Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Goddamn.
Who would’ve thought tonight would be such an adrenaline rush, wanting to kick that dude’s ass? The look on Posey’s face when she got into the chicken-scented car. I’m having way more fun here than I ever thought I would!
Grinning, I slide my eyes closed and stroke.
Up and down the base, hard tugs to the tip.
Behind my lids, I see Posey, which is weird, because she’s not normally someone I’d fantasize about—not because she’s not cute or pretty or sexy. But because I’m probably not her type and I’m not the kind of guy who wastes time on women who aren’t interested.
Granted, we did almost bone this morning.
A handy is foreplay, yeah?
I continue stroking and continue fantasizing. Hand on her tit, fingers on her nipple, tugging.
Brown hair. Blue eyes.
Small and perky and adorable.
Perky boobs. Great ass.
Smart mouth.
I mentally undress her; remove that conservative shirt she wore on her date tonight with the little red hearts. The jeans. Her hot pink toenails playing peek-a-boo from the toe of her heels.
Peek-a-boob.
Those tits.
They fit so nicely in my giant palm. I wish I could have seen what they looked like.
I am shocked as fuck we screwed around this morning; SHOCKED with a capital S. Would have bet my career that Posey is the last woman on earth who would fool around with a guy like me.
I see the way she looks at me; like I’m some annoying jock she’s forced to put up with ’cause I’m paying her, which might be true, but it still sucks now that we’re getting to know each other and now that she’s touched my dong.
I stroke its hard length. Tilting my head up, I allow the spray from the showerhead to hit my throat, letting the warm water blanket me until I climax.
I grunt, shooting my load at the shower wall, glad I don’t have to rinse off.
It slides down the wall, over the bathtub ledge, and into the drain.
Ahh.
How satisfying was that?
I stand here a bit longer, wrapped in the warm water, lost in my thoughts and then not thinking at all. I feel worry-free and relaxed for the first time in a long time, and it’s fucking great.
Shoulders aren’t tense, and muscles aren’t sore.
That doesn’t mean I won’t have to get back to work in a few days after we’re done with that press conference that’ll be televised for all the world to see.
Eli and I will fly back to Texas on Wednesday, go to the Steers headquarters and in the press room, make the announcement sitting alongside management and maybe the team owner.
Life is good.
Nay! Life is great.
Whistling, I feel for the towel on the opposite side of the shower curtain to make sure it’s there before I cut the water.
Then I dry myself off a bit so I’m not dripping wet. I damn near killed myself yesterday slipping on the tile. Water was everywhere ’cause I hadn’t had the curtain inside the tub while I was showering.
Whoops.
I won’t make that mistake again.
Wrapping the towel around my waist—or trying to, it barely fits—my hand sweeps the shower curtain on its decorative, metal rings, from one end to the—
“Were you jerking off in my shower?”
“Jesus Christ!” I shout, yanking the shower curtain clear off the bar and holding it in front of me as a form of protection, my jerky movement causing it to collapse with a loud, clattering bang on the tile floor. “Fuck.” I glare at Posey. “What did I tell you about sneaking up on someone while they’re showerin’?”
Posey shrugs, averting her eyes and rising from the toilet, satisfied that she’s scared the dern wits out of me and has served her purpose.
“Can you pick that up and put it back for me?”
As if I was gonna let it lie there? “Shut the door behind you!”
“Learn to use the lock,” she shoots back.
I can hear her laughing in the hall, laughing all the way to her bedroom before her door closes.
How did she know I was jerking off in here? Is she telepathic?
Grunting, I step out of the shower and onto the floor, bending to grab the rod. I fumble to get it tightly between the two walls, twisting and twisting and twisting and grunting until it’s firmly in place.
Jesus.
She’s gonna give me a heart attack, damned if she don’t.
You’re only gonna be here a few more days.
A few more days.
It kind of bums me out, but there’s nothing I can do about it—life must go on.
I’ll be back in Texas.
Back where I belong.
Home.
Maybe then I can start focusing on having a personal life; dating and shit. Meet someone I can come home to and settle down with. It wasn’t easy doing that in New York; everyone and everything felt fake, and I’m the furthest thing from it. I insulted a lot of women just by being honest.