Because in an instant, I’d dragged her onto my cock like a starving dog, making her hump my dick with dancers whirling on the floor below. I’d parted those thick thighs and fucked right into her waiting hole, groaning at the tender squeeze.
And even though my future stepdaughter was staring at me now, clearly trying to act like nothing was wrong, there was no regret at all. Did I feel bad? Naw. If anything, I felt fucking powerful and confident, eyeing that curvy frame once more.
My only real problem was not dragging her off for more of what I had last night. Her ass was so fucking tight and she’d responded like a wet dream to the deep-dicking. Aw shit. Just thinking about it, my meat got hard again, right there with her mom and aunt a few feet away.
Fuck my life.
If only I could taste her again.
If only I could get her in private.
But the thing is, Lacey was freaking out. Her façade was crumbling, and I needed to put a stop to that.
“Naw, no worries, Amanda,” came my low growl. “We’ll have plenty of time for hugs once we get to know each other better.”
I tried to make it sound like it was no big deal. But shit, did my dick want to touch the luscious female. The purple dress set my imagination on fire with the way it stretched tight across the chest, putting those big, juicy tits on full display. Aw, fuck me. My balls literally hurt, sizzling so bad.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my slacks and at least tried to hide how my dick was filling out fast just watching Lacey. With a monster like the one I was packing, it was difficult as hell though. In these thin ass pants, you could practically see my hard-on from outer space.
“Fine. No hugs,” Amanda proclaimed airily. “Let’s sit down then, it’s time to drink the champagne!” she shrilled.
And as I watched, the aunt guided Lacey away, their arms linked. But I couldn’t afford to appear distracted. This was my engagement lunch. I was marrying Amanda, the mom. Not the daughter.
Because I need Amanda’s connections. After working in Chicago, I’m expanding my empire to NYC. But this city doesn’t part its legs unless there’s magic. So yeah, as a billionaire developer, I’m marrying one of the top realtors in Manhattan for her rolodex. Ruthless? Check. Asshole move? Check. Divorce in the future? Check, check, check, as soon as I have all the hook-ups she promised.
Because yeah, this isn’t the real thing, not really. We haven’t even slept together. It’s Amanda’s idea. She thinks taking a man’s sperm in her body will make her age faster. When she told me, I’d practically bust a nut from the joke.
“Don’t laugh,” she said crossly. “Seriously, sperm isn’t good for a mature female.”
I guffawed then, practically doubled over.
“Says who?” was my reply.
“My doctor,” said Amanda airily, vaguely waving her hand. “Mr. Kaboo from Queens says that I need to avoid semen because it’ll give me wrinkles.”
Mr. Kaboo? Are you shitting me? From Queens? Even I, as a newcomer to the city, knew a quack when I saw one.
But Amanda was adamant.
“Not until we’re married,” she said firmly. “Then you can put it in,” she reiterated, eyeing my giant snake.
Normally, I don’t let women tell me no. It’s my way or the highway, sweetheart, and that includes putting your pussy on the line.
But in this case, it didn’t really matter. After all, it was just a sham marriage. I’d just get it somewhere else, hence, the dirty assfucking last night.
But oh shit. After getting a taste of Lacey’s tight butt and thick hips, all I wanted was more. A giant, heart-shaped ass in my bed, breasts I could squeeze like stress dolls, and an abundant body to flow like silk over my sheets.
After one fuck, Lacey already had me greedy as a pig.
But we were still at my engagement lunch, all dolled up with no place to go. Amanda giggled again, smiling at me for show.
“Jakey,” she purred. “I have to keep this body nice and tight for the honeymoon.” She laughed lightly again, perfume heavy like poison. That smell was nothing like Lacey’s soft and delicate scent, one I could bury my nose in while I was filling her ass with my dick.
Fuck, I was in so much trouble with this chickadee.
But my fiancée was on a roll, completely clueless.
“I can’t wait to move into your place after the wedding,” Amanda gushed, squeezing my arm with a red-nailed hand. “My decorator friend already has some great ideas about how to freshen up your bachelor pad.”
Silently, I cursed. My “bachelor pad” was just fine the way it was. Dark wood, massive TV, everything masculine and imposing. Shit, things were already taking a turn for the worse. But we’d divorce before she could get her claws on my place, so it was no big deal right? Breathe, said my subconscious. Breathe.