Three Hard lessons ( The BlindFold Club Book 2)
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Three Simple Rules
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I am the woman men pay thousands of dollars to sleep with. I do what I love and what I’m so very good at.
Then he walks in and drops $30,000. He wants to talk. And kiss. And take me home.
In a single night, this man turns everything upside-down and has me breaking every rule I’ve lived by to keep men at a distance. I’m about to learn some lessons the hard way.
Don’t tease him. Don’t give him boundaries. And don’t think you get a choice in who you love.
I followed him toward the bathrooms, weaving my way through the throng of people until we were past them and in a quiet, dark corner of the deserted game room, wedged between two pinball machines that had seen less action than Dominic had in the last year.
He pressed me up against the wood paneled wall and brought his face in close so I could hear his rough voice over the loud, jovial bar atmosphere in the next room over.
“This ass is mine for the next two weeks. I thought I made that clear.”
There was a rush of heat between my legs. I looped a hand behind his neck and yanked him in to my kiss. Yeah. My kiss. The more dominating he got, the more I responded to it.
“You made it crystal clear. But let me make something clear, Dominic. Don’t get attached to me.” I took one of his hands and shoved it between my legs. “Or this. Two weeks, and I’m moving on.”
The hand massaged me through the skinny jeans I was wearing. He took one of my hands and put it on his crotch, where he was already half-hard.
“Better not get attached to this, then.”
Normally over-the-clothes bullshit wouldn’t do a thing for me, but I fucking loved being an exhibitionist. The idea of someone catching us groping each other back here was arousing. I used both hands to undo his belt buckle and drop his zipper so I could wrap my hands around his cock, which was now at full attention.
To my delight, he didn’t protest this new level of naughtiness. I was against the wall, between the two pinball machines, and his large back was to the door, blocking the view of anyone who might come in.
“Yeah,” he said, his gaze watching my hands stroke him. “Harder.”
He blew out a breath through his teeth when I did as told, and his hand went to undo my pants, but I shifted away. “Uh, uh. This ass isn’t officially yours until we’re over international water. Right now,” I tightened my grip further, “you’re mine.”
Heat flashed in his eyes, and he allowed it. He set his hands on the glass tops of the machines at our sides and submitted to me. Oh, god. It was so hot.
I pumped faster on the pulsing cock in my hands, spreading the drops of wetness around when he started to get close. In the dimly lit game room, his strikingly blue eyes looked less like the deep ocean and more like shallow, sandy waters.
“Are you going to come for me?” I demanded.
Alarm filled his face. “In your hands?”
“Worried you’ll make a mess?” I knelt before him and tugged the sides of his open fly out of my way.
“You’re going to blow me right here?” He glanced around.
Yeah, I was. I licked the crown of his cock and held it steady as he twitched in reaction. I closed my mouth around him and sank down, taking him as deep as I could. The power this gave me, the command over him, I got drunk off of it in an instant. I slipped him between my tight lips. My tongue did somersaults. I sucked as hard as I could and steadied one hand on his hip, controlling the pace.
“You dirty, little slut. You like the way that cock tastes?”
I froze, the filthy talk from him was so unexpected I momentarily forgot what I was doing. I looked up.
His face was red. “I’ve watched way too much porn in the last year. I’ll be quiet.”
I pulled back off of him, keeping my grip firm around the base. “No, don’t fucking do that.” My breathing was rapid and I could feel my soaked panties clinging to me. “You’re making me so wet. I love the way you taste.” I leaned back and swirled my tongue over his saliva-drenched flesh. “I’ve been wanting to suck you off all damn day.”
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About the Author:
Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there. Now she lives in Kentucky and manages a team of graphic artists. She is married and has two sons, writes dirty books, and couldn’t be any happier.