Mr. President 1(172)

“You have 24 hours. Not a minute more,” he tells me, and I understand the threat under his words. Even though he has the hots for me, this woman he's looking for seems to be more important than all of that for him to threaten me like this.

“The clock is ticking,” he finishes, turning on his heels and storming out of the room. “And when it finishes, you better have a fucking chair to sit on, darlin’.”

I frown as I watch him leave the room, thinking that if hate could kill he’d drop dead right now. I used to tolerate him, but lately he’s been overstepping.#p#分页标题#e#

I’m not his errand girl; if he wants to investigate Python, why doesn’t he do it himself?

I stand there in silence, mulling over his words as Lux walks toward me, a coat draped over her naked shoulders.

“What the fuck was all that about?” she asks me. “Did Lester go off the deep end?” She folds her arms like me, tapping her foot at the same rhythm I was doing before.

I shake my head.

“I mean, just walking in here and flashing his badge and shutting shit down, it's…” Lux tries to find the words but can’t. “Jesus.”

“I don’t think Jesus has anything to do with this, Lux,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “Can you do me a favor? Get me an Uber; I need to get to Queens fast. Lester isn’t fucking around this time, and I don’t want to take any risks.”

“Sure, boss,” she tells me playfully, trying to brighten my mood but failing miserably. Seeing the worried look on my face, she finally turns on her heels and starts walking toward the backstage. “I’m on it.”

As I stand here, completely by myself under the dimmed lights of the room, I can’t help but worry. There’s something going on, and I have no idea what it is.

But I need to get to the bottom of this.

Because it seems like I’m caught up in it now whether I like it or not.





70





Austin





This is probably a fucking first for me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of Destiny.

I’ve always lived by the two Fs philosophy, Fuck and Forget, but that’s proving to be an impossible mission.

This woman’s cast some sort of fucking spell on me, and I just can’t shake it off.

It’s a good thing that Strokes has called me to warn me that she’s coming in today. I need to think of something else, and I know that when Strokes comes in we have to take care of business.

And, no, doll, I mean real fucking business, not the daily operations of a sex club.

I’m sitting at my office, looking through the financials of this month (profits have been climbing up for the fourth month in a row) when there’s a knock at my door.

“Yeah?” I don’t even look from my laptop as the door swings open; my security staff always leads before anyone comes inside.

“Mistress Strokes is here, boss.”

“Send her in,” I tell the head of my security detail and, a few seconds after, Strokes strolls through the doorway.

“These guys are really uptight, Jesus,” she starts with by way of hello. “They know who I am, so why don’t they just let me in?”

She knows me long enough to fucking complain so I let it fly and watch her as she sits down right in front of me and stretches. She yawns then, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You know why,” I tell her with a smile, and then get up and head to the coffee machine in the corner. I take a double espresso out of it, and then push the cup into her hands.

“Been getting some sleep?” I ask. “You look terrible.”

Okay, don’t fucking kill me, okay?

You think I’m a fucking idiot. I know you don’t tell a girl that she looks terrible. It’s a lie, she doesn’t look terrible at all; in fact, she looks as stunning as she always does.

Sure, she has a thing for painting her hair in the weirdest bright colors, but she has that cute innocent face that just disarms any man.

And when she smiles, it seems like the whole room lights up.#p#分页标题#e#

And let’s not even talk about her body; sure, she’s a petite one, but her tits seem to prove a different point.

So why did I tell her she looks terrible?

Because she always pushes herself to exhaustion; when it comes to business, she’s fucking tireless, and I don’t want her to burn out.

No, I need her thinking straight.

We can’t afford any mishaps, not in this line of business.

“Don’t you worry about me,” she yawns again, but then starts drinking her coffee. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“That’s funny,” I say, but I’m not laughing. I care about her. And don’t go putting words in my mouth, alright? I’m not fucking her, and never have. I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to fuck her—I sure as hell wouldn’t mind, but I don’t want to ruin what we have going on because I can’t control my monster cock. We’re doing important stuff, and it’s important enough for me to forgo sex for a few minutes.