Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Why was Mr. White hard? And why did any human being need a penis that large? Sure, it’s possible that the turbulence, my fear of flying, my bare ass waving in the wind, or any combination of the three could’ve inflated my perception of how big it was. But it looked like the man stuffed a jumbo-sized zucchini in his pants. I still couldn’t believe I’d actually had my lips pressed directly on my bosses’ penis, even if it was through his slacks.
I decided this was how weird fetishes were born. I was absolutely soaked, and it was mortifying. It should’ve just been awkward, not awkwardly arousing.
Every time I’d discreetly glanced his way, he seemed unbothered. He just kept sitting there tapping away on his phone, sending emails and occasionally making calls. But he gave no sign that he’d just walked in on me with my underwear around my ankles and gotten a raging erection from the sight of it.
I survived the landing procedure with a little more seat clutching, breathing exercises, and without grabbing Mr. White’s hand this time. I had a feeling any physical contact was a very bad idea at the moment. Even if he seemed to give off a completely untouchable atmosphere, I had a growing, zucchini-sized certainty that he was was attracted to me. But none of that mattered. Mr. White was very clearly the type of man who didn’t mix business and pleasure.
Even if he did, it wasn’t like I would want to go down that road. Okay, maybe I’d like to go down that road, but I was smart enough to know it’d be a terrible idea. I guessed he was, too. I needed this job. More importantly, I didn’t need to get emotionally tangled up with a man who had a thunderbolt so far up his ass that his eyes were practically glowing.
Besides… What did you even do with a thing that size? I couldn’t exactly imagine it fitting, but that wasn’t stopping my stupid body from pressing every damn emergency hormone button at its disposal. I had a feeling I was going to be taking an extra-long shower when we got to New Orleans.
Mr. White barely spoke except to tell me to hurry up as we exited the airport. A driver was waiting for us in a luxurious, black SUV. We both climbed in, and Mr. White went straight back to work. The man never stopped.
I took his cue and pulled out my phone. I double checked the status of his luggage, which he’d asked to have sent straight to the hotel we were staying in. I flicked through a few emails that had come in within the last ten minutes or so—the man never stopped getting emails. So far, it seemed like he got something like three hundred per day, and Martha had tried her best to train me on his intricate priority level sorting system.
I was distracted by the view outside our car. I’d never been to New Orleans. Growing up as a Coleton meant I’d traveled the world, but it had been a whole lot of private jets to big cities like New York and Dubai and Tokyo. My father had never bothered to try to help me overcome my fear of flying. He simply had one of his doctors bring me enough sedatives to knock me out before the flight so he didn’t need to deal with my anxiety.
Between the sedatives and the access to private airports, we usually went straight to one of my father’s properties and spent all our time crammed into luxurious parties with billionaires and dignitaries.
New Orleans wasn’t the sort of place we would’ve ever come to, and something about it was energizing to me. I wanted to sneak away and walk the city—to stop by one of the street musicians and listen while I snacked on something from one of the food trucks I saw parked around various places.
We arrived at our hotel a short while later. I had to rush to follow Mr. White, who seemed to be in a great hurry as he entered the building and finally put his phone in his pocket.
“Mr. White?” I said, stopping him just inside. There were all sorts of well-dressed people moving about the lobby and getting checked in around us. It looked like he was looking for someone in particular. “I know you said nothing happened, but I wanted to apologize for the airplane. I don’t normally-”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget it happened.”
I snapped my mouth closed. I felt like the awkwardness was still looming over me like a dark cloud, but he seemed like he really wanted to drop the issue. “Are you looking for someone?” I asked.
He pulled out his phone and typed out a quick text. “My sister.”
“Oh, the one with the phobias?”