Home > A Million Dirty Secrets (Million Dollar Duet #1)(11)

A Million Dirty Secrets (Million Dollar Duet #1)(11)
Author: C.L. Parker

I nearly gagged until I overrode my instincts and started swallowing. I’d be lying if I told you it tasted better than chocolate or fruit candy or some other incredulous stuff like that. But it wasn’t terrible, either. Common sense told me that I should be thoroughly grossed out, but given the reaction I just got from him—this total stranger who’d paid two million dollars to own me as his personal sex slave so that he could do this to me whenever he wanted—it was tolerable.

He pulled his dick out of my mouth and smiled down at me. “Now that was a motherfucking blow job.”

I wiped the leftover wetness from my mouth with the back of my hand and did my best to look disgusted because he didn’t need to know that I’d sort of enjoyed it. But he only chuckled in response.

“There’s mouthwash in the bathroom.”

He stepped away from me and took my hand, pulling me up from the couch and leading me over to another set of doors. We both went inside, and he pulled out a bottle of mouthwash from under the sink and handed it to me. I poured some in the cup and swished it around my mouth while he grabbed a washcloth and wet it and then wiped himself off. Even limp, his cock was stunning.

“Here,” he said, pulling out a new toothbrush, still wrapped.

We stood at the his-and-her sinks and brushed our teeth in awkward silence. His reflection kept grinning at me around his toothbrush, and I was pretty sure he was getting a kick out of watching my tits jiggle with my brushing motions. I couldn’t stand the smug look on his face any longer, so I averted my eyes and looked around the bathroom instead. It was a bathroom designed for a king, and the centerpiece of the whole room was the bathtub. It was a Jacuzzi big enough to hold at least four people, and it had a bronze faucet on one end. Two steps led to the opening, with two more on the inside of the tub. Inside there were benches about halfway up each side that functioned as a sitting area. I swear he could have easily thrown a party inside that thing. And then I wondered if he ever actually had. For some reason, I wanted to reach out and smack him in the back of the head for that thought.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was standing in my birthday suit, brushing my teeth next to a man I had just met and still didn’t know anything about, who had just fucked my mouth royally, and I wanted to smack him for throwing a wild orgy in his gargantuan bathtub … in my head. His cock must have impaled my brain, because that reaction wasn’t making a bit of sense.

Squelching the overpowering urge to spit my toothpaste in his face, I spat it in the sink instead. My mouth was clean, but I still felt dirty.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said after he spat and rinsed.

I gave him a death glare but followed him out of the bathroom anyway.

“Um, excuse me,” I said, stopping in my tracks as he walked over to the bed. “I’m still naked. Where are my things?”

“I sleep in the nude, and now so do you.” He pulled the covers back and slipped under them.

I huffed, then stomped across the room to the other side of the bed and climbed in also, making sure to stay as far on my side as I could get without falling out of it.

“Come here, Delaine.”

He had to be joking. It wasn’t enough that I was sleeping in the nude? It wasn’t enough that he was sleeping in the nude? It wasn’t enough that we had just brushed our teeth in the nude after he fucked my mouth in the nude and made me think about him having wild orgies in the bathtub in the nude? Now he wanted to snuggle in the nude, too?

“I said come here.” His arm stretched across the space between us and wrapped around my waist, yanking me into his chest. “There, that’s better,” he said as he nuzzled his face into my neck. “You better get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

How was I supposed to be able to sleep with a humongous cock pressed to my ass?




I awoke the next morning, my body still heavy with sleep, my dick hard as a fucking rock and wedged between something warm and soft. My hand was cupped around something unmistakably feminine and perky, and I squeezed it to make sure it was real. I hate fake tits, and even though I had seen Delaine’s through the scrap of fabric she’d been wearing at the club—and then really saw them when I made her strip for me last night—you just never knew for sure until you felt them. The cosmetic surgery industry was making progress in leaps and bounds, but they could never compare to a perfect set of real tits in your hands.

And make no mistake about it: these were real, and undeniably perfect.

I ran my thumb over her nipple, thoroughly enjoying the way it pebbled under my touch. Delaine might have a mouth on her—boy, did she ever have a mouth on her—but I suspected that once she’d experienced my touch, she’d use that mouth to beg me for more rather than to see how many of my buttons she could push in a single breath.

Regretfully I climbed out of bed, and it didn’t escape my notice that Delaine groaned in protest. She was still in a deep sleep and likely didn’t realize what she was doing. Had she been awake, I’m sure she would’ve been relieved.

That fact should’ve made me feel like an asshole—after all, I, a perfect stranger, was making her do things she didn’t really want to do—but she was the one who’d signed on for this. Besides, there were indications that she quite possibly liked being forced to unleash the sexual beast that she’d kept hidden away all of her life. I’d seen the look in her eyes when she had my cock in her mouth last night. She loved it, which was a good thing, because I planned on sticking my cock there a whole lot more.

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