Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I delete the message, laughing humorlessly. There’s no way I can send that. It makes no sense, coming from nowhere when he doesn’t even know who I am.
I should go to sleep, I write. I’ve got work in the morning XX
It’s strange, he responds. I have no idea who you are. This has come out of nowhere. But I enjoyed it, in a weird way xx
Why? XX
I send the message quickly. It’s not difficult to figure out why I’ve enjoyed this and why I’ve relished in the digital closeness. I can close my eyes and picture him with his smirking lips, startlingly blue eyes, and that intense look that screams powerful, protective.
And what has he got?
Some words out of the ether, with a name attached, which could be fake for all he knows.
I’m not sure, he replies. Maybe it’s when you typed ‘LOL.’ I’m used to stuffy business texts xx
I giggle. Didn’t it make me seem about five?
How old are you?
I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him the truth. He’s so much older and more experienced than me.
For me, the age difference doesn’t make me want him less. If anything, it makes me want him more. It makes the idea of him protecting me and nurturing me so much more appealing.
But will it be the same for him?
Heck, this isn’t a date. I need to get that drilled into my head. He’s not even thinking in that way.
Twenty, I tell him.
I resist the urge to add, but I’m very mature for my age. I’m not even sure that’s true, though grief can age a person, people say. So can trauma, I guess.
Well, twenty-year-old Fiona, it’s been nice talking to you. Sleep well if you’re telling the truth and not working for one of my rivals. If not…well, you can use your imagination xx
I laugh again. He doesn’t know how right he is. I can use my imagination for far more than possible punishments.
Anyway, I’d struggle to view anything he did as a punishment.
I’m not, I write back. You sleep well too, Felix XX
I stare down at the phone, my body hammering in time with my beating heart. It’s difficult to persuade myself this just happened. I just had a one-on-one text session with Felix freaking Franklin.
I’m so giddy I could burst.
Sleeping is going to be difficult tonight that’s for sure.
CHAPTER FIVE
Felix
I sit at my desk, staring at my computer, none of the words in the email registering with me. They might as well be written in a different language.
Despite how quick the conversation was, despite knowing nothing about her except her name and her age, I can’t stop thinking about Fiona.
I try to reason with myself.
We only spoke for maybe ten minutes. Nothing overtly sexual or romantic was said. If there was chemistry, a lot of it could’ve been imagined on my part since I only had a few sentences to go by. But she was fishing with that ‘I bet you say that to all the girls’ line.
A gold digger would fish and would want to make sure I’m not seeing anybody else.
But if she knows anything about me, surely she can tell I’m not going to be susceptible to that. I never have. I never will. Only a woman who would ignite a firestorm of desire in me could do that.
And there’s the problem.
Fiona hasn’t ignited a whole tidal wave. She hasn’t triggered an avalanche of want.
But there’s something more than was there before, like a flame ready to be coaxed into hellfire. It’s like she’s cast a spell on me over text.
With a groan, I sit back in my chair, closing my eyes and trying to picture her. I’ve never had a ‘type’ when it comes to women. All I’ve known – or maybe hoped – is that I’ll feel everything I need to when I finally lay eyes on my woman.
Yet, there’s something. My cock stirs as I imagine her wide-hipped, with big round juicy breasts, full lips, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes. She’s the perfect combination of a childbearing body and fuck-me-now sexuality, making my balls ache, seed flooding into my rock-hard length.
I snap my eyes open, breathing heavily.
What the hell is happening to me?
She might look nothing like that. She might not even be a twenty-year-old woman called Fiona.
I’ve got a break between two conference calls. I was going to spend the time checking my email and keeping on top of everything. My secretary knows only to forward me the most important matters and to fast-track anything from our charitable interests. I can normally kill thirty minutes by efficiently responding to as many emails as possible.
But now I can’t stop thinking about this woman, this Fiona if that’s her real name. I remember the way the positive emotions warmed my core when I read her messages, more than I’ve felt with any woman.