Executive Engagement - Page 344
“Yup,” I say eyeing him. He’s wearing basketball shorts. That’s it. He's shirtless. I want to jump his bones right now.
As if sensing my thoughts, Derrick looks at me wolfishly. “Want to take a break?”
God. I want him to push me against the wall and take me. I want to throw him on the ground and impale myself on that tree trunk of a cock he’s got swinging between his legs. He makes me cum so hard. I’m becoming a slave to my desire for his cock.
But I have reports waiting. Reports about his father.
I smile back at him.
“Later,” I say to him, smiling. Derrick shrugs and tells me he’s going to the gym.
I wonder if he exercises his cock too. Is that even possible?
Stop it Alicia! This is crazy!
I sit back down with my coffee in my room in front of my laptop and start reading the compiled reports.
Oh. My. God.
I spend literally three hours in front of the computer. My coffee has gone cold. I’ve been so caught up.
Derrick is so wrong about so many things.
And I decide I can no longer write character assassination pieces for Samantha Scar.
In Derrick words, I’m fucked.
Derrick
“So basically, the last three weeks have been tremendous, Your Highness,” Larry is telling me.
I smile. “Is that your professional opinion as my lawyer, mate?” I ask him.
He cracks a grin. Maybe for the first time since he’s been around me. “That’s my professional opinion. You have a court date for some parking tickets and fines for some citations, but honestly, if you keep up the good behavior that you’ve got going, you should be absolutely fine.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe that less than a month ago newspapers were openly advocating that I should be tossed out of the country. I look over some of the papers this morning.
“Prince Charming!” reads The New York Post. It’s got a picture of me and Daphne, although her face is facing the other direction. I think the photographer was trying to capture her fucking perfect legs and ass. But we’re holding hands as we cross the street towards the Met. I’m wearing my tux and looking at her. I fucking remember exactly why I was looking at her. Because she looked fucking gorgeous. And I realized how long we’d been seeing each other.
“Queen of the Castle!” reads the Daily News. I’m carrying a box of some shit and taking it out of my condo with her pointing where on the street I should put it. Again, that’s all Daphne. She’s been moving more and more stuff out of her ransacked apartment and as she brings stuff over, a lot of my fucking shit is going out.
First to go was a fair amount of porn.
Don’t fucking laugh, mate. I didn’t really mind it much, because it was all fucking DVD’s and magazines. Stuff I never looked at.
And care to guess how fucking amazing Daphne was about all that? She didn’t mind at all when she discovered it. In fact, we fucked hard that night, doing it much better than the people on camera. Honestly mate, they should pay us to fuck. People could fucking learn a thing or two when I’m making Daphne cum for the 8th time in the night or when we both fucking pass out from hours of fucking.
But, I have to say, the biggest turnaround has got to be The News of the
Times. Abigail Adams. That lady used to be a fucking cunt to me a month ago. Now, she’s the sweetest fucking thing. Today’s Page Eight headline is in front of me. Want to know what it says?
“Sweet Sinner.”
That’s fucking right. They managed to get a picture of us outside on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Daphne is looking out and I have my arms around her, wrapping her up. I’m kissing her cheek and she’s leaning into me.
Fuck. I don’t know how they’ve been so fucking spot on. They got it first when Daphne and I first met at Per Se. They got it when I rescued the little boy, even though I didn't want it public. They got the details on Daphne and basically have been controlling the story around her.
It’s like Pressly or Sam, or even Larry has been tipping them off. Don’t think I didn’t ask them. But each said no, and I fucking believe them.
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