Page 34
Story: Mad Love
“Take time off.”
“Sir, you need me.”
“Your wife needs you more. Anyway, I have an X-R 85 to test drive.”
“You finally got the car, eh?”
“I got something better. I have the girl.”
Dennis chuckles. “Congratulations on your marriage, and thank you, sir. Good night.”
“Good night, Dennis.”
He walks to his car. I take the elevator to the lobby and check in with my guys, asking them the same questions.
“Visitors?”
“None.”
“Packages?”
“One, sir. Again, from the lingerie store down the street.”
“Thanks, Charles. Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Stassi.”
I do the same routine I always do. I get in the elevator and unbutton the top buttons of my shirt, looking forward to a few laps in the pool. Except this time, I have a shit ton of questions for my wife. Forget the foreplay and the box of scarves and thong panties I forewent buying when I stopped by the lingerie store on the way home.
A pregnancy isn’t the reason for the fast nuptials; Blaise is a virgin. I suspect the business arrangement and our subsequent marriage has to do with her grandfather’s will.
Without the security of his money, Blaise had to find security fast. Hence, needing my name for protection. I have loads of money. But she doesn’t want my money or my body, her words. Then why the change of mind? Will she change her mind next and go after my billions now that she’s near broke?
Pressing my thumb to the pad next to the door, I put up my guard. I know as much about Blaise as the rest of the world. After her parents died in a plane crash when she was thirteen, she went to live with her grandfather. He assumed guardianship.
At the age of sixteen, she was kidnapped and held for ransom. Her grandfather paid the reported five million dollars for her freedom. When her kidnapper released her to the FBI, Blaise lived with her cousin Roman at his Montana estate before she moved into her own large mansion with her four bodyguards when she was eighteen.
Other than hopping from party to party with her bodyguards in tow, or throwing huge parties at her Montana estate, Blaise rarely went out in public. At the age of nineteen, she was linked romantically to her then twenty-five-year-old bodyguard, Granger Ward.
Inside my place, I shrug off my jacket, set my briefcase on an overstuffed chair, and saunter to the kitchen. Blaise has on an apron over her dress, and she’s taste-testing whatever she’s cooking, the tip of her tongue flicking over the spoon.
Jesus, what will it be like to have her tongue flick my cock from base to head? For her to wrap her small mouth around my big cock? Her mouth would be like a fist. Warm and wet too. I jam my hands inside the pockets of my trousers and demand my cock calm the fuck down.
There will be no touching or conceding to Blaise’s on-the-down-low charm and innocent seduction until I understand what her motives are and what this “danger” is she’s in that’ll take at most three months to resolve.
“Smells good.”
She sets the spoon down. “I hope you’re hungry. I made beef roast and butternut squash soup.”
“Starving. Need help?”
“Nope. Did you want to shower and get into something more comfortable?”
“I made plans. I’m sorry to dine and dash on you.”
“No need to be. I should be the one apologizing, having forgotten that we have separate lives and this is a business arrangement.”
How we should keep things. Business, no pleasure.
“Sir, you need me.”
“Your wife needs you more. Anyway, I have an X-R 85 to test drive.”
“You finally got the car, eh?”
“I got something better. I have the girl.”
Dennis chuckles. “Congratulations on your marriage, and thank you, sir. Good night.”
“Good night, Dennis.”
He walks to his car. I take the elevator to the lobby and check in with my guys, asking them the same questions.
“Visitors?”
“None.”
“Packages?”
“One, sir. Again, from the lingerie store down the street.”
“Thanks, Charles. Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Stassi.”
I do the same routine I always do. I get in the elevator and unbutton the top buttons of my shirt, looking forward to a few laps in the pool. Except this time, I have a shit ton of questions for my wife. Forget the foreplay and the box of scarves and thong panties I forewent buying when I stopped by the lingerie store on the way home.
A pregnancy isn’t the reason for the fast nuptials; Blaise is a virgin. I suspect the business arrangement and our subsequent marriage has to do with her grandfather’s will.
Without the security of his money, Blaise had to find security fast. Hence, needing my name for protection. I have loads of money. But she doesn’t want my money or my body, her words. Then why the change of mind? Will she change her mind next and go after my billions now that she’s near broke?
Pressing my thumb to the pad next to the door, I put up my guard. I know as much about Blaise as the rest of the world. After her parents died in a plane crash when she was thirteen, she went to live with her grandfather. He assumed guardianship.
At the age of sixteen, she was kidnapped and held for ransom. Her grandfather paid the reported five million dollars for her freedom. When her kidnapper released her to the FBI, Blaise lived with her cousin Roman at his Montana estate before she moved into her own large mansion with her four bodyguards when she was eighteen.
Other than hopping from party to party with her bodyguards in tow, or throwing huge parties at her Montana estate, Blaise rarely went out in public. At the age of nineteen, she was linked romantically to her then twenty-five-year-old bodyguard, Granger Ward.
Inside my place, I shrug off my jacket, set my briefcase on an overstuffed chair, and saunter to the kitchen. Blaise has on an apron over her dress, and she’s taste-testing whatever she’s cooking, the tip of her tongue flicking over the spoon.
Jesus, what will it be like to have her tongue flick my cock from base to head? For her to wrap her small mouth around my big cock? Her mouth would be like a fist. Warm and wet too. I jam my hands inside the pockets of my trousers and demand my cock calm the fuck down.
There will be no touching or conceding to Blaise’s on-the-down-low charm and innocent seduction until I understand what her motives are and what this “danger” is she’s in that’ll take at most three months to resolve.
“Smells good.”
She sets the spoon down. “I hope you’re hungry. I made beef roast and butternut squash soup.”
“Starving. Need help?”
“Nope. Did you want to shower and get into something more comfortable?”
“I made plans. I’m sorry to dine and dash on you.”
“No need to be. I should be the one apologizing, having forgotten that we have separate lives and this is a business arrangement.”
How we should keep things. Business, no pleasure.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106