The Committee Read Online Free PDF

an erotic detour as Sheridan’s dancing tongue skillfully took her to secret places only he could find.
    Camille could only hold on tight until the ride ended. She prayed the driver couldn’t see through the blackened limousine partition as her head rolled from side to side on the seat. Sheridan was merciless as he plunged deeper and deeper. She felt the added pleasure of the coarseness of his tongue and tickle of his goatee. “Why do you do this to me, baby?” she pleaded helplessly as he maneuvered the magic carpet even higher. “Please don’t, Daddy,” she moaned and quaked at the exact point his tongue performed the most remarkable figure eights, pirouettes, circles, twists, and turns.
    Sheridan knew the signals. The undulating hips, the twirling Pradas, the steadily increasing flow and the tightening grip on his head. In this moment she belonged to him, not the city of Los Angeles. He possessed her body and soul. There were no urgent problems only she could solve or crises demanding her immediate attention. There were no voters’ hands to shake or rosy baby cheeks to kiss. There was only Sheridan and Camille Hardaway. He was the master, and she was his slave.
    â€œYou’re going to make me cum, baby,” she warned.
    No need to tell this to Sheridan. He knew the precise moment she would be reduced to shuddering muscle spasms, tangled hair, and disheveled designer clothes.
    Three . . . two . . . he counted down silently as his tongue guided the magic carpet to the highest point of the journey. And one—
    Camille clamped down on her bottom lip to prevent a frenzied shriek of pleasure from escaping. Her hips lurched upward. Sheridan skillfully stayed in position throughout the entire series of spasms showing her no mercy. Her fingers gripped the back of his head as if she were trying to stay on a bucking bull. Her body froze at the peak of pleasure. Her hips remained suspended in the air with Sheridan planted firmly inside her. Then suddenly, her body dropped to the car seat as Sheridan gently administered the final twirls of his tongue just as a painter would the final strokes on his masterpiece.
    Camille’s body continued to twitch as she looked out the window and saw the landmarks indicating the mayor’s mansion was only two blocks away. She quickly lifted Sheridan from between her legs, retrieved her crumpled panties from the floor, and used them to wipe away the evidence of her passion from his face.
    As the car glided to a stop in the circular driveway, Sheridan dabbed the sides of his mouth with his fingers said, “Did that answer your question? You were magnificent.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Camille sat sternly at the head of the conference table in her office at city hall on Tuesday morning. The generals in her army were to her left and to her right. Chief of Staff Tony Christopoulos occupied the seat to her right. Bill Wong, the city administrator, to her left. The head of the real estate division, Scott Harrison next to him, and the new baseball stadium project manager, Ben Venabrink, faced Camille at the opposite end of the table.
    The décor offered no clues that would lead anyone to conclude it belonged to the beautiful woman in the immaculate navy blue pantsuit at the head of the table. Dark mahogany panels covered the walls. She inherited the art from generations of stodgy old men who preceded her. Even the desk was a relic from the past. The only hint offered was the subtle trace of violets, blackcurrant, Bulgarian rose, and Egyptian jasmine from Camille’s favorite perfume resting gently on the shoulders of everyone who entered the room.
    An architectural rendering of the new ultramodern stadium sat on an easel just over Ben’s left shoulder.
    â€œMrs. Mayor,” Ben said as he stood and walked to the easel, “the Playa del Rey site offers the perfect location for this project. There are 110 undeveloped acres overlooking the Pacific Ocean.