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’m here,” I say and take hold of her hand.
“Phew.” She giggles. “Thought you might have gone.”
“Gone? Why?”
“Dunno. Work. Grotto. Downstairs.” She pauses. “Anywhere.”
There’s something in her voice I can’t ascertain. I pull her towards me so her head is on my chest as I wrap her in my arms.
“You’re nice and warm,” she says, and this time as her hands rove there is nothing sexual about it. She doesn’t slide her fingers down to my cock or hitch herself closer against my thigh like a horny minx. She just breathes, and relaxes. “Don’t you need to get up?”
“Soon, yes. I’ve got to get my Santa hat on for the day.”
“Do you ever take a day off?”
“From the grotto or just in general?”
“Either.”
I answer honestly. “No.”
“Nah, me neither. Not unless I can help it. Workaholics, both of us.”
Sexaholic is how the founders have referred to her before, not workaholic. She must have enough cash in her bank account to live a life of Riley – I’ve seen the value of her proposals, plus I’ve used my status to check the property register. She owns her place in Belgravia, and those apartments don’t come cheap.
There are so many questions I want to ask this beauty as I run my fingers up and down her arm.
Why?
Why is she such a workaholic?
Is it really her sex drive that keeps her busy night after night, apart from when she’s recovering?
“Why do you work so much?” she asks me. “Does the business need it? You could be living it up on a yacht somewhere, bathing in the sun.”
I have to laugh, because it’s like she can read my mind without me saying a word.
“Like you said. Workaholic. How about you? Why aren’t you on a yacht somewhere, bathing in the sun?”
“Don’t think I earn quite as much as you, Reuben. I’m pretty minted, but I’m not in millionaire territory. Not yet.”
“You’re surrounded by plenty of clients who are. I’m sure one of them would whisk you away for a trip whenever you wanted one. And you’d get paid for it.”
She strokes my chest.
“How about you? Would you whisk me away for a trip in the sun? You wouldn’t have to pay for it. Winner.”
The idea of relaxing in the sun with this goddess gives me a pang. I haven’t taken a proper vacation since Jeanette. Breaks with my ‘friends’ involving whisky and business chatter, yes. A true holiday, no.
I have nobody to share one with.
Had.
I had nobody to share one with.
“I’d gladly whisk you away for a trip in the sun, as long as your calendar would allow it.”
“Hmm. In that case, I guess we need to book some shared leave.”
The thought of her resuming her client bookings makes me feel sick to the stomach. I don’t want anyone else to touch the treasure. Least of all my founder friends with all their filthy plans. It’s on the horizon and I know it. The founders’ thread has been blaring on in the background without my input, and I know fresh proposals have been landing in Tiffany’s inbox almost constantly.
“After Christmas,” I say. “Keep your calendar free for a while when your proposals allow it, and we’ll go away?”
She stiffens in my arms, and her tension terrifies me.
“Sure, yeah. I’ll leave some bookings free. No problemo.” With that, she rolls away, planting a kiss on my shoulder on the way. “I need a pee.”
That was Creamgirl talking and not Tiffany. I know it.
I follow her to the ensuite, adoring the sight of her naked body as she drops herself onto the seat. But I don’t have a hard-on. I’m not out to fuck her senseless as I stand in the doorway.
“What?” I ask her. “What triggered that?”
“Triggered what?”
Yes, that’s definitely Creamgirl’s tone.
She spreads her legs as she starts pissing. “Want some playtime, or do you need to gallop off to the grotto?”
“Come on, Tiffany. Don’t deflect the question with your pussy.”
Her eyes flare at me, walls up high.
“I’m not triggered by anything. I’m cool.”
“Did I say something to upset you?”
She gives me a Creamgirl cackle. “No, of course not. You just offered me a yacht trip, I should be giving you a high five, not crying in a bathroom.”
I note the word should, but I don’t push it. Should be giving me a high five, not crying in a bathroom.
Crying.
She wipes her pussy and flushes the toilet. Her naked body looks incredible under the harshness of the bathroom lights. I love how her tits jiggle as she washes her hands.
Unfortunately, the grotto opens at ten, so I ease back on pushing her.
“What are you going to do today?” I ask. “Put your feet up, watch some TV? There’s practically a cinema downstairs.”
She shrugs. “Sure. I’ll find something to do. Always something to scroll through on social media, or who knows? I might even grab a book.” She gives me a smirk. “Don’t worry though, Santa, I’ll be ready to empty your sack when you get back home.”