Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
With that, I know I’m done for because this man is dirty. I was expecting to have the upper hand when it came to handling the alpha male, but it seems I’ve underestimated Brant Harrison. I thought I’d be in charge, and that he’d come panting and crawling like a dog begging for a treat. But instead, the gorgeous man is one dominating me. What do I do now?
CHAPTER 4
Brant
What the hell is going on? I admit, I’m a rancid guy but this chick takes the cake. After all, it’s not often that you walk into a bar, only to have a woman pull her dress down and beg you to suck her tits.
Then again, this has been a crazy day so far, so it’s par for the course. After breaking up with Monica Green earlier today, I figured I’d leave her house and close that chapter of my life for good. But instead, the middle-aged woman offered me one last goodbye fuck, and of course, I took it. Why not? She’s cute enough, with her big sassy body and fluffy blonde hair. Plus, her vag gets wet real quick, and I figured going in for some instant satisfaction wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But yeah, breaking up with the woman was the right thing to do. Monica’s great and all, but she’s oddly shady. She never talks about herself, instead asking questions about my life instead. I swear, we’ll spend hours talking about my business, Cool Poolz, or about what I want to do with my life, but Monica’s oddly secretive when it comes to her own comings and goings.
It didn’t bug me at first, but after a while, it was just fucking strange because she’d always deflect when I asked her questions about herself. In seemed that the only thing she was absolutely certain about is the fact that she doesn’t want kids. When I brought it up one day, the middle-aged woman threw her head back and began laughing, her red lips parting to reveal bleached teeth.
“Oh, you’re so funny Brant,” she tittered before taking a sip from her cocktail. “Kids? You flatter me.”
“Why?” I growled, eyeing her luscious form, which was currently displayed in a tiny bikini as we lounged by the pool. Monica’s got big breasts and wide hips, as well as a soft, poochy stomach. Some guys want their women sculpted and skinny, but I actually like my sex partners to be feminine and womanly.
“Well, I’m not as young as you think I am,” she said in a coy tone while shooting me a meaningful look over the rim of her glass.
“Why? How old are you?” I growled. “Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”
The blonde woman merely tilted her head back and laughed again, while fishing an olive out of her drink.
“Oh you flatter me, Brant,” she cooed while popping the olive into her mouth. “But yeah, kids aren’t really my thing. I just don’t see myself raising rug rats for the next twenty years. I’m not that woman.” I nodded, but inside my head was churning. After all, it was just another instance where Monica deflected when it came to revealing anything about herself. What kind of woman is she, if she doesn’t want children? The corporate type? The kind who wants to wear her hair in a sleek bun while toting a briefcase to work every day?
Seriously though, the blonde is sexy, and I put her reply out of my mind. I wasn’t here to talk with her, or to find the mother of my children. Fuck it, as long as Monica was soft and delectable with a wet pussy and tight asshole, then I was good with it.
But our conversation picked back up a couple days later when we were out at a Mexican cantina. The mariachi band came and went, and while we were digging into our tacos, Monica batted her lashes at me.
“Have you ever wondered how I support myself?” she cooed.
I almost spit out my food because of course I’ve asked, but she never really answered.
“You’re divorced right?” I ask in a low voice. “Your ex-husband left you the house as part of the settlement.”
“Sort of,” Monica said in a teasing hum while trailing one long, red nail around the rim of her margarita glass. “Something along those lines.”
I put down my fork, fixing her with a look.
“Well, if not that, then what is it? Did your ex leave the house in a trust for you? Did you inherit it from your parents? Did you buy it yourself?” This seemed unlikely because Monica’s never had a job, as far as I can tell. She said something about being a real estate broker long ago, but I don’t really see it. The woman lives to hang out by the pool, sunning herself in barely-there bikinis, and I can’t see her hustling to do any kind of work, period.