Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
He guided me backward toward the couch in the corner, not breaking his stride as he kissed me, and he lowered me to the couch as he moved on top of me. My skirt was already hiked up, so he pulled down my thong, left the heels on, and then unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down so he could sink inside me.
I gasped like I’d never felt him before. Never felt a dick so big.
With his jeans just over his ass, he fucked me into the corner of the couch, leaving my blouse on like he wanted me too much to take the time to fully undress. The sight of me alone got him that hard.
“I’ve been thinking about this pussy all fucking day.” No one did dirty talk like he did. I’d never been with a man who talked during sex and pulled it off so effortlessly. It was the depth of his voice, his confidence, the way he said it like he’d done it a hundred times. Even if he did the same with all the others, it still turned me on like fucking crazy.
My ankles locked together around his waist, and I grabbed on to his shoulders, buried under the mountain of his chest, lying there and taking the best dick of my life while he happily gave it. I’d had a long and depressing day, but he turned me on faster than a car accelerated to full speed. I dug my nails into his back as my face moved into his shoulder. The edge of my teeth pressed against his skin as I came.
He gave a masculine moan as his pumps slowed down, the two of us coming together, my ankles pressing into his back while my nails clawed at his shoulders. My makeup was destroyed by the tears I shed, moistening my mascara and making it smear underneath my eyes when I closed them.
He pulled out of me and left the couch before he buttoned his jeans like he had somewhere to be.
“Are you leaving?” I pulled down my skirt and sat upright, composing myself as best I could, as if I hadn’t just gotten screwed in the corner of the couch.
“Got shit to do.” He fixed his shirt before he looked at me. “Just wanted to make a pit stop. When I said I’d been thinking about that pussy all day, I meant it.” He looked at me the same way he had when he’d first walked into the apartment—like he could fuck me again.
I rose on my heels, slightly disappointed that he was about to run off again. He’d never done that before. Whenever he came to me, he always stuck around for at least the night. But the last thing I wanted to do was be clingy.
“My driver will pick you up at eight thirty.”
“He will?”
“We’ll have dinner. I’ll meet you there.”
He’d never done that before. “Why don’t you just pick me up?”
“Because I have a meeting at the restaurant. Once that’s done, we’ll have dinner.”
He seemed to have this all planned in his head, so I went with it. “If you’re busy, we can have dinner tomorrow.”
“You’re doing it again.”
My mouth shut so fast.
“I’m never too busy for you.” He moved into me and gave me a quick kiss before he walked out without another word. His heavy footsteps were audible on the rug in the hallway. Then they were gone, and so was he.
His driver picked me up at eight thirty on the dot, pulling up to the curb where I stood in my dress, heels, and coat. He opened the back door for me and drove me toward the Eiffel Tower. As the structure loomed larger, I realized we were close to Bastien’s apartment, but then we passed it and went straight to the tower.
I didn’t know where we were going.
When the driver pulled straight up to the tower, a group of men was waiting there dressed in all black, looking like a SWAT team even though they carried no visible weapons. The driver opened the door for me, and I joined the four men, who welcomed me in silence.
“This way.” One guy took the lead while the other three formed a perimeter around me, escorting me like I was the president with my own security detail. We approached the base of the tower, bypassed the security everyone else was required to undergo, and I was taken into a private elevator. The three guys stayed behind, while the one in the lead rode in the elevator with me, the box dangling in midair as the cables pulled us up sideways.
I knew there were two restaurants in the Eiffel Tower, so I assumed we were dining at one of them, something I’d never done even though I’d been born and raised in Paris. When we came to a stop and the doors opened, I expected the loud chatter of guests talking while they dined, but it was quiet—like no one was there.