Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“What’s that?”
“Carmen invited Sophie to Angela’s baby shower, but she hasn’t heard back.”
I mute the phone again and haul Sophie up to stand between my legs, giving her five rapid-fire strokes with the spoon. She gasps and bites her lips to keep from making any sound. Patting her reddened cheeks with the spoon, I say, “Carmen wants to know if you’re coming to Angela’s baby’s shower.”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there.” She drops out of her glassy-eyed submission, and I wish to hell I hadn’t broken the spell.
“She’ll be there.” I end the call with my brother and wag the spoon at her. “On your knees, little girl.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know if sir really fits me,” I muse, rocking my hips forward when she grasps the base of my cock.
“How about ‘master’? No, no, I’ve got it—Bossman.”
I grin. “Bossman works—oh, God. You are so good at that.”
I see the stretch of a smile on the lips gliding over my cock before I close my eyes to sink into her ministrations.
Chapter Fourteen
Sophie
I bend over the toilet and throw up my breakfast. Again.
Gah. My stomach’s been a mess for a few days. I must’ve eaten something bad.
I hear the jingle of the bells on the door to the studio sound. Good thing Joey is my next client. “I’m back–” I heave again.
Ugh. Embarrassing. And disgusting. I quickly rinse my mouth out with water from the sink as Joey appears in the open doorway to the bathroom.
“Babygirl, are you sick?” He touches the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
My head feels fuzzy, and I’m really tired. I gaze up at him through bleary eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve had an upset stomach for a few days. It seems to be getting worse.”
“Aw, baby. What the hell are you doing here? You’re sick, angel.”
“I just have one client after you, and I can go home and rest.”
“Fuck that. Call your client and cancel. I’m taking you home.”
I groan. I absolutely hate to cancel on clients. A lot of them won’t reschedule, and I really need to keep all of them. I barely have enough to stay afloat. “No, I really can’t cancel.” I glance at the appointment scheduler on my tablet. I have four massages scheduled for tomorrow and three the next day. Getting sick isn’t an option.
Joey picks it up. “Come on, let’s go,” he says firmly, opening the door. “Get in the car.”
I feel crappy enough not to argue. In fact, having someone strong-willed make this decision for me comes as a relief. I turn docile, following Joey out of the office, standing there fuzzy-headed as he takes my keys to lock up.
“Come on, bella. Let’s get you home to bed.” He leads me to his car and opens the door for me, handing me in like a gentleman.
I have to admit, it sure is nice to be taken care of by a man. I would expect a guy like Joey to slay dragons for me. Bully the tow truck driver, sure. Intimidate my date who won’t take a hint.
But this? This nurturing, caretaking side of him?
It’s downright swoony. I haven’t had a guy like him in my life before, and it’s deeply settling. Once more, he conveys that sense of home.
When Joey climbs behind the wheel, I say, “You don’t have to do this, Joey.”
“The fuck I don’t. You’re my girl. I’m gonna take care of you when you’re sick.”
My eyes burn.
Joey drives to a drug store and picks up crackers, canned soup, ginger ale and Pepto Bismol. Then he drives me home.
He opens the door with my key. “I’m making a copy of this key,” he tells me.
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” I’m teasing, though. I’m starting to love the fact that Joey has wormed his way into my life.
“I’m looking after you, and I need a key.”
“Do you ever stop pushing, bossman?”
He shakes his head and leads me to the bedroom. “You get in bed. You want the ginger ale? Or how about some tea?”
This guy. “Tea would be great. It’s in the second drawer next to the refrigerator.”
“Which kind?”
“Ginger, please.” I collapse on the bed.
I can't believe Joey LaTorre is tucking me in bed and making me tea. Why? It doesn’t make sense.
He returns with a steaming mug of ginger tea. “Here you go, I put a little honey in it.”
“Mmm, thank you.” The tea settles my queasiness.
He kicks off his shoes and settles next to me on the bed, opening my appointment calendar on my tablet and pulling out his cell phone.
“I can do it.” I reach for them.
He pulls them out of my reach. “Clearly you need a little help.”
I chew a fingernail, nervous he might be too curt or say something rude to my client.
“Hello, Darla? Yes, I’m calling for Sophie Palazzo. She’s feeling under the weather, so I’m canceling her appointments...Yes, she wouldn’t want you to catch it… of course, of course. I can reschedule you for next week.” He scrolls through the appointments on the tablet to the following week. “How about next week at the same time? Okay, great. I have you down. Thank you.”