, "Good luck."
I return the gesture and flash him a smile, but in my mind I'm saying to myself, does it look like I fucking need luck? I've got this in the bag.