Lex(3)

It doesn’t take him but fifteen seconds and he’s kneeled between my legs, on my soft tan carpet greedily diving in, sucking on me as he pumps his iron rod fast between his legs.

“That’s good.” I coax, gently running my hands through Daniel’s thick black hair, leaning back and admiring the view of him going to town between my legs. Slurping, sucking and the more excited he gets the louder he moans, as his tongue feverishly licks and nibbles me in all the right places. He feels so good!

I’m close! Already so close, it never takes me very long. Forcefully grabbing a fistful of his hair, I hump his face, fucking his mouth with each sloppy, hard thrust of my undulating hips. Panting, sweat beading on the back of my neck, my heart excitedly hammering in my chest. I can feel the tingle sparking manically between my legs.

I’m going to come!

“I’m going to…” I moan, my legs contracting, body shaking on the brink of ecstasy.

Sucking on me extra hard, I loose myself in carnal bliss, my hands painfully grip his hair, and I come, hard. Squirting my hot nectar all over his saliva saturated mouth. Readily he drinks all of me down with a feral grunt and a spastic release of his own seed into his palm.

Good. Now that, that’s out of the way, I can think straight and prepare for my meeting.



“What do you mean you want stake in the company?” I calmly and respectfully ask. Even though it’s torturing me not to raise my overly feminine voice a few octaves to give their egocentric ears something to cry home about.

“Keagan Cosmetics and Creams is a company we want to own a part of.”

I think I’m hearing him correctly, but if he thinks I’m sharing, he’s lost his damn mind. These Saks reps were supposed to be here to talk long-term contract, to supply their stores with my cosmetics and beauty products. Not negotiate a company partnership. I can’t blame them for wanting exclusivity in owning a portion of what I’ve spent the past eight years building from the ground up. Nevertheless, I surely didn’t do all of this work for someone else to reap the benefits.

Yeah—right, I wasn’t born yesterday.

“We’d pay you twenty-one million for fifty percent partnership.”

Yes, I’m sure they would. Rolling my eyes, I turn to see Roni, gripping the edge of the conference table, about to come unglued. If she does, I almost fear for their lives. Sometimes I swear she’s more boy than girl. Shooting guns, hunting, fishing, NASCAR, hot rods… Like I said—total tomboy.

“Listen gentleman.” I soothe sexily and stand, smoothing my dress down the side of my thin body.

It’s time to work my God-given charm. It should be illegal to get away with all I do. Roni says it’s because I’m smokin’; her words not mine.

Slowly walking around the table my eyes forever watching the men, I stop between the two who are drooling the most, and I sit up on the table between them, cross my long lithe legs, making sure the one with the silver heart anklet is rested outward. Some men love ankle decorations and it’s obvious they do. They’re devouring me with their eyes, from my white heels all the way up to my hair, and back.

“So, gentleman.” I’m the first to speak and leaning over slightly, I run my finger suggestively around the pressed white shirt collar of the handsome forty something man in an expensive, tailored business suit. Hunching my shoulders just a bit, I allow my dress to gape just slightly at the top to give him a little view of my breasts. Which, by the way, are not cupped with a bra. I don’t need one; my boobs are forever perky. I’ve been implanted twice in the past ten years and they are just supple enough to make you question if they’re real or fake, but they’re fake. I wouldn’t be a D cup if they weren’t.

“Yes…” He gulps and licks his big perverted married lips.

Time to go in for the kill.

“Donnie, I don’t want to sell any part of my big ol’ company to yours.” I pout and baby talk to him, batting my naturally thick black eye lashes that encase my pouty ice blue eyes. I’m fully aware that this man sitting here, hanging on my every word is married, and his name is Donald Beardsley. I’m fairly certain no one calls him Donnie, except me, just now. I have that cute factor to get away with just about anything. My curse—if you will.

Trailing my finger from his collar to his tie, I pull it from the confines of his double-breasted suit jacket, and seductively slide the blue patterned silk delicately through my thin French manicured fingers.

He’s panting already and his dark brown soulful eyes are sparking fireworks of animalistic lust right at me.