A Bad Boy Billionaire: Forbidden Alpha Male Romance Read Online Free PDF

slipped out of her. She rushed off to the bathroom to clean up, but I followed her. She jumped in the shower, giggling, and I started licking her legs, her lower lips.
    As the water sprayed down, I knelt in front of her and used my tongue to clean her out as she held onto my head and came again. I joined her standing and we soaped each other and rinsed off, planning what we were going to do the rest of the day. She had to work, and I had to walk around the city and think about my next book. We went our separate ways with an agreement to meet again that evening.
    I took her to a fancy restaurant so she could show off another of her dresses in public. She was becoming quite the local celebrity. She was really talented when it came to fashion – and when it came to cumming. She had many talents. After dinner in our private room in the restaurant, we shared a bottle of wine and talked.
    And then time did strange things as Einstein rolled over in his grave. I didn't know how to tell her the truth, so I didn't. She was doing so well I let her treat me to a trip around the world. We started in Asia but soon moved to Eastern Europe and then her home. I met her parents who were both nice. I was really beginning to think she was the one.
    Then, when we returned to Paris, she dove into work and stopped calling as much. I found out through a trusted source she had taken two lovers. She was spending on them lavishly. I wasn't upset that she wanted someone else, I was mad she hadn't told me the truth. What could I expect when I lied to every woman I met? I couldn't tell them I was part of the one percent or I would never knew why they truly loved me.
    She was a lot younger than me anyway. And I had saved her and maybe shouldn't have slept with her at all. I couldn't help she had insisted that morning on her balcony. I remembered her tightness fondly for a long time afterward, even as I plunged my penis into fresh pussy. Hemingway said the best way to forget a woman was to find a new one, which is what I did. Papa had a way of knowing what to say at the right moment.
    Whether her tears were real or not when I told her I was leaving never to return I won't ever know. Who can know the mind of a woman? You can memorize every curve of her body and every inch of her womanhood, but the most precious part – her mind – is a mystery even to the most effeminate man. She paid back all the money I had spent on her, wishing truly to be free, and I had to let her fly away like a bird. If she loved me, she would come back to me.
     
    Pussy and Poetry

    I flip the notebook over and write,
“I flip her over and enter her from
behind.” And in the back of my mind,
I see this as a way to unwind after a day
or a month or a year of chasing a project to
the very end. And the way her hips fit so per-
fectly with the way she purrs at me as she
rocks back and forth and forward and
backwards in words and motions
as sounds like the Ocean
rocking like the Stones
who can't get satellite
satisfaction or any
sort of traction.

Am I dumb or am I just happy?
Nirvana around the corner or
another meaningless sexual
escapade or chapter to turn
into a poem for later release
over and over I analyze all the
time I spend chasing the perfect
woman to have and to hold and to
love and not obsess over or write a-
bout. A long bout with writer's block
and then pussy and poetry as the waves
of emotion wash over me and I thrust while
in the back of my mind I'm already composing
the lines to make the memory of the moment more
concrete. Sitting on the edge of your seat you wait
to feel the weight of me on top of her between her
legs and the way the feeling exceeds all expectations
excites me even more. She's a slut and not a whore. The
latter do it for money while the former like the sexual as
much or maybe even more than men. That urge to reproduce
built upon a feeling that lasts only minutes or maybe half an
hour for most but those others – throughout time – spending
all their