Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Ingrid smirks on a snort, sunlight catching her shocking blue eyes—one legacy from our father we both share—while her permanent devious smile mirrors our mother's humor.
Muted sounds of laughter seep through the walls from the offices adjacent to the conference room as I struggle to ground myself back into the work of the day. But the sound reminds me I don’t remember my last laugh. Or smile.
"Sure about that dick-sucking thing?" Ingrid raises a perfectly microbladed black eyebrow. She’s in yellow today, which makes her look a goth, runway model bumblebee, with her onyx black hair slicked back in her signature bun, two-inch fang shaped black fingernails tipping every finger and matching matte black Morticia-style lipstick.
"Yes." I grimace as my balls cramp and anxiety pools in my gut, an obsession growing inside me, wondering where Cat Ears disappeared to. "Unlike you, I don't shit where I eat."
My sister knows the truth—I've never had an assistant suck my dick. I've never had my dick sucked at all. I’ve never fucked. No one has touched me below the waist but myself. We don't discuss it, but she knows me too well for my comfort.
I avoid eye contact with women unless they work for me. Even then, I see disgust behind fake smiles or averted gazes. I haven't hardened for a woman in decades. My morning shower release is more chore than pleasure—a physiological necessity like washing my hair.
Ingrid half-laughs as Rocko and Pauly shift uncomfortably in their chairs. "You call it shitting, I call it job security. Male assistants handle a female boss's extracurricular demands better than the reverse. No HR complaints here, and even if they tried..." She checks her black nail polish, before settling her doodling pen down on the yellow paper, then rising to her full five foot four inches plus five-inch stilettos, spinning and moving toward the door.
I nod to my enforcers, noticing their hardened jaw muscles and Rocko's stifled groan, glad this little meeting is over, because I can’t fucking concentrate. "You two can go," I announce as my cock continues thickening, making the world unsteady beneath my size-sixteen shoes.
I barely register their three-hundred-pound frames lumbering out of the room behind Ingrid as I push to my feet, adjusting my painful erection and heading toward the other exit door of the conference room, toward the hallway that leads to my private offices.
My arousal grows, blood loss doubling my vision as I lumber down the hall following the heavenly cotton-candy scent that lingers in the air. I already know it's her. Some primal intuition tells me her pussy would taste better than any sugary sweet carnival treat my tongue has experienced.
Two female staff members are heading my way. When they see me, their cheerful exchanges fall into silence, eyes dropping, shoulders pulling in, tucking tightly toward each other as they walk by.
Hunger gnaws at my insides with sharp teeth. I've never felt anything close to this. All the walls I've built against females and feelings crumble under each step toward her, as I pray—for the first time in my life—that when she looks at me, it’s not horror I see looking back.
The knot in my gut climbs upward, choking the air from my lungs as I turn the corner and catch sight of her walking alongside our HR head, who peppers her with questions.
My strides triple theirs, bringing me within earshot in seconds. I flatten my back against the wall, hanging back just enough to avoid detection, my head bumping the emergency exit sign mounted from the ceiling.
"This position is full-time and on-call twenty-four hours daily. Mr. Duffield needs someone available at any hour. Is that a problem?" Mrs. Yongston swings open my private conference room door, ushering the young woman inside with a sweep of her arm.
"I'm available at all hours," Cat Ears answers, each word stroking my cock like a skilled hand even as I note the saccharine sarcasm in her reply. The muscles down my back seize, forcing me to clench my ass cheeks and bite back a grunt.
I inch my way along the wall, drawing looks from workers in the open office area beyond the glass walls opposite me, but as soon as I narrow my eyes their way, they scurry from their desks toward parts unknown or find a sudden interest in their shoes.
I don’t give a ripe fuck when people stare at me. I’m a side show, but today the only attention I want is hers. Any other eyes on me feel like a violation. An intrusion on the moment when the dead parts of me flickered to life.
Another few inches and I’m close enough now to watch her mid-thigh painted-on black skirt tug around her perfect ass as she disappears through the door. My pulse skyrockets, sweat soaking through my shirt.
I begin to wonder if Ingrid slipped something in my coffee. She's played such games before—Adderall when I asked for aspirin—but this?