I oblige. My cock is thick enough, and Chloe's sweet pussy is tight enough, that it's a hard fit. I have to go slow, slower than I like, just to slip the head of my dick inside of her. But once I get there, it's the most natural thing in the world. I can feel my thickness stretching her out, but Chloe's pussy keeps throbbing, coating me with her juices.
Nature wins out in the end, and I lose myself completely. I fuck her fast and raw. My hips slamming into her gorgeous ass again and again. Chloe's moans echo through the bookshelves, high and clear and loud as she wants to make them.
As we come together, my hot seed pumping into Chloe's spasming womb, I think I might hear the hint of an obligatory librarian-flavored shhhhhh.
But I’m balls-deep in Chloe’s body and intoxicated by her scent. If anyone has a problem with us, we're just too hot, too drunk on each other and too deep in lust and orgasm to fucking care.
24
Chloe
I’m shoving a cinnamon roll into my mouth and stare at the little screen of my mobile. The idea had come to me a little while ago, but now I’m not so sure. I feel like Gru in Despicable Me when he practices calling Lucy but then doesn’t.
Is it human nature to have a great idea and when it comes to executing it balk at it? With a sigh, I reach for another cinnamon roll. Fuck, they’re delicious. If I’m not careful, I’ll start to put on the pounds.
Not that I’m one for those crap diets people go on. Oh no, not me. I roll my eyes at diets. How can you enjoy life when you eat fucking no fat, no dairy, gluten-free, organic, low carb, and no fucking sugar water? It beats me.
I like my food. No wait, I fucking love my food. Not to mention a good drop to go with it. Coffee is also an essential food group as far as I’m concerned.
Focus Chloe. You’re going to call Aaron and ask him.
Argh.
What the fuck’s wrong with me? It’s a simple little phone call. It won’t hurt.
And I’m only asking him to come and spend the weekend with me, it’s not as if I’m proposing marriage or a long-term commitment.
I take a deep breath and lick bits of sugar off my top lip. Yum.
Thank goodness for Aaron bringing some of these over the other day. It made me realize how much I love this little sweet treats and promptly bought another half dozen.
Maybe I’ll make myself some coffee. All that fucking sweet stuff leaves me craving a double espresso or two.
In front of the silver beast, my nickname for the coffee machine, I pull faces and practice what I’m going to say.
“Hi Aaron, just wondering if you want to come away for a weekend of fucking.”
No.
I laugh at myself.
You really have a way with words Chloe.
Of course, I have a way with words. I’m a fucking writer and a good one at that.
Shouldn’t I get straight to the point? I mean, the last couple of times we’ve met, that’s what we’ve ended up doing. Had a fantastic fuck. If I put it in those terms, he may be more inclined to say yes.
Grrr.
Words. I’m the master of words and they will obey me.
How about, “Hi Aaron. If you’re not doing anything this weekend can you come away with me?”
I frown.
A little better but still kind of lame, and I don’t do lame.
What if he says no?
And there, ladies and gentlemen is the fucking problem. I’m afraid he’ll say no. I’m fucking terrified of rejection.
Look what happened to Anna Karenina, she fucking committed suicide because she could not handle rejection. Sure, the plot’s a little more complicated but I think, in the end, it was all based on rejection. Not to mention Bella’s reaction when Edward does not reciprocate her love in the first book. She stops participating in life for months.
Of course, I’m not madly in love with Aaron the way Bella was with Edward and I’m also no Karenina. But, I don’t want to be rejected.
What am I, or is it who am I? Which question should I be asking? Fucking make the phone call Chloe, my inner voice is getting a little bit frustrated.
I’m more like Anne Shirley out of Anne of Green Gables I decide, or am I Elizabeth Bennett?
I sigh.
But who’s Aaron, or what is Aaron?
Is he the man I’m falling for? Falling for, what an odd expression. Where did that term or phrase come from?
Now I’m fucking philosophizing on the question of life.
My head’s starting to hurt. I’m starting to regret ever having thought of wanting to ask him. If I had not thought of it, I now would not be in this fucking dilemma.
Chloe, it’s just asking him to fucking come away for one weekend.
If he says no, I’ll deal with it. You’ve dealt with other rejection before. And he may already have plans. I mean, let’s face it, not everyone can just drop everything with barely any notice and get on a plane to go to Reykjavik.
With my coffee brewed, I sit back at my desk. Maybe I better check the site before I call him?
The longer you stall, the higher the chances of him being unable to change his weekend plans.
Strong black coffee assaults my taste buds.
Ah. Fuck, this is good. A real caffeine jolt, just what I needed.
My index finger hovers a few more seconds before I press the speed dial button.
I furrow my brow. Should I attach any weight to the fact I’ve got him on speed dial—a man I barely know?
But then again, he’s the man I’m asking to come away with me for the weekend.
“Hi,” his deep voice booms through the speaker and into my ear. “I knew you were too good to be true and cannot possibly be real.”
I’m taken aback.
