Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“That’s it,” Whit encourages, and oh my God, I know I shouldn’t be turned on by his praise, but I am. “You’re such a good little slut for me.”
That. I’m not into that.
No way.
Except for right now as pleasure begins to spiral through me from the tips of my toes to my freakin’ hair follicles. My body bows, and I fall forward, my hands grabbing his bicep. Somehow, I also seem to grab the remaining threads of my dignity.
“Oh God, Whit,” I whimper, locking my knees against this wave of pleasure. “Me-me. Call me Mimi.”
My fingers tighten on his arm as I throw my head back and do the only thing I can. I let go. I’m a little too occupied to notice anything else. So I don’t see his shoulders tense, and I don’t realize if his head rears back. I definitely didn’t see the color leach from his face, and I wouldn’t have anyway, thanks to the low lights. As it is, I see nothing, hear nothing, and care for nothing but those bliss-filled moments of sheer release.
2
WHIT
No, hell no, and fuck no.
“I told her no.” Leaning back in my chair, I watch my younger brothers exchange a dubious glance. “What? What’s that look supposed to mean?”
El shrugs, and Brin decides now is an opportune time to examine his fingernails.
“I mean, is she the CEO, or am I?”
“Your name might be above the door, but you’re not technically the head of the family. You know how this goes.” Brin, my younger brother, shrugs.
“Dad might’ve enjoyed having his strings pulled”—both brothers’ faces twist in distaste—“but I don’t.”
“Yeah, but this is Polly we’re talking about,” El, the problem middle child, adds, referring to our mother by her name. “I’m not sure she knows the meaning of the word.”
El isn’t really the middle child, just the middle one out of the three of us. That’s not to say he isn’t a problem.
“We all know that the word no means something else to Polly,” Brin says.
“Yeah, like try another way,” El agrees.
That’s our mother to a T. I’m sure most people don’t recognize her machinations because she operates like a steel fist in a velvet glove. But this conversation isn’t even about her. It’s about what happened in my apartment last week. About how good Mimi Valente’s nails felt pressing into the skin of my forearm. How fucking amazing it was to watch her come all over my fingertips. Not that my brothers are aware of what happened because I’m not in the habit of discussing my sex life with them.
Don’t stop.
I’ve never—
I give my head a quick shake to rouse myself from the temptation that seems to play in my mind on a loop. Never what? I wonder for the thousandth time before pushing the question away.
I hadn’t seen her since she was a kid, so of course I didn’t recognize her. And I was horrified when she pulled her bloody résumé from her purse. She was dressed for an interview, not to meet some vague fetish of mine. What happened should be enough to make my balls crawl up my arsehole and never want to come out. Unfortunately, my brain had taken another path, one that seems to insist on reminding me how perfectly she followed instructions and how beautiful she looked as she unraveled, gripping my arm and pulsing against my fingertips.
It was a busy night. I’d had cum on my fingers twice. Once in the lounge, a gorgeous woman clinging onto me, and once in the shower as I’d replayed the moment in my head.
That she’d turned up unannounced was Polly’s doing. That she didn’t quite get the position she sought is on me. I was expecting someone else. A playmate, if you like. But that’s not to say Mimi left feeling discontented. She seemed a little dazed, to be honest. And embarrassed. But unsatisfied? Definitely not. Not the way she wobbled her way back out of my apartment.
I rub a hand down my face. This is all so fucked up. And the idea of her working here? No. Fuck no, and hell no. I’m sure she feels exactly the same. She’d probably hitchhike back to Florida rather than face me.
“Poll is tenacious. Like a terrier.”
El’s voice pulls me back to the moment. “It doesn’t matter how dogged she is because I said no,” I repeat with finality. “Amelia Valente might be in London, but she’s not working here.”
My brothers make a joint high-pitched, “Oooooh!” which I choose to ignore as I drop my head to one hand and begin to massage my temples. Of course she’s not working here. No way she wants to be anywhere near me. She probably thinks I’m a deviant.
“I don’t know what you’ve got against the idea. It’s not like you’d have to see her every day.” El flicks out his hand, indicating the size of my office or maybe the space of the floors beyond. “You could just shove her in the basement with the tech team.”