Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
It’s weird. Really fucking weird.
I feel more exposed with his eyes on my face than I do in a hood with my asshole stretched open. The way it makes my heart race is ridiculous.
I swing in my chair, finally breaking the lock of our eyes to point over to one of the pictures on the wall.
“You seem like a nice guy.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d never have expected you to be one of the founders if I hadn’t bounced my butt on your lap. I wouldn’t have put you down as one. Never. Not in a million years.”
“Really? And why is that?”
I shrug. “Just wouldn’t. Helping homeless families one minute, then spraying piss all over bound, bruised tits the next. Kinda weird combination.”
I lock eyes again to see if my words have hit, but he’s still as composed as ever.
“I really can’t see how those two interests are related. Everything we do at The Agency is completely consensual and well rewarded. Entertainers can tap out at a moment’s notice, as you know.” He pauses. “We’re not devil worshipping savages, Tiffany. We’re a collection of men who like hardcore sex, and hence set up The Agency to facilitate it.”
My interest is piqued at that.
“Come on, then. Spill the beans. How many are in this collection? How many founders are there?”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
My mind trawls through some of the scenes I’ve had with these guys. Sometimes I’ve attempted to count the number of people around me. I’ve tried to keep track, even though they’ve been a blur.
“Seven?” I guess. “Maybe eight?”
“I’ll repeat my answer. I’m not at liberty to say.” Reuben’s tone is no nonsense. He’s not going to be laughing with me over this topic of conversation, that’s plain to see.
This is such a weird fucking setup – charitable Santa behind a monster of a desk, in his flash suit with his dark inquisitive eyes, and his hero pics all over the wall. You’d never figure he was one of the beasts who use me like a piece of slutty meat for tens of thousands of pounds a go.
“Why did you come to the club last night?” I ask, like this is a round of twenty questions.
He tips his head. “I was curious. Just like you were today.”
“Curious of how I sounded in a dodgy scene with another punter?” I grin. “I hope I lived up to your expectations.”
“I hated that part, actually. I much prefer it when I’m in control of the scene.” He cracks a hint of a smile. “Being on the sidelines of such filth is like smelling impressive cologne in the air, only to find you’re not the one who’s wearing it.”
My mind whirs.
“So, you are usually in control of the scenes? You are the top of the tree? Caught you.”
He laughs as I jab a finger, and his dark humoured magnetism strikes up again. I stop spinning side to side in the chair because the lurch in my stomach can’t handle it.
“I’m usually in control of your scenes, specifically,” he says. “We all have our personal preferences.”
My mind spins, trying to catch hold of his implication. My scenes, specifically.
“You mean that, you, um…”
He nods before I finish. “Yes, Tiffany. I usually choose you. As I said, we all have our personal preferences. We all have our favourite entertainers. You happen to be mine.”
I get a dumbass glow at his words. I must look like one of the kids on the pictures doing an air punch.
I’m Santa’s favourite. What an achievement.
I can guess why, of course.
“Ah, you like the plus sized box ticked.”
“Yes, I’m very much a fan of curves, but that’s not the deciding factor. Far from it. You’re not just a plus size girl. There are other elements at play.”
I smirk, back on familiar turf. Cream is in her element.
“Ha, yeah. I get it. I’m a curvy girl who also happens to be a dirty bitch who can take just about anything. Especially when it comes to anal. I know you like that, Reuben. Oh, and tit bondage.”
I squeeze my cleavage for effect, but steely-eyed Santa shakes his head.
“You put yourself down through your brashness, Tiffany. There are a thousand tiny details that give you the gold star on my favourites list. It’s not just how big your tits are, and how much you can take in your ass.”
The question like what? is on the tip of my tongue, because I’d like to hear every one of those thousand tiny details, straight from Santa’s beautiful mouth. Me, not Creamgirl. I’d love to hear every little thing that’s cemented the interest of a man like him.
But I can’t ask him. I’m way too fucking nervous.
I start up the chair spinning again, with Cream’s dirty grin on my face.
“Well, for what it’s worth, you’ve got a golden star on my favourites list, too. Especially now I’ve seen your face, you filthy stud.”