Executive Engagement

It’s all so sensual, and suddenly, I’ve got that longing. Not in my heart, but right between my legs. It’s an ache that burns.

I finish my strawberry and scroll down the screen.

This is ridiculous. Men for sale? It must be a scam.

This is a stupid amount of money.

But then it hits me. Like, so what? Why am I making tons of money if I’m not going to enjoy myself?

I grin to myself. I keep scrolling until one face actually turns that ache between my legs into a sharp pain.

Pretty-faced and tousled but nicely tamed hair. Ticks all the right boxes.

He calls himself Will, and suddenly I hear Bea in my mind: Where there’s a Will, there’s a way.

There’s definitely a Will.

There’s something about his eyes.

Fierce. Like a wolf. A hungry wolf.

“Will,” I whisper, thinking how awesome it would be to give this man instructions on how to do me right. “You look like the kind of man who knows how to treat a lady right.”

I’m already fantasizing about those lips on my clit.

I barely know what I’m doing as I make the clicks. I’m swimming in whiskey, champagne, and in my own hot, sweet scent.

Maybe it’s a bad idea.

Maybe it’s a total fucking disaster.

And definitely, absolutely I’m way too drunk to care.

He’s hot, he’s sexy, he’s got the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen…

And as soon as I enter my bank info, he’s mine.

“Good night, Will.” I giggle to myself as I curl up on the lounge.

3

William

My eyes peel open after passing out on the couch in my living room, chest bare and a fresh bottle of whiskey cradled against my cheek. Normally, if a noise wakes me up at this hour of morning, it’s the slurping sound of lips around my cock.

But I didn’t wind up bringing anyone home last night, and these aren’t blowjob noises—they’re knocks.

I run my fingers through my messy hair, groaning as I head for the door. I can’t remember ordering delivery—pizza, strippers, or otherwise. So, tired as I am, I’m curious to see what the fuck’s going on.

I’ve had to blink a couple of times to be sure I’m seeing right once I open the door.

Three women are standing on my doorstep, their arms crossed authoritatively. They’re all taller than I am, which is saying something, since I’m easily 6’4”.

“Ladies,” I greet them, with a charming smile and a nod in each of their directions. They’re not exactly my type, but being polite never hurt anyone. “How can I help you?”

The middle broad—the smallest of the three, so help me—gives me the kind of fee fi fo fum smile that gives the impression she skipped dinner and I’m about to be her midnight snack.

“Mr. Ambrose, is it?” she asks. “We’re here to inform you that you’ve been…purchased.”