Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Then again, their small dicks only make me look better. It’s a selfish sentiment to voice, but I’ve never pretended to be anything but a selfish prick. In fact, I’d say it’s my specialty. I’ve used plenty of female bodies during my time on this Earth, enjoying their curves while penetrating those hot, wet depths. But after I get off, it’s usually sayonara, wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Love ‘em and leave ‘em has been my style for two decades and it works for me.
But I’m not a total asshole because I leave the ladies with a little something. Not my semen, fuck no. I always use condoms because the ladies know I’m a billionaire, and more than a few want to get knocked up so that they can live a lavish lifestyle for the rest of their years on earth. Instead, I usually send them off with a small gift, whether a necklace, bracelet, or some kind of bauble to ameliorate their disappointment at being dumped. I still remember my latest fling. Mary was flushed and panting, her curves heaving with pleasure after I pulled out.
“That was nice, Patrick,” she purred, pushing her red hair from her forehead. “I swear, I’ve never gotten it so hard before. You’re so big!”
I grunted before pulling the condom off, careful to knot it closed before tossing the rubber in a nearby trash can.
“Happy to do the honors, sweetheart. I live to satisfy female dreams.”
She giggled, although my comment was a bit rude.
“I’m looking forward to our dinner on Friday night too,” she mewled, going up on one elbow in the bed. “Who was it with again? The King of Saudi Arabia? Or Oman? I get them confused.”
I shook my head, already reaching for my button-down.
“It was Saudi Arabia, but not the King, sweetheart. Most Middle East countries don’t allow alcohol consumption within their borders, although quite a few are relaxing their laws in that area. No, it’s with the Saudi Arabian Minister of Tourism. He’s the one I’m meeting with.”
Mary shot me a befuddled look. “But I thought you just said that Saudi Arabia doesn’t allow alcohol consumption, so why would you need to meet with anyone? What would you discuss?”
I shrug, pulling on my jacket.
“Shit changes. Like I said, standards and mores are beginning to morph, even in the Middle East. The region is opening up, and part of that is relaxing alcohol laws in order to attract tourists and foreign nationals. It’s definitely good for O’Lachlans,” I smirk. “I’ll be pouring beers down their throats by the pint by year’s end.”
Mary nodded, her eyes wide.
“So you’ll be selling alcohol to expats then.”
I shrug again, pulling on my overcoat.
“Maybe. Obviously, just because alcohol is banned doesn’t mean that there isn’t a healthy black market for forbidden goods. Our shit is smuggled into the country, one bottle at a time. Granted, this isn’t akin to the large-scale rum-running that took place during the Prohibition, but it’s not nothing either. What can I say? People like their drink, and O’Lachs is part of it.”
Mary looked puzzled by my brief educational talk, and a wave of disgust ran through my chest because the redhead just didn’t get it. She couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation about my business, nor any of my interests, without becoming utterly confused. I resolved then to dump her.
“So anyways,” I continued, grabbing my briefcase. “No need for your presence at the event on Friday, and in fact, I’ve gotten really busy, sweetheart. I’m afraid I’m going to have to call this off.”
Unfortunately, Mary’s lack of intelligence stymied me again.
“Call what off?” she asked in a confused voice. “What do you mean, Patrick?”
“Call this, whatever it is,” I said in a smooth tone, gesturing with one finger between our bodies. “Me fucking you. You waiting for me in lingerie at a hotel room, those big boobies encased in a tiny bra and your pussy already sopping with desire. No more of that.”
Mary still looked confused though.
“You mean, we won’t meet at a hotel? We’ll meet somewhere else? But where? Tell me and I’ll be there!”
I snorted with exasperation because some women really have a bag of rocks for brains. But Mary was referring to my penchant for using hotels as my rendezvous points for whores. It’s not that the ladies I date are prostitutes per se, although I have gone there. No, most of the young women I wine and dine are relatively normal, with wide smiles and open legs. I just don’t like to mix pleasure with the personal, and as a result, I don’t bring them to where I live. My family home is literally a historic castle in Ireland laden with history. The structure is imbued to the rafters with the spirit of my ancestors and I won’t insult their memory with the presence of the vapid women I date.