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)
“I don’t know,” I reply. “And yes, it is. I’d get crucified for breaking the code of conduct.”
“And so would I.”
“So, why are you really here?” I ask her, and she squirms against me, rubbing the crotch of her jeans against my thigh.
“I don’t know, either.”
“How about we go and find out?”
It would be so easy to kiss her here and now. To rip her cami top off and tear down her jeans without giving a shit for passing guests. But I pull myself together. One more flight of stairs and the top suite is waiting. I get us up there as quickly as I can.
“Gosh, posh mushrooms and now a posh suite. Can’t wait to see this,” she says as I put the key in the lock and let us in.
“This is incredible,” she says as she does a spin, taking in the antique decor, but I’m not looking at the surroundings, I’m looking at her. The way she moves, the way she grins, the way her stunning red hair flies around her.
I hang up my jacket and lower my tone.
“Strip off that next layer and get on the bed.”
Tiffany, the stunning Creamgirl, is unabashed, her stare strong as she pulls off her cami top without a care. She doesn’t break the stare as she kicks off her boots and pushes her jeans down, and there it is. The layer underneath. A lacy balconette bra that raises her gorgeous tits like trophies, and a suspender belt that leads to her fishnets, finished up with a tiny thong that does barely anything to cover her bare pussy.
I’ve seen her naked so many times I’ve lost count, but the energy here now is such a stark contrast it’s barely comprehendible. My cock is raging for her.
“Get on the bed,” I repeat, and she backs over to it, her eyes still on mine.
“How do you want me?”
“However you want to be.”
She lies on her back in the middle of the bed and hitches her knees up. Her thighs fall open as she watches me walk across the room. My fucking God, the sight of her pussy. Her lips are already swollen, the clean-shaven mound of hers on show like she’s a piece of Renaissance art.
“What are you going to do to me?” Her voice has a slight tremble. She knows what I’m capable of.
“Are you scared?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
I break the news to her.
“Nothing.”
8
TIFFANY
Iprop myself up on my elbows, staring at the gorgeous suited man.
“Nothing? Are you fucking serious?” I laugh, but he doesn’t laugh back.
“Deadly.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he picks up a travel case from the corner of the bedroom and takes out a selection of toys, laying them beside me one by one. Vibrators and dildos in a whole host of sizes, from neat little bullets, to huge towers of plastic with fist sized heads. Butt plugs, and beads – some on loose threads, like shimmering marbles, and others in a hard, thick row.
“Why?” I ask again. “Why won’t you be playing with me? We could have so much fun.”
“I’ve no doubt about that, but as I said, I want to see you, Tiffany. I want to see how you play with yourself, when you don’t have the rules of a proposal to live up to.”
I’m normally adept at reading clients, but with him it seems a whole other ballgame. I don’t get it. I’m still trying to figure him out as he pulls up a chair from the dresser and takes a seat at the side of the bed.
“Is this a voyeurism kink? Want to see how far I can push myself for you?”
“No. Not at all. I want to see how far you enjoy pushing yourself, and exactly how you do it.”
I grin. “Don’t you worry about that, Santa. I’m a very naughty girl. I can push myself a long fucking way.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’ve been privy to it many times.”
“So why not get dirty, then? We can do whatever you want. Anything.”
He stares me right in the eyes, looking almost angry. It gives me fucking tingles, go figure.
“Because this isn’t about me and it isn’t about Creamgirl. It’s about the girl underneath.”
The girl underneath. That makes me shuffle. Nervous.
“I am Creamgirl. It’s not an act. I love everything I do. It’s not just for the cash.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, and I’m sure you do. But you aren’t Creamgirl, you are Tiffany, and it’s Tiffany I want in this room with me tonight.”
I can’t remember the last time I’ve fucked around with someone using my real name. I’ve not ventured into the real world outside of proposals for years. But this is a proposal. Kind of. Technically.
Or is it?
The lines are blurry, and I feel like I’m wobbling, the safety of anonymity sailing away into the distance.