Page 31 of The Bad Girl

Maxwell:What I’m saying is these are all pictures that Good Girl Nadine would take. Chatterbox Nadine might pull those panties aside…

Nadine:I don’t think I’m ready to be Chatterbox Nadine.

Maxwell:And that’s absolutely fine. Don’t feel pressured to take it any further than you feel comfortable with.

Nadine:Thank you! You’ve really helped me tonight.

By now, my cock’s angry, demanding I send a car for the pretty woman in the pink panties. I try to reason with it, telling him that it should take more than a series of photographs that aren’t even especially graphic to get him this worked up, but he’s not listening to reason. He only wants results.

I imagine my cock pushing against Nadine, feeling her warm hand rubbing my eager shaft. She wants me in every part of her, but for now, she begs for a taste, which I happily oblige.

My body tenses as I feel a familiar release building. I make it past her pink lips, she’s gazing up at me, sucking far more of my cock than I know her pretty little mouth can take in.

I groan, feeling the rush take hold, hot cum shoots from my head.

Fuck me! God, yes!

A moment later, my member lays limp in my hand, and my trousers are desperately in need of dry cleaning.

Usually, I’m prepared for such things, but the allure of Nadine’s photos genuinely took me by surprise.

I drop my pants, throw them in a hamper, and go to the bathroom to clean up.

As I’m midway through brushing my teeth, I laugh to myself.Maybe I should tell her to put her pics in my Little Black Book.

I put my phone to ‘do not disturb’and crawl into bed, but sleep doesn’t claim me.

For some reason, I can’t get Nadine out of my head. Not her pictures, those would be welcome, but her. I tell myself I’m being silly. She’s the last person I should be thinking about fucking.

But the thing is, I’m not thinking about fucking. I’m thinking about her titillating laugh. I’m thinking about her cynical gaze when I say something preposterous. I’m thinking about her smile.

And I’m jealous. I’m jealous of this Tom guy who hasn’t seen her in six years, that’s just going to waltz into her life and sweep her away on his fucking motorcycle. Just who does he think he is, anyway?

Fuck!

My arm reaches to my nightstand, fumbling for my phone. I’m tired—exhausted, but this is something that can’t wait until morning.

Scrolling through my contacts, I stop at Stacey and enter into her text box.

Maxwell:I need you to come in tomorrow. I’ll take care of your newest legal issue, just be here at six sharp.