Body Worship: The Billionaire and the BBW: Body Heat Series Book 3 Read Free
Author: Madeline Parr
Ads: Link
Sybian?”
“A Sybian?” If I didn’t have her full attention before, I certainly do now. She gives me a curious look.
“A vibrating leather rounded box that sits on the floor,” I say. “You pick out the attachment, I strap you to it, and then I control the settings. The intensity of the vibration, the speed of the rotation-”
“Yeah, I know what it is, Tiger. Although I’ve never had the pleasure of riding one.” She pauses in thought before continuing. “You have one at your place? I guess being rich does have its benefits.”
“I prefer to play here. For privacy reasons.” I’ve presented this same proposition to at least a dozen women, but I’ve never been nervous they wouldn’t accept. But Evelyn? I know she’d walk away in a heartbeat, and the panic that courses through me at the thought makes me feel hope again.
“Do they have private rooms here?”
“Not really. I usually use one of the gallery rooms.” I steel myself for her response.
“You let people watch?” She reaches for her handbag and starts sliding out of the booth. “I’m sorry, that’s just not my jam.”
“Evelyn, please.” I touch her elbow to halt her exit. “It’s negotiable. Maybe we could use the room, but we could flip the switch that frosts the window, so that nobody can see us. Would that work for you?”
She settles back into her seat. She’s still on board. “And what do you do while I’m getting ravaged by your pleasure machine?”
“I enjoy the show.” And something tells me I’d enjoy it more than usual with Evelyn as the star. The thought of a patch of auburn hair between her milky white thighs makes my breath catch in my throat.
“I’m assuming you get off while you watch.”
“No. It’s all about you.” She looks pleased with that response.
“That sounds nice. It hasn’t been all about me in a very long time.” I reach across the table and take her hand in my own.
“It should always be about you. How do you not know that?”
“Oh, I know it. It’s the men I date who don’t always know it.” She pulls her hand free of mine and rests it in her lap. “Do you get naked?”
“I prefer to stay clothed.” She arches her brows.
“So, what do you get out of it?”
“The pride that comes from a job well done.” She scrunches her brows into an ‘are you serious’ look and I throw my hands up. “Humans are complicated animals. I don’t know why certain things trip my trigger, but they do.”
“Do you ever have good old-fashioned sex with women here?”
“Nope. Never have.” And for the past few years, not here or anywhere else. But she’d never guess the truth in a million years. I guess my public persona is good for something: maintaining my cover.
“I suppose a man like you doesn’t need to,” she says. “You probably have women falling all over themselves to score a spot in your bed.”
“I’m not the bed-hopping lothario the press would have you believe. You just have to trust me on that one.”
“They say everyone has a cross to bear. I suppose being constantly photographed with famous beautiful women is yours.” Her mouth turns up at the corners as she takes a sip and I feel I chuckle rise within me.
“I knew you’d understand,” I say.
“As far as I’m concerned, if you can’t feel pity for a hunky billionaire, you’ve pretty much lost your humanity.” I ball up my fabric napkin and toss it at her. I can’t remember the last time a woman gave me so much shit and I love it. Usually they agree with everything I say, no matter how ridiculous, and avoid voicing any opinions of their own.
“So,” she says, “with the Sybian. You said you usually tie women to it. I don’t think I’d like being tied to something. Could you live without that, too? Or am I deviating too much from your erotic vision?”
“I’m pretty sure I can work with that.”
“Good. I’d hate for you to think I’m too demanding.”
“Any other questions?”
“Only
“A Sybian?” If I didn’t have her full attention before, I certainly do now. She gives me a curious look.
“A vibrating leather rounded box that sits on the floor,” I say. “You pick out the attachment, I strap you to it, and then I control the settings. The intensity of the vibration, the speed of the rotation-”
“Yeah, I know what it is, Tiger. Although I’ve never had the pleasure of riding one.” She pauses in thought before continuing. “You have one at your place? I guess being rich does have its benefits.”
“I prefer to play here. For privacy reasons.” I’ve presented this same proposition to at least a dozen women, but I’ve never been nervous they wouldn’t accept. But Evelyn? I know she’d walk away in a heartbeat, and the panic that courses through me at the thought makes me feel hope again.
“Do they have private rooms here?”
“Not really. I usually use one of the gallery rooms.” I steel myself for her response.
“You let people watch?” She reaches for her handbag and starts sliding out of the booth. “I’m sorry, that’s just not my jam.”
“Evelyn, please.” I touch her elbow to halt her exit. “It’s negotiable. Maybe we could use the room, but we could flip the switch that frosts the window, so that nobody can see us. Would that work for you?”
She settles back into her seat. She’s still on board. “And what do you do while I’m getting ravaged by your pleasure machine?”
“I enjoy the show.” And something tells me I’d enjoy it more than usual with Evelyn as the star. The thought of a patch of auburn hair between her milky white thighs makes my breath catch in my throat.
“I’m assuming you get off while you watch.”
“No. It’s all about you.” She looks pleased with that response.
“That sounds nice. It hasn’t been all about me in a very long time.” I reach across the table and take her hand in my own.
“It should always be about you. How do you not know that?”
“Oh, I know it. It’s the men I date who don’t always know it.” She pulls her hand free of mine and rests it in her lap. “Do you get naked?”
“I prefer to stay clothed.” She arches her brows.
“So, what do you get out of it?”
“The pride that comes from a job well done.” She scrunches her brows into an ‘are you serious’ look and I throw my hands up. “Humans are complicated animals. I don’t know why certain things trip my trigger, but they do.”
“Do you ever have good old-fashioned sex with women here?”
“Nope. Never have.” And for the past few years, not here or anywhere else. But she’d never guess the truth in a million years. I guess my public persona is good for something: maintaining my cover.
“I suppose a man like you doesn’t need to,” she says. “You probably have women falling all over themselves to score a spot in your bed.”
“I’m not the bed-hopping lothario the press would have you believe. You just have to trust me on that one.”
“They say everyone has a cross to bear. I suppose being constantly photographed with famous beautiful women is yours.” Her mouth turns up at the corners as she takes a sip and I feel I chuckle rise within me.
“I knew you’d understand,” I say.
“As far as I’m concerned, if you can’t feel pity for a hunky billionaire, you’ve pretty much lost your humanity.” I ball up my fabric napkin and toss it at her. I can’t remember the last time a woman gave me so much shit and I love it. Usually they agree with everything I say, no matter how ridiculous, and avoid voicing any opinions of their own.
“So,” she says, “with the Sybian. You said you usually tie women to it. I don’t think I’d like being tied to something. Could you live without that, too? Or am I deviating too much from your erotic vision?”
“I’m pretty sure I can work with that.”
“Good. I’d hate for you to think I’m too demanding.”
“Any other questions?”
“Only