Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
But that’s Maddy’s gift. She knows what I want even before I know it, and is able to anticipate my needs. She has a drink ready for me right when I get home, and cooks the most delicious meals I’ve ever tasted. Heck, who knew that assuming gender roles from the 1950’s could be so satisfying? I love how my girl is always so caring and domestic, and enjoy tasting her curves at every chance I get.
But there is something very modern about her, and it shows itself now. Maddy sweeps into the living room from the bedroom, and my heart just about stops in my chest. Because my girl is wearing a short mini-dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. It’s black, and painted on her curves like a second skin. The sweetheart neckline shows off her creamy décolletage, while the hemline stops only a few inches below her pussy. Add to that a pair of five-inch spike heels, and I’m in heaven. Literally, my head feels like it’s going to float off.
“You look amazing,” I growl. “Much too delicious to go to stupid Vivandot at The Parisienne.”
She titters lightly.
“Oh Cameron, we just got out of bed. In fact, I’m still a little sore from that last thing you did, and I’m sure I walk funny now because of it. We should go,” she says with a smile.
I stare at her as she teeters over. It’s true, Maddy is limping just a tiny bit, and her gait has a funny, wide-hipped swing. Well, I know where that’s coming from. She’s been riding me so often that it’s insane her legs aren’t permanently spread yet.
But I merely growl and pull her in for a kiss.
“I hate fucking Pierre Trudeaux, but he is good at managing his assets. This show is going to be shit, but I guess I can sit through it.”
She giggles again, running her hands up and down my broad chest.
“It’ll be fine,” she coos. “If it’s bad, we’ll leave after fifteen minutes. Or we can always get the DVD of the show and watch it in bed?”
That’s a tempting thought. I’m tempted to stream this thing and have that be my research. But I know that once I’m in bed with Maddy, our eyes aren’t going to be on the screen. I’ll have her moaning and crying out within minutes, and it won’t be because of the show.
So I merely grab her short fur jacket and gently place it over her shoulders.
“Let’s go, sweetheart. It’s fine. I’ll survive if I have you there with me.”
She smiles brilliantly my way and takes my hand. Together, we make our way to the elevator and my heart beats rapidly. How did I get so lucky so as to snare the gorgeous Madeline Mitchell? She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and my life feels so amazing with her here.
Soon enough, we’re in a chauffeured car on the way to the Parisienne, and once we get to the hotel, the car pulls into a grand circular driveway. A bellboy rushes over to open the door and Maddy gets out to the bright lights and fake Eiffel Tower in the front.
“Oooh,” she says with a cheeky grin. “I’d love to see the real Eiffel Tower someday.”
I grab her hand, pulling her towards the auditorium.
“And I’d like to take you there, baby girl. Just you wait.”
She giggles, teetering behind me in her high heels, and soon we’re escorted into a private seating area within the huge arena. The Parisienne is ridiculous as I look around, and this auditorium is no exception. It’s done up with red velvet seats, red booths, and gold-tasseled furniture everywhere. There are huge swaths of dark velvet drapery, also adorned with gold tassels, and the walls are covered in a deep maroon brocade. To top it off, there’s an enormous, dangling crystal chandelier in the middle of the space, so big that it looks like a UFO hovering over the audience’s heads. I’d be afraid for it to come crashing down on me, if I were sitting in orchestra.
But instead, we’re sitting in a private booth off to the side. It’s an enclosed space so that we’re somewhat secluded, although of course, if people turn their heads to the upper left, they can see me and Maddy no problem. The door closes behind us, and we seat ourselves on the red velvet lounge sofa.
But then a voice sounds behind us.
“Drinks, Mr. Savage? For you, Mrs. Savage?”
It’s just the waiter offering us the drinks menu, but I sense rather than see how Maddy’s gone bright pink at being called Mrs. Savage.
“No thanks,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Or would you like something, sweetheart?”
She manages to get out a small, choked, “No thank you.”
The waiter disappears, leaving us in our plush enclosure once more. I squeeze my girl’s hand.