Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
And he would. He absolutely would.
But I don’t want to hurt her. I only want to bring her pleasure.
“Graham?”
I swivel around. My COO Christopher stares at me from across the table, expecting a response. And I’ve no idea what item on the agenda he’s referring to, or when the hell we moved from Taylor to Christopher.
Plus, I’m sporting an incredibly inconvenient erection.
Shit. Time to call upon the old standby. I imagine them all naked. As horrifying an image as that is—it will require bleach to wipe it away—it does the trick.
I tap my fingers on the conference table. “Yeah, I was thinking about that one,” I bluff. I can’t let on that my mind wandered. Not with the board vote next week. Besides, I’m supposed to be on a sex-batical, not an intensive immersion course. I need to act like my brain isn’t hanging out on naughty shores all day long.
“Yes?” Christopher leans forward.
I heave a deep sigh. The kind that says a thoughtful answer is coming.
“And I wonder if we’re ready for that yet?” I say, figuring this is like the SAT. If you don’t know the answer, you take a guess. That seems like a reasonable response to any question that might have arisen.
Christopher furrows his brow. “We’re not ready to move up the release of the new corsets? We just secured space for them in our lineup.”
Oops.
Wrong guess.
But am I CEO or am I CEO?
I lean back in my chair, let a slow smile spread, and point at him. “Gotcha.” I slap the table. “Of course we’re ready. We’re ready to launch that rocket into the holiday stratosphere. Santa’s going to have a bag full of naughty this Christmas.”
I’m rewarded with cheers and laughter.
I stand, give a quick wave, and say, “I have an important call to make. Good work, good focus, and great hustle.”
That earns me some smiles for keeping the meeting on time.
Inside my office, I close the door and will my mind to concentrate on the mountain of work that awaits me. With iron focus and sheer determination, I power my way through the afternoon.
In the early evening, I take off, saying goodbye to Brian. “Don’t work too late.”
He shuts his laptop. “I’m on my way out now. I need to head home to Missy and bring her some pepper steak. She’s been craving that like mad the last few weeks.”
“How far along is she now?”
“Thirty-seven weeks.”
I clap him on the back. “Excellent. And is everything going well?”
“Perfectly. Knock on wood.”
“Send her my best, and on the way home, why don’t you pick up some takeout from the Hunan Garden around the corner? Put it on my personal account.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I really appreciate that.”
“My pleasure.”
A productive day at work, a gesture of goodwill toward a colleague and his lady, and a hard workout in my future—it’s all good. But I can’t help wishing CJ were going to be with me tonight.
I’d really like to take her to night school. Right now.
Instead, I go to the gym, meeting up with Campbell.
“Hey, bra man. What time is it when the big hand is on the six and the little hand is on the seven?”
I tap my temple. “Time for me to kick your ass on the treadmill.”
He laughs and turns up the speed on his machine. As we run, he updates me on some woman he just met, had a fantastic night with, and is making plans to see again.
“She must have lost a bet with a friend. That’s why she has to date you?” I offer.
“Definitely. But seeing as I delivered a four-peat, I think we both won that bet.”
I’ve got nothing. I simply have to salute him.
When I leave the gym after a muscle-burning and heart-pounding five-mile run, followed by an intense session of weights, I’ve exhausted my body and distracted my mind.
At home, I pour myself a Scotch and settle in to catch up on one of my favorite flicks of all time, Office Space. At this point, I can recite it as I watch, including the bit where the douche boss in his blue shirt and white cuffs monotones the line that makes every employee cringe. “Yeah, I’m going to need you to come in on Saturday.”
But rather than laughing at a too-true bit, I’m back where I started the day.
With CJ.
Bending her over my desk.
Working overtime on her body. Making her come on a Saturday. A Sunday. Hell, every day.
Damn, I’m an easy bastard, managing to get hard watching a dark comedy.
I glance down at the tent in my shorts. Thanks, CJ, for yet another erection courtesy of you. Tomorrow—and lesson two—can’t come soon enough.
I flick off the TV, since there’s no way I’m going to take care of this while Bill Lumbergh, the douche boss from the flick, is on the screen.