Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
"What have you heard?"
“That you've hired hundreds and that they come here, not your home."
"This is closer to the office. And ... I have too many valuables at home, plus my work is there. This worked better.”
“But you’ve taken me to your house,” I pointed out.
He chuckled. “Yes. I trust you not to rob me blind while I sleep.”
I propped my chin on his chest and watched his face, his dark brown eyes flicking to mine. "Hundreds?" I asked.
He frowned. "No. Over the last twenty years..." He shrugged. "There have probably been thirty."
I digested the number. On one hand, it was more than mine. On the other, it was less than I had expected. "And ... why prostitutes?"
He blushed, something I had never seen from him. "Pleasing a woman ... it's important to me. I wanted to be taught, by a professional."
"Taught?"
He moved a curl of hair from my cheek and wrapped it around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. "I was young the first time. Seventeen. I’d never even kissed a girl before; my whole world pretty much confined to my computer in the basement. I wanted to date, my hormones were going nuts, but Jillian and my parents didn't want me running around town flagging down the first girl I saw."
"So they ordered you a prostitute?" I pushed up off his chest, the motion causing my breasts to move, and his gaze dropped to them, a deep exhale easing from his chest as he took a moment, his hands sliding up my back and curving forward, cupping my breasts with reverence. "Brant," I said as he shifted total concentration to my chest. "Brant," I repeated. "Your parents got you a prostitute?"
"No," he mumbled, trying to pull me higher, so his mouth could reach my nipples. "Jillian got me Bridget, an eighteen-year-old girl straight off the pages of my fantasies."
"A prostitute," I repeated, sliding lower, moving my breasts farther away. I grinned despite myself.
He finally looked up. "Well, I didn't know she was a prostitute. Jillian had her knock on the door one day when I was home alone. The girl pretty much dragged me into my bedroom. She gave me my first blow job and made me forget all about computers for a good three minutes."
"Isn't that ... illegal? You were seventeen. Jillian’s your aunt! That's creepy in so many different ways I can't even name them all."
He laughed. "It was the best thing they could do for me at the time. And I didn't want to leave the house, didn't want..." He looked down, busying himself by pulling our sheet higher. "I understood them keeping me close. Protecting me. I didn't know she was a prostitute. I thought she liked me and had just moved in nearby. She hung around for two years and took me from a boy to a man. Then she was gone."
"What happened?"
He shrugged. "Moved away, got a boyfriend? I don't know. I was heartbroken. You know teenagers. I’d thought we were meant to be, and then Jillian told me how the girl was interested in getting paid and nothing more. She said I should concentrate on the good and what I had gotten from the relationship. I was pissed off and didn't talk to her for a few days. I'd moved out of my parents’ house by then and was living here at the condo. A few days passed, then she sent over a new girl. I understood the test. I couldn't be pissed at her for giving me something I wanted. So, I could turn away the girl, knowing she was a prostitute, or take her and accept the reality." He looked at me. "So, I fucked her. And it was different than with Bridget because I understood the dynamic, and I could control the situation. So, I focused on getting what I wanted—the ability to please a woman. And I figured, one day, I would have a woman worth using that ability on."
I winced and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He kissed me on the lips.
“You realize," I said slowly, "that stories like this are your skeletons. You’re supposed to keep this stuff locked away, behind a wall of impenetrable masculinity."
He laughed and rolled us over until he was on top, and his cock was still hard, still begging for attention. "Well, then there you have it. My skeletons. Will you still have me?" He nibbled a path along my neck, and I giggled beneath him, reaching a hand down and gripping the part of him I couldn't get enough of. "Skeletons?" I mused. "Well, I do like a good bone."
He groaned into my neck as he thrust into my hand. "That was so cheesy."
I laughed. "Good cheesy?"
He shook his head against my curls. "Bad cheesy."