Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Global Freight | Security Consulting | Port Operations | Arctic & Pacific Routes
Pier House, Battery Park, NYC
EA: Minerva.Willis@MarisHoldings.com
On the back was a handwritten phone number I would never use.
I ran my finger over the letters, memorizing the information before turning it over and doing the same with his private cell number.
And then I tore the card into tiny pieces and threw bits of them away in various trash cans between LaGuardia and my rental in Chelsea.
As much as I loved fantasizing about Locke Maris, the man was straight. Yes, he’d been willing to experiment with me once. But letting someone suck your dick wasn’t quite the same thing as a more involved sexual encounter—the kind I wanted, needed, and deserved.
However, after the following two long days of endless meetings and three nights of absolute shit hookups, I decided I would rather suck Locke’s dick in a dank alley than expect a supposedly vers guy from Grindr to top me.
And maybe I’d had three too many heavy-handed cocktails. But while I was drunk enough to text him, I wasn’t drunk enough to put his actual name in my contacts.
This is Jett.
After a few long minutes, a response came in.
Catnip
I need to talk to you.
My heart leapt. The look he’d given me on the plane had been heated as fuck. I could tell he wanted me. He’d wanted me in Amsterdam, too. He just hadn’t allowed himself to do anything about it.
About what?
Catnip
Tell me where you are and I’ll send a car.
Posh in Hells Kitchen
Catnip
Be outside in ten.
When I got to his place, the driver directed me to a wood-paneled study, where Locke was sitting at a large desk, working on a laptop. A fire blazed in a nearby fireplace, surrounded by overstuffed leather seats. The room seemed old and well-worn. It suited him.
He glanced up when I walked in. “Sorry about that,” he said, shutting the computer and standing up before indicating the leather chairs. “Have a seat. Are you hungry? Would you like a drink?”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
He looked incredible, as usual, but this time, he was dressed more casually than I’d ever seen him. A faded Columbia University hoodie, dark, late-night stubble on his cheeks and jaw, and his hair messy from running his hands through it.
Catnip. Jesus fuck.
I bit my tongue against the urge to lick my lips in anticipation. Last time I’d seen him, he’d rejected any physical encounter between us, but what else would he have called me here for but to suck his cock again?
“I have a business proposition for you,” he said as he stood and moved over to the chair opposite mine.
I opened my mouth to remind him I didn’t want a job at his company, when I realized maybe he didn’t mean business-business. Maybe he meant sex business.
“Okay?”
He leaned forward and clasped his hands together between his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs. He studied the carpet for a beat before glancing back up at me.
“I need you to come with me on a trip.”
Before I could ask him what the fuck he was talking about, he continued.
“You’ll travel to Italy with me. By day, you’ll play my perfect assistant and event coordinator, catering to my guests’ needs. But at night…” Locke’s voice was hypnotizing, challenging, practically daring me to disagree. “At night, you will cater to my needs.” His eyes bored into mine. “And I have very specific needs.”
I stopped breathing.
Locke’s jaw tightened. “Complete discretion is required, as well as an NDA. No one will know you’re anything more than an employee helping the event run smoothly. In exchange for your service and discretion, I’ll pay you one hundred thousand dollars.”
My face was on fire, and my fingertips felt strange. “Um. What?” I asked stupidly.
He stood and turned away from me, moving toward a small wet bar in the corner to grab a bottle of water from a hidden mini fridge. When he returned and handed it to me, his face was all business.
“We leave Sunday. If you need a passport, my people can help facilitate an expedited process.”
My brain was like a sandwich with no filling. Open and empty. “I, uh… I have a passport. Amsterdam, remember?”
Not that it was relevant. Because you know what else I had? A fucking job. As a global intelligence agent. I was not a high-priced—very, very high-priced—escort.
“Good. Then you’ll simply need to spend the next few days letting my people outfit you with the proper clothing.”
He moved back to the bar and poured himself a drink from a heavy glass decanter. “Do you have any questions?”
“No, I…” Can’t do this. Tell him you can’t do this. “I…”
He took a sip of his drink and wandered back toward me before threading his fingers through my hair. “I want to see you on your knees for me again. My cock stretching those pretty lips wide enough to make tears slide down your face.”