Sake Bomb (47 page)

Most titles available in multiple formats
for your favorite eReader everywhere eBooks are sold!

If you liked
SAKE
BOMB
, you may also like…

THE DOXY’S DAYBOOK: A FRIDAY IN TWO ACTS

By: Sable Jordan

Call her Roz. All of her fans do...

Follow along with Rosalyn Patrice Hayes, a
professional doxy. She's more than an actress, she's "a permanent
affair." Every day, this southern-born beauty stars in a play she's
also written and produced for an audience that doubles as co-star.
It's a performance showing on a stage way off Broadway, the
grandest stage of all—the hustle and bustle of life in New York.
Told in 1st person, from the time the curtains go up until they go
down you'll find yourself mesmerized by each deliciously naughty
act.

Warning:
18+ Only! This
title contains erotic scenes, graphic language, anal sex, M/M sex,
M/F/M sex, Cowboy sex, F/F sex, (sheesh, there's a lot of sex)
umm...sex on a desk, sex toys, some light bondage,
interracial/international sex, and a doxy with a smart mouth. Yep,
that should cover it.

Excerpt
:

At the end of the hall sits Eva, Mr.
Temple’s personal assistant. She’s a gorgeous twenty-something,
with long brown hair, innocent brown eyes, and fresh skin. Her
predecessors looked much the same. I secretly think he has a thing
for her. That she’s his third secretary in as many months leads me
to believe he’s had a thing for most of them.

“Hi, Eva. I see Temple’s still in his
meeting, huh?”

She nods, motions to a chair opposite her.
“Would you like to have a seat?”

I make a show of checking my watch—ten on
the nose—and hear his steady gait approaching behind me. I’ve
worked with Temple the last year. Even dampened by the carpet I
know what his footfalls sound like.

“Meeting ran a little late,” he says,
extends his hand as I turn. We shake, ever professional, and he
walks to the large wooden door that separates his office from his
minions.

I follow.

“I know you’re busy, Miss Hayes. Come on
in,”—to Eva—“hold my calls, please.”

We enter his domain. A large, polished desk
sits focal to the city line visible through the building’s grand
translucent façade. It’s fitting. This is the boss’s office, and
the power on the set is tangible. A few comfortable chairs line the
wall and to the left is a personal bathroom, the door drawn
shut.

Mr. Temple—Jackson in private—pulls a chair
to his desk for me. I remove my coat and hang it across the back of
the seat, toss my purse on the tabletop. Coffee gets settled on a
coaster beside and I turn, bend at the waist to open the storage
bin I’ve dragged along from the car. The skirt rides up, revealing
a hint of lacey detailing at the tops of my sheer thigh-high
hose.

Jackson inhales.

I pretend not to notice.

Two files rest atop boxes stowed inside and
I remove them both, handing the first to him and laying the second
on the desk. I open it, mess the colorful pages filled with pie
charts and flow charts and paragraphs of carefully researched data
about a product that does not exist. He does the same.

The stage is dressed, the action begins…

I walk around the desk. He’s forgotten to
put away the pictures of his wife and kids. They’re a cute family;
his three girls all blonde heads in ponytails and bright smiles. I
wonder what he thinks about me seeing them, if it even matters.

I guide Jackson down into his plush leather
chair, sink to my knees on the floor before him. This is a
difficult achievement, the narrow skirt doesn’t afford much
movement, but he likes it this way. Likes seeing the form fitting
costumes that hug the curves of my hips and ass.

He unbuckles his belt and unzips his suit
pants, freeing his sizeable cock. I let him do the liberty with the
condom. He prefers to stroke himself stiff while I watch with
greedy eyes, and then, when I’m salivating for a taste, he feeds
his dick in measured bites into my waiting mouth. Though the
location has changed, the scene’s been like this the entire time
this affair has endured, and I imagine it will continue in the
exact same vein for a long time to come.

With sultry eyes I watch him unroll the
latex down his shaft; watch him fist the heavy rod in one hand
while the other grips my hair. He slowly eases just the head of his
dick onto my tongue. I lick it lightly, round and round the outside
with the flat of my tongue, laving at the crown before my lips
cover it whole.

He groans, feeds me a little more.

This game of hide-the-cock continues slowly
with Jackson setting the pace. Each time I take more of him in he
pauses to savor the sensation at the new depth. Finally, when he
thinks my mouth is full, he begins to lift on my hair. I stop him,
clenching my hands on his thighs and forcing more of him into my
throat. He knows I’m going to, I know he wants me to, but he’s too
much of a gentleman to do it himself.

“Oh, shit.”

Know your cue
…

I pull back and push forward again,
encouraging him with moans of appreciation for his massive dick. It
throbs in my mouth like it has a heart of its own—
thump, thump,
thump—
eager to drop the load he’s been carrying.

His hips move, just a tiny bit, and I bob a
little faster before releasing him with a wet pop. Hand wrapped
around the base, I stroke up on the shaft and bear down with my
mouth. Jackson loves it; his hands rake through my hair and force
my head down. He moves me faster, my hand moves faster, the slick,
sloppy sounds of my mouth and soft little hums of delight spurring
him on. He grows harder, is right on the verge of exploding,
almost—

“Mr. Temple, line one.”