AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tell me what I wanna hear.” The demand swells his shaft to the brink. “Tell me what I want the whole fucking world to hear.”
There’s no time required to meet the request.
No need for long contemplation or consideration.
What he wants is exactly what I’m prepared to give whenever he’s willing to show up to take it.
“Yours, Wes,” leaves my lips as my unsteady figure grows more so. “I’m. All. Yours.”
“All.” He savagely heaves. “Fucking.” This one curls me tightly underneath him, pussy relentlessly thrumming in warning. “Mine.”
Shattering on the last hit sends my head backwards at the same time I squeeze my eyes shut to brace for the orgasm impact.
Suddenly, the hand that was gripping my hip, grasps my cheeks and forces my attention back to his when he groans, “Watch me fucking break you.”
A single hitch in my breathing is all that precedes liquor bottle rattling screams beckoned by my pulsating pussy greedily milking Wes’s throbbing cock. Blistery spurts splash against the quivering muscles, giving them more reasons to quake and quaver and the rest of my body more reasons to shake and shiver.
Through a heavily hooded gaze, I drink in the delectable, depraved view of his bared teeth.
Strained neck and jaw.
Chest so taut and tense I swear it could split open his deep, decade old scars.
Seeing him like this…so unrestrained…so uninhibited…so…unhidden…tells me exactly what it is I’ve just told him.
Weston Wilcox is now mine.
And only mine.
Chapter 17
Wes
I desperately search for something to like about the anniversary product proposals I was sent earlier in the week. Pushing around lackluster mockups of crystal glasses and decanters reveal other even less thrilling options of bartending sets and barrel themed flasks.
Novelty shit is probably my least favorite for our brand.
As a comic book enthusiast?
I want that shit all day long.
As a man desperate to add to his family’s hard built, earned, and expanded legacy rather than tank it?
Never.
Our liquor brand should be synonymous with elegance.
Prestige.
Not frat parties and forty-year high school reunions.
Once more, I abandon the project and reach for my nearby work tablet that’s also filled with suggestions I don’t want to see.
Like I feared, my impromptu, semi-public appearance has not only been added to the ever-churning headlines, it’s become the sole focus.
No longer am I being accused of experimenting on my estate employees as part of an investment process into pharmaceuticals – which is not an avenue I’m remotely interested in – but my alleged mistreatment of the unidentified female I’m currently involved with.
Some reports claim I dress like a James Bond villain and got into a loud, drunken disagreement with a beautiful woman not interested in my advances any longer while others claim I’m an overly hairy monster who manhandled her in the back room of a nightclub until she left with him.
