Total pages in book: 189
Estimated words: 174749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
I’m ready for more and I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer to me.
“You look like you need a good fucking,” Arsen says with a smirk.
“Less talk,” I say to him, wrapping my legs around his torso and bucking my hips like a wild woman. “More cock.”
I’m going to have a price to pay at one point. I know that. But for now, all I can think of is the moment. I just pray that this pleasure never stops.
ARSEN
I
’m standing in Gerard’s lushly appointed downtown law office. For as much as my office has the power and glamor of Midtown, Gerard’s has that old world style found only in Lower Manhattan. With it’s winding non-numbered streets and history that predates America, Gerard seems to fit right in. I mean, the building his offices are in have fucking gargoyles outside of them to get rid of the excess rainwater. Talk about something you don’t see in Modernist, cubist, Midtown.
We’re having our weekly wrap-up on disposal of the properties that Dad left me.
“I think if we move in this direction, we should be approaching full divestiture within three to four months for certain,” Gerard says with the characteristic seriousness. But despite his normal seriousness, there’s something about him that seems a bit off.
“Gerard,” I ask, eyeing him. “There’s something different about you.”
He looks at me from his desk, and then gestures to his tie.
That’s it!
It’s a maroon tie with white hearts.
“A lady friend of mine suggested that I lighten up the wardrobe a bit, sir,” he tells me a bit stiffly.
For everything that’s going on with Luca Gianoni and the divestiture, I can’t help but laugh out loud like a fucking kid.
“I didn’t know you were dating someone, Gerard!” I say out loud.
“I’d prefer not to talk about that now,” he says to me, a bit flustered. “Already too many changes in my life, if you know what I mean.” He looks at me and I nod. I know exactly what he’s talking about.
But still, I can’t get the thought out of my head. How different my lawyer is now than say six months ago. Back then, if you said you saw him in a tie with hearts on it, he’d tell you to go fuck yourself.
I mean, I totally get it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not fucking complaining.
Ashley does the same thing to me.
I’m thinking about this as I sit in my limo as I leave Gerard’s office and head uptown.
In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’m doing things that the old me would have had a fucking heart attack if he ever saw.
Forget the one and done policy of one night sex, or at most the ‘use ‘em and lose ‘em’ philosophy of two weeks of raw lust and then a diamond necklace and a Dear John, I’m starting to go to the ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ side with this woman.
It doesn’t help probably that we’re always so close by. Ashley loves cavorting around my apartment; it’s so much bigger at One57 than the tiny rat-hole that she lives in near Penn Station. And sure, I want to do different things for her. To protect her and keep her happy. So it’s no surprise I’ll join her in making dinner—even though I have a perfectly decent personal chef.
It's just that I've never felt the way I do with Ashley with anyone. Not a single fucking person I've ever met. And the things that she does, when other girls tried it on me, I'd fucking snort and it would slide right off me. When Ashley does it, it looks so cute it seriously melts my fucking heart.
Don’t believe me?
Well first off, I don’t fucking care if you believe me or not, but just to show you, let’s take what happened yesterday.
I was in my office in Midtown, wrapping up some meetings.
Now, I see the gears in your brain trying to figure this out so let me just explain real quick. I may be trying to get rid of Dad’s fucking smut empire, but I’m also having to manage the vast amount of money. That’s a fucking job in and of itself.
But all of a sudden, who do we have but Ashley walking into my office around 3 pm.
“Arsen, can we go to dinner tonight?” she asked me, batting her beautiful fucking eyes. Normally girls bat their eyes at me and I immediately get all fucking defensive. I was exhausted as fuck—having to wake up at 6:30 in the fucking morning after having hours of sex the night before will fucking do that to you. But I looked at her, and all I could say was, "Sure, Ashley. I'll have one of the girls outside make some reservations to Per Se."
Now, my personal secretaries are more than capable of making me dinner reservations and letting me know, but in this instance, I followed up with them three times to make sure it was fucking perfect. And then I made sure my car was ready and I even got to Ashley’s apartment ten minutes ahead of time. As if I had nothing better to do than take this woman out to dinner.