Sinful Rewards 11 Read Online Free PDF Page B

pounding into my pussy with your big cock, making me scream your name as I come, clenching you tight.”
    He growls, the primitive sound rolling down my spine.
    I cup my mons, thrilled by his response. “Will you bend me over and take me from behind? Put your palm prints on my ass so everyone knows I’m yours?”
    “Give me a half an hour.”
    “You have twenty minutes,” I counter, taking control of this encounter. “Or I’ll start without you.” I end the call and laugh softly. My favorite voyeur doesn’t like to miss anything. He’ll rush to arrive on time, thinking of nothing else.
    My phone dances against my fingers. I glance down at the screen.
    Friendly: In 20 min, go to 501 North, strip naked & lie on the bed. Good girls earn rewards.
    My smile stretches across my face. He is thinking of me. I scoop up my panties, venture into our bedroom, place the folded silk on the bed, and remove the box with this morning’s reward from the closet. Pulling two large strands away from my face, I slide the teeth of my beautiful comb into my hair, fastening them in place.
    When he fucks me senseless, he’ll see his gift in my hair. I hum happily as I wander around the condo, ensuring the space is ready for our cat’s arrival. Minutes pass as I sweep the floors, tuck the bar stools under the counter, wipe the kitchen appliances with a damp sponge.
    Cyndi texts me, asking about the Harry Winston box. I take multiple pictures of my diamond-and-silver hair comb, capturing every divine detail, and I send it to her with the caption, “Look what I got today.”
    She replies, attaching a picture of her movie-star boyfriend shirtless with the same caption. I laugh. My best friend always knows how to lighten my mood.
    I tuck my phone and passcard into the bodice of my dress and head out the door, striving for the same happiness. My ballerina flats sink into the rich blue carpet. The light from the gold hallway fixtures flickers against the cream walls.
    I press the button for the elevator. The doors open and I stride into the small space. My face reflects in the mirrored walls, the diamonds in my hair sparkling, catching my attention. The dog tags also shine, looking patriotic and surprisingly right against the red-and-white stripes of my Dolce & Gabbana dress.
    My style is eclectic yet tolerable, the lining of the skirt concealing my panty-less state. My shoes, however, are hideous, but I don’t have a choice. The ballerina flats are my only option.
    I’m lying to myself. As Hawke often tells me, there’s always a choice.
    Months ago, I would have chosen not to meet with a man rather than be seen wearing the wrong footwear. I hadn’t known Hawke then. He hadn’t changed me yet, hadn’t shown me that there are more important things in life than fashion.
    I gaze at my reflection. Today, I’m a different person. I’m no longer a little girl playing dress-up, a carefully garbed fashionista, or a sophisticated seductress. I’m a regular woman, imperfect yet happy, my cheeks pink and my eyes glowing because I’m having a secret rendezvous with the man I love.
    This encounter was initiated by me. I can’t justify my perverted behavior by pointing to the promise of a reward or by claiming ignorance of what I’ll be asked to do. Hawke is wealthy, he can buy a woman any designer treasures she covets, and I know we’ll have sex in front of an audience.
    I rub my thighs together, my pussy moistening, my body heating with excitement. The doors open and I saunter along the fifth-floor hallway, my hips swaying, my worries about tonight smothered by lust and anticipation.
    I wave my passcard over five oh one north’s sensor and open the door. Thick drapes cover the windows. Empty chairs are arranged in front of a raised black stage. A bed is positioned next to a glass table. The immaculately white sheets are pulled tightly over the mattress, the corners folded with a military precision. Three condom packages are scattered on the