someone new. Her turn to wait. She reread his message. What was a 24? She puzzled over that one as she chewed on her nailbed, pulling on it until it bled. Brilliant! Screw up your manicure when you have a hot date tonight, Laura.
Might have. Might have. Don’t put the cart before the horse.
I am free. Prince William is now taken and so I have an opening in my busy social schedule.
She hit “Send” before she could change her mind. Too cheesy?
LOL. Sounds great. Meet me at Tempo Bistro after work. At 6?
Tempo Bistro? The most expensive, chi-chi restaurant in town? Not tapas, either – something she couldn’t quite remember. Asian fusion? How on earth could a firefighter afford that? Not your problem, Laura . And she was making terrible assumptions. She needed to assume they were going dutch. Good thing she was a careful saver.
‘lo?
The chat window pinged. Geez, Laura. Get out of your head. She typed furiously:
Sounds even better. I’ll see you there and you know what I look like.
And he replied,
Oh, yes. :P
What was that supposed to mean? Her eyes swept over the clock – now she had eight minutes to shower. Damn! Laura just shook her head and walked to the bathroom, stripping naked by the time she crossed the threshold and turned on the hot water.
Sliding under the spray was bliss, the beads of water trailing their way down her body, her hair wet and ropy within seconds, the curl relaxed and the strands stretching long enough to tickle the top of her sacrum. Eh – why not leave the ad up? Who knew. Maybe she’d attract a better breed of guy. Or, at least, a different kind. She eyed the shower head – did she have time? Eight minutes?
More than enough for the last guy she dated.
Just enough time for some intimate attention from Mr. Showerhead, though. Josie was wrong. It wasn’t her battery bill that was getting expensive. Her water bill, on the other hand…
Good thing her vibrator was waterproof. As she soaped up she was cognizant of the time, knowing she had minutes to finish. Pulling up the old standby fantasy always worked. Two men, luscious and thickly-muscled, both in the shower with her. Mmmm…
The extra tip of her vibrator slid along the soft, sensitive skin of her clit as she perched one foot on the tub, opening up for access to slide in her fantasy lover, who was soaping her body with his sculpted, large hands, hands that smoothed over her curves, cupping her ass to pull him toward her, sliding his enormous cock in her while the other nameless, faceless lover kissed her, hard, his tongue lashing against her and exploring as the spray rolled down in rivulets between them, gathering at her folds and adding to the tease on her clit.
Her passage tightened as she imagined him bending down, on his knees, his tongue now lapping where the vibrator’s little antennae tweaked her, not her own hands moving the thick shaft in and out but the lovers’, four hands at once on her as one mouth descended on her eager, red nub, the other man thrusting her up against the shower’s wall, her body ready for more.
She tensed, knowing she was so close, craving all these hands, more than enough for two men who wanted and needed her, the familiar muscled cresting of her climax so innate she barely cried out, the release perfunctory but oh, so welcome.
And, now, the guilt. Because how could a “normal” woman really want two men at once? As she absent-mindedly rushed through the rest of the shower, quickly washing off her trusty toy, a persistent voice said, You, Laura. You.
Read the rest at Her First Billionaire .
About the Author
Julia Kent turned to writing romance novels after learning that she could not work as a fighter pilot because her fear of flying disqualified her. Turning to her second love, she became a dog groomer, but had to abandon that job after adopting too many strays. Writing about very real, very flawed people is a natural extension of her life and, well, her . She lives on the east coast
Might have. Might have. Don’t put the cart before the horse.
I am free. Prince William is now taken and so I have an opening in my busy social schedule.
She hit “Send” before she could change her mind. Too cheesy?
LOL. Sounds great. Meet me at Tempo Bistro after work. At 6?
Tempo Bistro? The most expensive, chi-chi restaurant in town? Not tapas, either – something she couldn’t quite remember. Asian fusion? How on earth could a firefighter afford that? Not your problem, Laura . And she was making terrible assumptions. She needed to assume they were going dutch. Good thing she was a careful saver.
‘lo?
The chat window pinged. Geez, Laura. Get out of your head. She typed furiously:
Sounds even better. I’ll see you there and you know what I look like.
And he replied,
Oh, yes. :P
What was that supposed to mean? Her eyes swept over the clock – now she had eight minutes to shower. Damn! Laura just shook her head and walked to the bathroom, stripping naked by the time she crossed the threshold and turned on the hot water.
Sliding under the spray was bliss, the beads of water trailing their way down her body, her hair wet and ropy within seconds, the curl relaxed and the strands stretching long enough to tickle the top of her sacrum. Eh – why not leave the ad up? Who knew. Maybe she’d attract a better breed of guy. Or, at least, a different kind. She eyed the shower head – did she have time? Eight minutes?
More than enough for the last guy she dated.
Just enough time for some intimate attention from Mr. Showerhead, though. Josie was wrong. It wasn’t her battery bill that was getting expensive. Her water bill, on the other hand…
Good thing her vibrator was waterproof. As she soaped up she was cognizant of the time, knowing she had minutes to finish. Pulling up the old standby fantasy always worked. Two men, luscious and thickly-muscled, both in the shower with her. Mmmm…
The extra tip of her vibrator slid along the soft, sensitive skin of her clit as she perched one foot on the tub, opening up for access to slide in her fantasy lover, who was soaping her body with his sculpted, large hands, hands that smoothed over her curves, cupping her ass to pull him toward her, sliding his enormous cock in her while the other nameless, faceless lover kissed her, hard, his tongue lashing against her and exploring as the spray rolled down in rivulets between them, gathering at her folds and adding to the tease on her clit.
Her passage tightened as she imagined him bending down, on his knees, his tongue now lapping where the vibrator’s little antennae tweaked her, not her own hands moving the thick shaft in and out but the lovers’, four hands at once on her as one mouth descended on her eager, red nub, the other man thrusting her up against the shower’s wall, her body ready for more.
She tensed, knowing she was so close, craving all these hands, more than enough for two men who wanted and needed her, the familiar muscled cresting of her climax so innate she barely cried out, the release perfunctory but oh, so welcome.
And, now, the guilt. Because how could a “normal” woman really want two men at once? As she absent-mindedly rushed through the rest of the shower, quickly washing off her trusty toy, a persistent voice said, You, Laura. You.
Read the rest at Her First Billionaire .
About the Author
Julia Kent turned to writing romance novels after learning that she could not work as a fighter pilot because her fear of flying disqualified her. Turning to her second love, she became a dog groomer, but had to abandon that job after adopting too many strays. Writing about very real, very flawed people is a natural extension of her life and, well, her . She lives on the east coast
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