Page 36 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

Excitement thrums through me. Am I masturbating on Mr. Drummond’s command? This man who runs Vossameer like Alcatraz?

Yes. Yes, I am.

“So presumptuous,” I mumble.

“No, I’m realistic. Go ahead. Tell me how wet you are for me.”

“I don’t think you need any extra encouragement, mister.”

“Tell me anyway. Not that you could do yourself as well as I could do you.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” I say, sawing my finger along my madly tickly clit.

“I could do you so much better. I might even make you say it. Maybe I’d keep you right on the edge until you admit it to me.”

“You are such a pig,” I say.

“Oh I am. An utter animal. Sex with me is a dirty, savage affair. Utterly uncivilized. It’s the opposite of civilized.”

Did he really just say that? I let out a shuddery breath. I’m full-on doing myself, and I never want him to stop talking.

“Are you feeling how wet you are? Spread it around. I want you really wet and silky for me.”

I make my motion more circular now, letting him direct my fingers. Because apparently it’s not enough that he’s my tyrannical boss at work.

“If I were there, I’d be burying my rock-hard cock so deep in that pink little pussy, your head would be spinning.”

I flash onto Mr. Drummond’s big, hands. Massive knuckles. Thick fingers. Is it possible those fingers are wrapped around his cock at this very minute?

A thrill shudders through me.

I hated him so much at that presentation, and I still kind of do, but I like the idea of his big, stern hand holding his cock.

“Faster now,” he says.

“You just assume I’m masturbating,” I tease.

“God, you and your sassy mouth,” he says. “And yes, for the record, I do assume it. I assume you’re close, too.”

“Such a freak,” is all I can manage. It sounds like I’m saying it about him, but I’m really saying it about me.

Lying here at four-freaking-thirty in the morning touching myself. Belly rising and falling. Shimmery sensations shivering over me. Because of Mr. Drummond.

Yes, it’s safe to say I’ve entered freak zone.

A little voice deep inside my brain whispers,if you come, he’ll win. It’s the same little voice that keeps chanting about his evil microwave popcorn ban.

The voice isn’t half as exciting as Mr. Drummond’s voice is.

Eleven

Theo

“Such a freak,”she says.

She has no idea. I barely recognize myself. And I couldn’t be more into it.

She’s into it, too. Her arousal comes through loud and clear; it’s in her breath. In the way she phrases her words. Short clauses. Gusted delivery.

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