Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
The next session, he suggested we block out an hour instead of thirty minutes. We got through confidence intervals before he told me to sit on his desk, that he wanted to taste me before he went fucking insane.
In fifteen minutes, I learned that the statistical probability of an orgasm from his mouth was one hundred gazillion percent.
And Mom said college wouldn’t teach me anything.
Three
I woke up to an orgy. I blinked, fuzzy images coming into focus. Two men on one girl. Two different girls, on their knees. There was some whipped cream action and an old guy with nipple rings. I closed my eyes. “Can’t you watch that somewhere else?”
I heard a loud snap of gum and pictured it, bright pink and showing with every smack of Meredith’s jaws.
“The Wi-Fi isn’t working in my room. I keep telling you guys, we need to move the router to the kitchen.”
I rolled over on the couch and folded the pillow in half, stuffing it under my head. “I thought porn came on DVDs.”
“Are you kidding? Nobody does that anymore.” The sounds of fuckery paused as she fast-forwarded the scene, then pressed play. I watched as the old guy moved toward a cluster of plaid-skirted blondes. Meredith mumbled something about production value, and I snorted out a laugh.
“I’m almost done. I got one more video after this.”
I closed my eyes and groped around for an extra pillow, pulling it over my head. “Turn it down a little.”
“Fine.”
The sounds diminished, and I kicked a foot free of the blanket and tried to fall back asleep. Maybe it was time for me to move into my own place. One free of roommates, especially ones whose class projects involved the analysis of the adult film industry and its moral evolution.
She poked my foot. “Look at this guy really quick, B. He’s got a freaking hose.”
I growled and considered getting up and moving to my bedroom. It was my own fault. That’s what I got for bingeing on reality TV and falling asleep on the couch. Gangbangs for breakfast.
I squeezed the pillow tighter and managed, despite the moans and slaps, to fall back asleep.
* * *
I was scrubbing vomit off the toe of my heels when Britni burst in.
“Dario Fucking Capece is here.”
It was an announcement that caught all of our attention, Lance and Rick slowly easing upright, our gazes moving from Britni to the monitors.
“Where?” Lance asked.
“Outside. I saw him getting out of his car when I was out for a smoke.”
Rick scowled at the activity, but let it slide, his interest more focused on the city’s biggest whale, one we’d never had. He turned to Lance. “What the fuck’s he doing here?”
Lance shrugged. “Maybe he’s playing.”
“He doesn’t play. Everyone knows that.”
Lance caught my eye. “Bell. Go out and welcome him. Find out what’s what.”
I looked down at my shoe, the gold silk ruined, thanks to a mixture of liquor and what looked like fettuccine alfredo. I worked it onto my foot and winced at the ugly result. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”
He nodded, leaning forward in his seat, the urgency clear in the air. Britni let out an annoyed huff, moving aside when I passed. I ignored her bullshit performance. This particular job was one neither of us wanted. Vegas was full of sharks, but Dario Capece was a killer whale, the kind you only saw right before you got eaten. Britni didn’t want anything more to do with him than I did.
Lance looked up from the monitors. “Hurry. He’s almost through security.”
I stepped out the door and onto the floor, moving quickly toward the entry.
* * *
The entry space was our most boring room, one decked out with industrial gray carpet, a metal detector, a bank of lockboxes, and the main attractions—Tim and Jim. Those weren’t their real names, but they refused to make small talk with anyone, so that’s what we had coined them. Where Lloyd was the friendly big guy, they were the ex-Special Forces assholes everyone hated. I stepped into the room, nodded to the closest one, then turned to Dario Capece with a smile.
I should have checked the monitors first. Peeked through the security window. Done something to give me more warning.
I’d expected a dozen things. A suit. A scowl. A bodyguard. An expensive watch. Closed lips and wandering eyes. A sexist remark or friendly hands.
I hadn’t been expecting something in me to yank when our eyes met, a pull of need that occurred before his mouth even opened. He paused, and the wary look in his eyes matched everything I was feeling.
He was handsome, but it wasn’t even his looks. There was something between us, and I stepped back in hopes it would fade. It didn’t.
“Mr. Capece.” I managed the greeting with a calm and professional tone. “Welcome to The House.”