Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Damn, just thinking about the way that pussy smells and tastes has me in need of stroking one out. I should, but I don’t want to waste a good nut.
I order the limo to arrive at Aurora’s house at eight on the dot, giving myself a few hours to get ready.
Stop acting like you haven’t done this a thousand times, I scold myself. You’re a Grayson, now act like it.
I’m not the type to be nervous, but this girl has cast a spell on me. The moment I saw her on the stage, I knew I needed her in my life. Maybe she’s the missing piece of a puzzle I never thought was possible.
Or maybe I just need her for one good fuck.
First, I need a suit. Something in a charcoal grey to accent my eyes. I know Aurora must dream about them every time she closes her eyes
Every woman who ever gets a chance to be with me does. At 6’4 and with twelve inches of thick cock, I know I left a lasting impression on her. I do on most women.
But I remember that night. I remember the way Aurora gazed at me, like I was her fucking prince, her dream come true—and that’s the feeling I just can’t shake.
Standing in my walk-in closet, the perfect choice would be an Armani custom-made suit. This suit costs more than some make in a year, but I’m worth it.
My taste in clothing is as selective as my taste in women. Besides, I consider Aurora to be high-end, as well. We spent enough on her at the auction to know that.
She’s a fucking prize worth keeping, and I will make her mine.
After a long hot shower, I can’t help but take a moment to admire myself in the full-length mirror. I work out five days a week to achieve this body, and it’s worth for nights like this when I want to look good.
My chiseled abs will compliment the suit perfectly, and I know I’ll turn heads—I just hope it’s Aurora who sees me tonight, not the other usual women I’m used to bedding.
I’m not cocky. Just confident in who I am.
She deserves the best, and that’s what I want to be.
I strut through the penthouse completely naked. I crank up the music and do a couple push-ups to ensure that I’ll be in fine form tonight. I make a drink...scotch neat. Then I go to put on some cologne and don on my suit. It’s all fucking there, all the elements. I only need to sweep her off her feet, and I’ll be good.
I brush my fingers through my dark hair and study my reflection. Everything’s in place to make this night special. Tonight means too much for me to fuck it up.
Aurora will be shocked to see that it’s an erotic art show—a little detail I forgot to mention. I don’t want to scare her away. And yet I do need to introduce her to my lifestyle at some point.
I can only hope she keeps an open mind. Not many do when it comes to erotica. But to me, it’s a form of foreplay, and I’m sure she’ll enjoy it…she had better.
Besides, some of the best artists in the world will have their work on display there. And I have a few photographs, as well, that have been hung. What better way to show this girl what I’m made of?
Checking my watch, I see I have thirty minutes to kill. Cancelling the limo, I decide to pick Aurora up myself. Having my black Mercedes brought around to the front of the building, I think it will be a better touch for me to be there in person rather than a limousine.
One last look, and I know this woman will be begging to please me before tonight’s even over.
That’s the goal, at least.
I take the private elevator down, bypassing all the stops that ordinary people would have to endure. Two minutes later, I’m in the Mercedes, pulling out into traffic.
The sounds of Andrea Bocelli radiate through the car, relaxing me. I need all the relaxation I can get, with my cock straining through my pants at the thought of seeing her. My taste in music is as refined as my women, too.
I require the best in everything, because after all, it’s the Grayson way.
Chapter 32
Aurora
I tiptoe around my Park Avenue apartment, trying not to make a noise. Anders is home at last, and he’s asleep. Even though internally I feel like shaking him awake and giving him a piece of my mind, my better judgment says that he needs to get some rest and to recuperate.
He needs treatment. He’s for sure damaged beyond recognition. Anders wandered in here a couple days ago, and he’s been sleeping pretty much the entire time.