“What do you mean?” Part of me is offended, the other being swept away in feelings of eating soft-centered chocolate. When you eat soft-centered chocolates, you kind of roll your eyes in sheer delight as your taste buds are bombarded with an artillery of taste sensations. Your whole body is enveloped in a warm, soft and cuddly blanket.
“Only witches I think have the power to read other people’s thoughts. And lo and behold, I’m sitting here, lonely as anything, thinking of an excuse to ring you. Bingo. My phone rings and it’s the woman of my dreams on the other end.”
At his words, my heart performs several summersaults and, for a moment, I’m unable to put one proper thought together.
“Witch.”
“Pardon?” Now he sounds confused.
I’m about to explain but change my mind.
“Never mind.”
Aaron laughs.
“Wait, wait. I got it. I should have said the witch of my dreams calls me.”
“Full marks, move to the top of the class.”
“What’re you up to?”
Perfect leading question.
“I’m packing and I wondered if you’d like to come to Reykjavik with me. Cassie and Ethan are going, and well…” Now I do falter just a little. “I just thought it might be fun if you came along, too.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and brace for the thanks for asking, but no thanks.
“Pardon?”
Now I haven’t heard what he said because I’ve been too fucking busy bracing.
“Looks like Cassie gets her double date after all.”
I can’t believe my ears.
“So you’ll come?” I double check and am already grinning ear to ear.
He may have taken me on a date to the library; I was going to take him to Reykjavik. And boy, would we have some fun together.
“You know, I normally don’t ask a man on a date like this.” I feel the need to explain. And it is true. It’s very out of character for me to ask someone out, especially on an overnight date.
“Well,” starts Aaron. “I’m pleased to hear you’ve broken with tradition.”
I can hear it in his voice that he’s genuine in what he just said.
“I’ll just move some appointments around
and I’ll come and get you.”
Before I can protest and tell him to meet me at the airport, he’s ended the conversation.
On impulse, I get up and do a little victory dance.
Yeah, oh yeah, I’m going to Reykjavik with Aaron. I jig around the room—pleased no one can see me.
I’m not quite sure why I carry on like a little schoolgirl in love with some celebrity she’s about to meet. It’s silly, really. I’m a grown woman, a successful writer, and generally not one to let my emotions run away with me.
Ah well, no harm in letting my hair down from time to time.
I skip to my room to grab a case and pack some clothes. Why bother, my inner voice pipes up. You’ll be spending most of your time naked. I giggle at the thought.
Am I falling for this man? Is single, independent me falling in love with a successful businessman?
And what if I am?
Aaron is what every girl wants, isn’t he? He seems like the real deal. He’s honest, sincere, fucking funny, and he’s so fucking hot my insides almost melt every time I think of him or look at him.
I must really ask him one day what business exactly he’s in.
Could it be there’s a flaw I haven’t yet noticed?
I push the thought aside. He’s the real deal. He’s the Mr. Darcy women only read about.
My time on Thebadboys.net has been the perfect training ground to work out people’s character. I’m pretty confident my online training has been excellent and I’ve learned to read people well.
With my case packed, I do the only thing left to do: I go online to plan an itinerary for the weekend.
25
Aaron
It dawns on me.
This must be how the fucking fat man in the red suit must feel like every year.
I’ve watched Chloe’s face ever since I’ve picked her up in my limo. I mean, of course I used my fucking limo. If you want to use a car, use one that stands out.
Standing out from the crowd is what I do as the owner of Thebadboys.net. It is what Ms. Winters has done online for the last few months too. Ms. Winters knows how to stand out.
If you stand out, you succeed. If you blend in, you’re at risk of getting lost in the crowd. Ordinary is highly overrated, and ordinary does not spell success.
I can feel the excitement oozing from Chloe, and if the trip to the airport was a little bit longer, I know what I would do with her.
It’s so tempting to grab her gorgeous body and throw her over my knees to give her a fucking fantastic spanking before fucking her.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“I’m imagining all the fun we’ll be having in Reykjavik.” It’s not exactly a lie. The spanking can wait till we get there, or maybe not. There’s always the plane trip.
Chloe leans into me, kitten-like. She’s even purring. Her tight top stretches across her tits.
“Thanks for coming, and thanks for picking me up in a limo.”
This girl is so fucking genuine it hurts. I can tell she’s not used to being treated like a queen, and yet she should be.
The limo stops, and Jacque, my driver, opens the door. I poke my head out the door and do a quick check. All going according to plan.
“Thank you, Jacque.” I smile at him. “I’ll call you when I return.”
His face stays totally impassive, and that’s what I like most about Jacque. He’s discretion and silence personified. Any of my secrets he knows, he will take to his grave.
“Enjoy your trip, sir,” he says and slams the door shut.
Chloe is about to grab her case when one of my staff reaches us and relieves her of this mundane task.
This weekend, I plan to totally spoil my girl.
My insides squirm. Had I really just thought of her in terms of my girl?
I shake my head. There was something wrong with me. First, she wasn’t my girl, and if I thought of her in possessive terms, surely I could do better than that.
“What the—” She leaves the sentence unfinished, and I catch her eye.
