On top: Billionaire bachelor romance (The Playgirls Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

middle of the afternoon – completely blanched, in need of quiet, calm, solitude – and found a couple fucking on your couch.
     
    Lucy had been thoughtful: there was a protective sheet to cover the damask.
    It wasn’t unusual; regardless of how many pets, couples, penguins, parties she shot, it was her erotic art that paid the bills.
    Lucy exposed her art in various galleries and whenever a new piece emerged, it was always auctioned for thousands. As in, hundreds and hundreds of thousands, which was why, the youngest amongst the three roommates, Lucy Prius was also their landlord.
    Lucy hired model to shoot her oeuvres, but occasionally, she was commissioned by rich couples who wanted naughty pictures for their wedding anniversaries or whatever; as Alice recognized the couple currently going at it, she imagined they were part of the latter lot.
    Alice wouldn’t have minded, if her pussy hadn’t already been dripping so much she wondered if there was a wet spot between her legs.
    “Don’t mind her, she’s just passing through,” Lucy told her clients, all the while clicking away, her objective straight on their genitals, probably capturing their embarrassment at being caught fucking by someone who wasn’t being paid to watch them. 
     
    Alice made it to her room as quickly as possible and collapsed on her bed, finally allowing the reality of the situation hit the mark.
    In her mind, she clearly visualized Colt’s heated gaze when she’d told him what she wanted from him, heard his voice – oh, god, his voice – and relived what she felt when his face had been buried deep between her legs.
    She just laughed, so much she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. Damn. That had been incredible. Disturbingly intense, but incredible nonetheless.
    What had he said afterwards? Shit. Suddenly, it seemed important. She hadn’t paid it a blink of attention, lost as she’d been, in a world of her own, but he’d talked.
    Men didn’t talk unless they had something important to say, so she assumed it hadn’t been about the weather. She moved towards her computer and started typing, but stopped halfway. She just had his generic company email, and they were probably filtered by his assistant; how was she supposed to make any communication business appropriate?
    She’d been pondering over it for close to five minutes when a new email popped up.
     
                  From: Tamsin Martin-Colburn.
    To: Alice A. Vaughan.
    Subject: Murder.
     
    Is there any reason why my husband should be sneakily looking for your phone number, and do I need to murder you?
    Love,
    T.
     
    PS: If you’re not a backstabbing slut, bring chocolate cake tomorrow night.
     
    From: Alice A. Vaughan
    To: Tamsin Martin-Colburn.
    Subject: Think before you speak.
     
    I’m your friend. We’re close to Christmas. Husbands suck at shopping. You wanna be very nice to me, right now. 
    Love,
    Alice.
     
    PS: Oh, that was sneaky. You just want cake, admit it.
     
    The excuse was entirely likely, although considering the timing, she had to assume that Xander was acting on behalf of his brother; Alice wasn’t about to put herself in a situation where she had to explain it to Tamsin, though.
     
    From: Tamsin Martin-Colburn.
    To: Alice A. Vaughan.
    Subject: Dear, Dear Alice,
     
    Did I ever mention how pretty your hair is? Because it is. So Bobby, and straight and black and… Ok, it sucks, you looked better in blonde, but I fully intend to compliment whatever you’re wearing as soon as you cross the threshold. Just don’t let him anywhere near a home décor section, and I’ll swear my undying devotion to you,
    Love,
    T.
     
    PS: Yes to cake.
     
    She’d been reading that last one when another message popped up; Alice absentmindedly pressed on next , expecting either a spam or another silly note from one of her friends. It wasn’t.
     
    From: Colton Henri Colburn.
    To: Alice A. Vaughan.
    Subject: Great start. 
     
    I don’t do games,