Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
“I’m not flaunting, I’m making dinner,” she retorted and stood back up to face me.
“Looked like flaunting to me.”
“Because you’re a horny pervert.”
“When it comes to you, Benny girl, I am a total degenerate,” I replied and reached out to brush a strand of blond hair out of her face. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you right now.”
Georgia leaned forward to press a kiss to my lips. “Hold that thought until later tonight.”
“What? Why?” I pouted.
“Because dinner is ready.”
“But I want to be your sugar daddy.” I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her body tight to mine.
She quirked a knowing brow. “And what exactly are you trying to give me?”
“Orgasms, Benny. Lots and lots of orgasms.”
She rolled her eyes and started to turn back to the oven, but I made the executive decision that we’d eat dinner later. After I spend a good hour worshiping her perfect ass. Chicken marsala was good, but it didn’t even come close to the taste of my wife.
Between one breath and the next, I had her tossed over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and my fingers were tapping the oven off.
“Kline Brooks! Put me down!”
“Oh, don’t worry, baby. I’ll put you down,” I answered and headed for the stairs. “Once we make it to the bedroom.”
“But our dinner!” she half shouted, half giggled. “It will get cold!”
“That’s what microwaves are for.”
Once I reached our bedroom, I kicked the door shut behind me and tossed her onto the bed.
It didn’t take long before her panties were on the floor and her skirt was pushed up past her waist, revealing the gorgeous spot between her thighs.
Like a dog on a bone, I fell on her pussy and feasted until her squeals and giggles turned to moans and whimpers.
Fuck yes. This, right here, was my favorite thing in the whole damn world.
Déjà vu of the blissful days of our honeymoon filled my mind while the sweet taste of her arousal coated my tongue, and a plan took shape in my mind.
My first order of business would be making Georgia come.
But the next priority on my agenda? Setting up a fantastic fucking surprise.
New York, Wednesday, May 24th
Two days of scheming later, and my week was finally looking up. Thanks to Meryl and Dean putting in a full day at the office, my insane workload was somewhat manageable, and Leslie’s always-infuriating presence was presenting itself somewhere far away from my office doors.
In fact, if I’d decoded all the office gossip correctly, Dean had spent the better part of last night coming up with a never-ending scavenger hunt that would keep her away and occupied until the end of the week. Granted, when an employee’s greatest strength was being sent away from the office on pointless errands, it was probably time for them to go.
But for now, I could ignore the looming need to fire her.
Though, that didn’t stop outside distractions from seeping in. I was deep in the trenches of planning a huge fuck-you to my wife’s history with the holiday of love, and apparently, sabotaging the plans of the devil took a good amount of energy and dedication.
An iMessage notification flashed on the screen of my laptop, and I clicked it open to find a text.
Wes: Is this how it’s going to be now that you’re married? I mean, thank fuck you made Brooks Media so successful before you met her. If you hadn’t, TapNext would be swirling around in the shitter by now.
I laughed.
We had spent the better part of this morning in email negotiations that he didn’t like, and Wes’s mood was deteriorating by the minute. Considering his baseline hovered just outside of broody bastard ninety percent of the time, that was really saying something.
The target deal? Ensuring that Georgia would be off work starting tomorrow for the awesome surprise I had planned. All of which, thanks to Meryl’s quick work, had been officially booked as of this morning.
Obviously, Wes hadn’t technically officially agreed, but I knew if I booked the trip anyway—nonrefundable, of course—even if he got salty, he’d never be able to turn me down.
Me: Come on, Wes. It’s four days. And it’s important.
Wes: Important? You take trips to the tropics more often than I take shits at this point, dude. Why should your wife’s fucked relationship with Valentine’s Day be my problem?
Obviously, I’d filled him in on the essential details to pull at his heartstrings. Too bad I’d forgotten he didn’t have any organs in his cold, dead chest.
Me: Who hurt you, Mr. Grinch? And why do you have to take it out on poor little Cindy Lou Who?
Wes: You know what? It’s a shame I don’t have the authority to fire my Director of Marketing’s husband. Because he’s a pain in my fucking ass.