Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“You turn me on.” He ran his finger along the stem of his wine glass. “I want to make love to you. So, let’s get a luxury hotel room. Five star. Hope you’re not offended. Just being honest with you.”
Her mouth twitched and she shook her head, then laughed.
“You take me for a bitch that fucks on a first date?”
“I don’t take you for a bitch that fucks at all… I take you for a sexually liberated woman who decides what dick she rides and what dick she rejects. I believe I’m in the first group.”
She leaned over the table, a mean, nasty smirk on her face. “Do you know how to eat pussy?”
“I do. I do it well, and I enjoy it.”
“Are you workin’ with less than six inches? Size isn’t everything but I refuse to go below average. I need to feel that shit. My time is valuable, and when you take yo’ horny ass back to Georgia, I need to know that at least I got something out of the deal, too.”
“I’ve never measured my cock before, but from the feedback I’ve received from the women I’ve bent over for the past two decades, the consensus is it’s thick and long. And I fuck strong.”
She tossed her napkin on the table.
“Pay the damn bill and take me to this five-star hotel you speak of. I will follow you over in my car.”
“Cool.” Removing his wallet from his jacket pocket, he slipped out one of his credit cards.
“I want champagne, room service in the mornin’, a big ass jacuzzi tub to soak my cookie in afterwards, and for you to drown in my pussy like it’s the Atlantic Ocean and you can’t fuckin’ swim. If you take your pants down and I find out you lied about the size of your dick, I’m taking off like a plane. Point blank, period.”
“I have no reason to lie about somethin’ like that. It’s not like the truth could be hidden. If I had a small dick, I’d just say so.”
“I am about to text my friend and let her know my plans.” She whipped her phone out, a serious, damn near angry expression on her face. “I carry a gun, knife, and pepper spray, and I can brawl like a pissed-off wildcat on crack, so if you on some weirdo shit, you got a fight on your hands. I’m very good in bed, and these aren’t wolf tickets I’m sellin’, so I expect the same in return.” She snapped a photo of him, then he watched her send it to someone. “I want my back blown the fuck out.”
“Then call me dynamite. I can blow some shit up. Down. In. Out.”
“That monotone, languid voice of yours, even when talking explicitly about fucking, is interesting to say the least. You’re not the excitable type, are you?”
“Not particularly.”
“You’re a bizarre man, Caspian. I’m kinda here for it.” She winked.
“Sir, we’re ready.” He waved his card lazily in the air. “…Here he comes.”
“Good. I’m ready to cum, too. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
Elle Varner’s, ‘Only Wanna Give it to You’ presented through unseen speakers as they strolled into the hotel like some power couple on a mission. In all of her years living in Kentucky, she’d never heard of the Platinum St. Charles Hotel. It was far off the main thoroughfare, hidden amongst tall, ancient trees with several gates and cameras blinking as one edged onto the property.
In the lobby, a pianist in a white suit and red suspenders sat perched at a glossy white piano with gold and red candles atop it, nursing what appeared to be a tall glass of iced tea. A bar sat cattycorner to her right, imbued in blue lights. Choppy laughter and boisterous chatter gushed from the entryway, and the robust aroma of cigars billowed from the lounge with soft jazz music playing, blending in with Elle Varner’s languid, sultry voice.
Elegant women stood around in long silk gowns and four-inch heels. Some wore modest business attire, paired with sparkling diamonds, gold, and emeralds. Some of the gentlemen were quite dapper, holding blue crystal flutes, skull-shaped beer mugs, or gold steins. Some were seated leisurely on the plush pearl-hued couches, by coffee tables made of something burnished and expensive.
Oh yeah… I see Caspian likes to party like a rock star. This some rich White folk shit.
Azure ran her hand along the side of her neck as she trailed behind Caspian, who was making a beeline towards the ivory and red marble desk where the concierges and receptionists awaited dressed in suits and ties.
She was no more than two feet away from him, taking him all in. Elegant and classy as he spoke in a hushed tone. He was tall, an easy six-foot-three, and his shoulders were broad, his limbs long, and according to the way his jacket fit, his waist narrow. He looked pretty clean-cut, though there was a slight ruggedness about the man. He smelled like a strong, crisp, clean soap, spearmint and leather. His short black beard was neatly cut, and his hair was styled in a low-cut pompadour with a crisp side part—an off black with slight sable brown highlights. His eyebrows were thick yet tamed, and those icy peepers of his blazed like electric blue flames.