“What…?”
“Did you really just ask that?” he laughs.
“What!?” I protest. “I just wanted to know what time—”
“Baby,” he chuckles. “I own the plane. It leaves whenever we want it to leave.”
“Oh, yeah…” My cheeks go red. “Sometimes I forget I’m married to a billionaire.”
“So you’re saying you’re not just into me for my money?” he teases. I prop myself up on one elbow and lift my shirt up over my breasts.
“I am,” I tease back. “But not just that…” I run my hand down his chiseled abs to the bulge growing beneath his briefs. “But also this.”
I’ll never grow tired of seeing his eyes flare with desire when he looks at me. I feel like the only woman alive when he does it. A growl rises from his chest and he pulls my lips to his. His grip is strong on the back of my neck, and I moan as he slides his hand into my bedtime shorts.
My back arches as he finds my pleasure button and applies just the right amount of pressure. Tingling warmth flows through me, and I reach into his briefs and pull out his hard cock.
Always ready.
Breaking our embrace, I press my forehead against his and whisper, “How is it possible to love someone so much?” I ask. “Our life…it’s like a fairy tale.”
Caleb smiles. “So that makes me a prince, right? And I guess that makes you my princess.”
The End
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Hands On Sample
1
Grayson
“It will be better this time. I bet my job on it.”
I turn to Sheryl, my assistant for the last three years, and shake my head. “Unless she’s miles better than the last four girls you brought me, I highly doubt it.”
Today is Day 5 of my masseuse-try-out week. Galina, the old Russian lady who worked for me for the last fifteen months, decided now would be a good time to move back to the motherland and reunite with her high school boyfriend and leave me high and dry with a neck full of knots and no one to work on them.
So I told Sheryl to find me a replacement and find me one fast, but so far all she’s come up with are a bunch of college girls who want to know if I’m “a generous man” and if I “know how to spoil a girl.”
Fuck outta here. I may be a billionaire, but I didn’t become one by blowing money on cute girls with gym booties stuffed into yoga pants. And besides, I’m not looking for a companion; I’m looking for a masseuse. If all I wanted was a gentle rub with a happy ending, I’d get one. What I want is a professional.