Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
While she holds it, she looks up at me, her eyes wide and curious. “Did Katya help you get ready?”
I shake my head. “She knew I did it. But she never helped.”
“Did she ever see you perform?”
“Once or twice. She said, and I quote, ‘It was good,’” I say with a shrug, like Katya’s perfunctory response was no big deal. “But looking back, I don’t know that I was dying for her to go. It wasn’t her thing. I didn’t want to force it on her. It was just my thing.”
“Well, I like it,” she says, then holds her hand tighter around the ink.
There’s something intimate about her doing this—helping me prep, so eager for this whole night. I swallow roughly, trying to sort out the mix of emotions hitting me about this woman making a place in my world, in my private nights.
But having no success.
Thirty seconds have passed, so she carefully peels the backing paper off. “It’s amazing,” she says, her voice full of wonder.
“You’re good, Chloe,” I say as she stares—shamelessly stares—at it.
She looks at me, nibbling on the corner of her lip, before she glances at the clock. “We have an hour, you said?”
“We do,” I say, my voice smoky, full of possibility.
“Well, Mr. Silversmith,” she says, like we’re both in on the biggest secret in town. “I’d like to finish what I started a while ago. Too long ago.”
Then this beautiful, feisty, fiery, upbeat woman tugs at my towel and tosses it on the stool.
My cock springs free, hard and at attention. Well, I’ve been hard since she walked in.
With a wicked glint in her eyes, she drops to her knees on the white-tiled floor and says, “Hello there, handsome.”
I laugh. “You’re talking to my dick.”
“Dick and I have a very good relationship,” she says, licking her lips, then kissing the head, making me suck in a breath.
And as much as I want to let her suck me off right here in the kitchen, I know the floor is no good for those knees.
“Couch, sweetheart. I’ll put a pillow down on the floor for you.”
“Aren’t you a gentleman?”
“I’ll fuck your pretty mouth like a gentleman.”
A minute later, I’m on the couch, my legs spread, my hands speared in her hair, my eyes staring at the hottest sight ever.
Chloe, kneeling on a white pillow, drawing my dick in deep, licking, and sucking. Fisting the base and taking me all the way, her lips stretched wide and wet.
She moans around my cock as she sucks me deep, and I groan louder than I ever have. “Fuck, that’s so good. Just like that, Chloe. Just like fucking that.”
She looks outrageously pleased as she sucks me mercilessly, fearlessly. She licks wicked stripes down my cock, then slides those nails up my thighs. My muscles shake. My chest is on fire.
I’m losing all sense of the world as pleasure pounds through me. Hot and fast, like an engine revving to sixty in no time.
I’m close already, and I grip her head, moving her up and down on my dick, grunting as I go. But it’s a lot for her to take, so I’d like to think I’m a gentleman as I say, “This okay?”
I ease out so she can answer.
“It’ll only be okay if you’re hitting the back of my throat.”
Dear god. I think she’s perfect for me.
I punch my hips, fuck her mouth, and lose my ever-loving mind as she sucks me so hard that I’m coming in seconds, my vision going black, my body crackling.
And somehow, my heart coming along for the ride too.
She’s got me by the balls, and by the organ in my chest too.
I’m so fucked, but right now, I don’t care.
* * *
Every rose has its thorn, and every song has one too. For the Poison power ballad, it’s the belting.
That’s not normally a problem for me with the tune though. I’ve performed it so often, and it’s fun to sing.
The challenge tonight is brand new. Not singing every single line to Chloe.
It’s the first number in my set, and I vow to focus on the whole audience when I stride onstage after Duke’s intro.
As the music begins from the karaoke machine at Pour Decisions, I make a point to make eye contact with everyone. Well, as many of the everyones as I can.
The group of nurses. The construction workers. A couple that comes in every week—they’re in their seventies, I’m guessing. They both have gray hair and wrinkles, but they dance their asses off. There’s a group of women likely here for a girls’ night out, judging by the sequins, polished nails, and constant hugs. And a pack of twentysomethings—my money’s on friends from college. Most wear blinged-out T-shirts from the local university.
I sing to them, too, so I don’t give short shrift to the audience by focusing solely on Chloe. When I reach the chorus though, I figure she deserves her moment to be sung to. Right before I belt out the title lines, I find her near the front. Her red hair is swept up in a bun. A few strands frame her face. The wicked grin on her pretty pink lips is somehow sexy and exuberant at the same time.