Page 663 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 8
No.Pissing off every crime family in the world was just about the worst idea I’d ever come up with. Sure, we might get the money. But then a week from now I’d be walking down the street and get a bullet in the brain.
Maybe I could…
But I had zero ideas. Every time I moved my never-ending erection rubbed against my dick sleeve. All I could think about was claiming Ash’s virgin pussy.
And why shouldn’t I? Earlier today, it seemed wrong to try to sell a fake virgin. But if those fuckers were going to collude to try to put us out of business, why shouldn’t I sell them a fake? As long as I came on her face instead of inside of her, they’d never know the difference.
And once I got her out of my system, I’d be able to come up with a proper plan.
I stood up from my desk and went to the dressing room.
There were racks of clothes and dress forms in bikinis and jewelry displays. But what I was interested in were the seven dressing areas separated by thick black curtains.
I pulled the first curtain back.
The girl inside was putting some finishing touches on her makeup. But she wasn’t Ash.
Neither were the next two.
And then I realized my mistake. She was walking last, so she was probably in the last dressing area. I walked to the other end of the room and pulled the curtain back.
Oh damn.
She was checking her ass out in the mirror. Which was odd, because her head was still covered with a bag. But this bag was white instead of black like it had been in the lobby.
I started to step through the curtain, but a man in averysparkly suit pulled me back and blocked my path.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked.
“Who the hell areyou?” he replied, giving me the up-down. He sounded very excited to see me. “Actually, don’t answer that. Tonight you’ll be whoever I want you to be. Because I’m in charge of this dressing room.”
“I’m…”
He put his finger on my lips to silence me. “Hush, you big, beautiful beef tower.”
I swatted his hand away.
“Oooh, feisty.” He gave a little shimmy. “Bring that energy to the runway and you’ll sell for millions.”
Would I?Had this dude just given me the key to solving my eight-million-dollar predicament? No. He definitely had not. Because I was pretty sure none of the buyers in attendance tonight were gay. If I tried to sell myself I’d just be the laughing stock of the crime world.
“I’m not getting auctioned,” I said.
“Not in that pant, you aren’t.”
“What’s wrong with this pant? And why are we calling it a singular pant instead of pants?”
“You’re right. Those hardly even qualify as a pant.” He shook his head. “Tragic.”
I usually wouldn’t have been insulted by such a statement. But the savagery of the way he delivered it was devastating.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find you somethingmuchbetter to walk in. What size are you?”
“Uh…I think I wear a 36-34?”
“I meant your crotch size.”
“Are you asking how long my dick is?”
