Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Pouty moans are thrown from the tub; however, they almost instantaneously stop registering when my sloppy sucking begins.
Spit and cum and cum and spit get savagely smeared across my lips and chin and cheeks.
“Si…Si…”
My tongue unremittingly hangs out to be ridden.
Stamped.
“You want that cum?”
More spit is spread in tandem with my stomach knotting.
“You want Master’s cum all over your fucking face?”
I maniacally nod.
Huff.
Damn near hump the floor.
“Suck,” he instructs, stroking transitioning to a haphazard form. “Suck. Hard.” Closing my mouth around both balls at once to complete the command results in his forehead falling forward and growls pouring themselves out past his gritted teeth. “Good boy.” Sudden twitches against my tongue precede salty surges pitilessly plummeting onto my face. “Such a good fucking boy…” Them falling like tears running down my cheeks is abruptly ended by him unexpectedly cupping my cheek and rumbling words I would do anything to hear for the rest of my life. “My. Good. Boy.”
Chapter 15
Garcia
I am not a golf fan.
I never have been.
I never will be.
I just understand that it’s where business is done.
Particularly out of the courtroom.
At least I don’t have to be out on the actual course this time.
The driving range is more than enough for me.
Archibold Marshall-Green, the arrogant, overly tanned, pencil pusher clearly assigned to the contract but not the one in charge of physically executing it, plants his club in the space between his feet to lean on it for a theatrical effect. “You want me to cancel the assignment?”
Positioning myself behind the tee is attached to my one-word response. “Correct.”
“However, you are not the signatory.”
My shoulders are given a small wiggle to aid in loosening up. “Correct.”
“Is this…some sort of joke?”
“No.”
“Prank?”
“No,” escapes in tandem with me lining up the shot.
“Test?”
“No.”
His scoff is riddled with bewilderment and annoyance alike, “Then what the hell is it?”
“A counter.”
“I am not in the business of reneging on one contract for another.”
Expelling a long, deep breath precedes me taking a harsh swing at the tiny blue ball.
Thankfully, that hasn’t been an issue for me during this expedition.
Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever had my balls this empty, this often, nor is my dick typically just ready to go another round within the hour.
That’s college me shit.
Law school life.
Which I’m far from.
I’m not old – despite the steady stream of jokes from the pair that I love licking my sack and calling me Master.
But I’m not young.
Damn sure, not as fucking young as either of them.
I get random back pains from pounding Salay too hard on the kitchen table at breakfast and sore knees from sucking Zero’s cock on the stairs and aches from trying to share a shower with both at once because they want me in there with them as much as I wanna be.
And I want to be there.
With them both.
Between them both.
Defending one, prosecuting the other, judging when an objective third party is necessary.
I like being on the couch, listening to him ramble about turtles while he types on his laptop and she cleans sand from underneath her nails, both with their feet propped up in my lap, like I’m a fucking footstool.
A footstool who gives the best foot rubs, for the record.
The type that somehow always manage to lead to someone sucking my dick or riding it.
Like I said.
Blue balls haven’t been an issue for me lately.
I’m frankly more concerned about what happens post our time in paradise.
When Salay jumps ship because that’s what she does.
Has always done.
Agreed to do.
When Zero wants more and I have to overrule him because that’s what I do.
Have always done.
Should always do.
Is it possible we could…come to an arrangement…an agreement of some sort in which all this lasts a little longer?
Or…a lot longer?
Perhaps indefinitely?
Can we have what my best friend has?
He thinks it’s inevitable.
Smug asshole all but villainously cackled when I might’ve mentioned finally understanding how hard it is to keep up with two people instead of one.
Karma came to my side when my godchild started wailing, forcing him to cut the call short; therefore putting a quick end to his impish taunting.
Marshall-Green waits until I lower my club and face him to declare, “What you’re asking is unprecedented, Mr. Garcia.”
“It’s not,” is insisted alongside my sliding out of the way for him to have his turn.
“It-”
“Occurred with Penn in Bucharest.”
Marshall-Green clears his throat during his approaching of the fake grass area.
“Denisof in Helsinki.”
He wordlessly plunks a yellow ball out of his bucket.
“Luchkov in Budapest.”
“You know quite a lot of non-public information in regard to the company and its operations,” murmurs the white polo sporting male as he gingerly balances the object on the tee. “Source?”
“Unimportant,” I casually shrug off while retreating in the direction of the small glass table where our personal server is waiting for requests. “However, what is important, is knowing that going after a member of law enforcement’s only daughter will not bode well for you nor Fyght or Flyght.”