Page 11 of Filthy Mouth
“How did you do it when I tried for over a year?” I asked, pulling away from her grinning face.
“I took the time to get to know Lady Blythe. You’ve been sending her complimentary gifts,” she said with a smug look.“She was prickly, but I wore her down by dangling the carrot.”
“Yes. If they sell me that piece of land, then we can begin submissions for the project. I’ll pass your raise details to payroll.”
I sat down with a smile.
The first one in days.
Finally, a win.
??????
I lay on the couch, aimlessly flicking through the channels, but that wasn’t where my attention was. I dropped the remote and picked up my phone—nothing from the private investigator. Eric had looked at me as though I’d lost my marbles. Maybe I had—and this was an early onset of dementia.
I dialled Magnus. My last resort.
“Hey, how’s married life?” I asked in a cheerful tone that was a blatant lie.
“Excellent. The sex is just—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut him off.“I met someone. With the most perfect mouth. She gave me the best blow job of my life, and I can’t find her. She vanished at midnight.”
“Wife number three?”
I tried to keep it together, but the days had turned into weeks.
“Magnus, I think she stole my soul. Sucked it clean out of my balls. I need to find her. Can you think of anyone who could help? Maybe a hacker?”
“And you thought you could come to me? Iris only explained what OnlyFans was a couple of months ago, yet you think I can locate a hacker for you?”
“You’re a useless friend,” I grumbled, wondering if I should admit she was a prostitute—but that would leave me open to months, if not years, of ribbing.
“So let me get this right. You found the perfect woman, who sucked the soul out of your balls… and you lost her?” he asked.
“Yes! Don’t you listen? She left at the stroke of midnight, like fucking Cinderella. I need to find that filthy mouth,” I yelled, gripping my phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
She might be the one.
My last hope.
I waited for Magnus to say something.
“Hello? Hello?”
Frowning, I checked my phone.
He’d hung up on me.
The same way I often did with him.
Fuck.
I lay back on the couch, tempted to slip my hand beneath my waistband, but I was made of sterner stuff than that. I’d have my wank in the shower, where I could imagine her on her knees, mouth open.
I tossed my phone onto the couch and went to take a shower.
Where are you, Poppy?