“I thought—” she stammers, but I cut her off with a kiss to the nose.
“A pretty face like you should not do too much thinking.”
She punches me in the arm.
“Hey, Mr. Sexist, newsflash: we are in the twenty-first century. We’ve left the Dark Ages behind. Women do think for themselves.”
I pull a face at her as I link arms.
“Next you’ll be telling me they let women vote now too?”
Chloe laughs.
I love the way she laughs. It sounds a little like bells ringing.
“They have ages ago.”
In mock horror, I pull away from her.
“No fucking way. When did that happen?”
This comment earns me another punch to my upper arm.
“Ages ago. I told you the Dark Ages are long gone.”
I take her arm again. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. I mean, what was wrong with the traditional role of the woman? I love to see a woman barefoot and, you know, naked in the kitchen.”
We are standing at the foot of the stairs to my jet.
“After you, dear madam.” I love how she’s looking at me all puppy-eyed. “Or is chivalry totally prohibited these days?”
Chloe shakes her head.
I can tell she’s overwhelmed.
“No, chivalry is nice from time to time.”
“Good.” I take a little bow. “Up the stairs you go, my fair maiden.”
Giggling, she leads the way.
Of course I have an ulterior motive for letting her go up before me. I’m not just being a gentleman. I want to feast on her fucking hot ass.
My eyes nearly melt at the sight of that delicious ass wiggling its way up the stairs. By the time she’s halfway up, I catch a bit of a glimpse of her thong as her skirt has ridden up.
In my pants, my cock’s coming to life.
Quickly I hurry after her.
When she steps inside, I hear her squeal in delight. She claps her hands. And when she turns to face me, I see her eyes glowing with pleasure.
“Welcome to my den.”
She laughs.
“You own a private jet?”
There is obvious disbelief in her voice.
I nod.
Her index finger taps against my chest.
“Mr. Bennet, I think we will have to have a serious discussion about what you do for a living. A writer you ain’t.”
My heart beats a little faster. I don’t want to lie to her. I want to fucking impress her.
For a microsecond, I toy with telling her about my business—about owning Thebadboys.net.
“I’m in business,” I say instead. “I own a small company.”
Sometimes it’s all in the how you say it.
I’m not lying to her. I’m just not telling her exactly what I do…yet. In time I might.
“Mr. Bennet, if you could please be seated so we can get ready for takeoff?” the flight attendant says as she comes up behind me.
“Let me show you to your seat, darling.”
Chloe giggles again.
I lead the way to the real part of the plane, since so far we’ve only been standing in the back part.
When the curtain is drawn back and the full extent of the luxury is revealed, Chloe sucks in her breath.
She turns to me.
“Fuck, Aaron. This is really yours?”
I nod.
She shakes her head.
Pride swells up inside of me. This is a better surprise than the library, I know.
I’ve outdone myself. I’ve set new standards in impressing Chloe.
I watch as she takes tiny steps toward the inside of the room.
She goes over to the television, then she sits on one of the leather lounges before bouncing over to one of the bed-sized recliner chairs.
Her fingers find the buttons, and I watch her recline and come back up again. She giggles.
; “Aaron, this is fucking amazing.”
Her pleasure is about as much of a turn on as watching her ass wiggle up the stairs.
It occurs to me that I want to show off my toys to her. I want to impress her. And I want to possess her.
Usually, role models come to mind pretty fucking quickly. But right now I can’t think of which fictional character I want to be. Maybe I just want to be myself.
And being myself means being truthful.
I ignore the niggle in the pit of my stomach. Not telling is not lying.
As I watch her, my desire for her increases. I can’t wait to rip her fucking clothes off.
Like a girl let loose in a candy shop, she darts here, there, and everywhere. Her sheer delight is palpable.
Breathless, she comes to stand in front of me again.
Her chest is heaving. I see her nipples push through her flimsy material, and I imagine her pussy already wet and waiting.
“Aaaaaron.” She’s deliberately pulling the a as long as she can. Her index finger is now wiggling in front of my face. “There’s definitely something you’re not telling me. What business exactly are you in?”
The need to tell her the truth seems to be crushing me like a giant wave. It’s picking me up, tossing me in the fucking air, and then slamming me into the ground, squeezing every last bit of air out of me.
“Please, Mr. Bennet,” a voice interrupts us from behind. “Can you and your guest take a seat?”
I nod.
“Now, Chloe, let’s sit down.” I usher her to the reclining bed seat.
“Champagne, madam?” another one of the flight attendants has surfaced and is carrying two glasses of bubbles on a round tray.
Chloe giggles.
“Champagne at this hour?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
“Cheers.” I clink my glass against hers.
She responds.
“Now then,” I say as I put my glass down and lean into her.
She smells intoxicating. I detect rose petal and something citrus and sexual desire. “Let me tell you about the flight.”
Her puppy eyes give me their undivided attention. Her chin is cupped in her right hand.
“The flight is five hours. And we’ve got this plane all to ourselves. So plenty of time to…” I leave the last words hanging.
The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance Page 40