Page 197 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 8
“Thanks, son.”
***
On Sunday I was finally able to videochat with Ash. She was in the sexiest little workout outfit walking down the sidewalk.
“Hey, I was just heading to the gym,” she said. “Hopefully my new trainer will take it easy on me.”
“When he sees you in that outfit he’s definitely gonna try to bang you,” I said.
She laughed. “No way. This one will be much more professional than the last.”
“What happened to your last trainer?”
Ash’s cheeks turned red. “I had to fire him. Because of the one date rule… Wait, getting fucked in the shower after a workout counts as a date, right?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Theoretically, yes.”
She winked at me.
***
On Monday she sent a picture of herself standing in my Society apartment completely naked in tall black boots and braided pigtails.
Fuck me.
The accompanying text read: “First one here gets to fuck me.”
What?
A second later I got another text: “Oops, didn’t mean to send that to you.”
I swallowed hard as I stared at her words. Was this the type of text she’d been sending before? When I thought I was about to get one, but it never came through?
***
On Tuesday she sent a picture of herself in a polka dot dress and heels. Her hair was all done up. And her hands were about a foot apart in some sort of measurement. She’d texted: “Interviewing butlers today to help out while Nigel is gone. Hopefully one will be able to fulfillallmy requirements.”
I laughed. That was a good dick joke.
After a few hours she sent me another text: “I found the perfect butler. He has a foot long cock with a heart shaped birthmark on it.”
She always added such strange details to her sex stories...
***
Wednesday was the semifinal between India and New Zealand. And I knew Karima MUST be here somewhere. This wasn’t a match to be missed.
But Jacob wasn’t going to help find her. He’d been completely useless at finding attractive brunettes. In the cutest way possible.
I did my best to focus on the stands instead of the action on the pitch.
“What are we looking for?” asked Nigel.
“Nothing,” I said.
“It really seems like we’re looking for something. Oh! A love match for Frankie, perchance?”
“No.”
