The Blonde Who Got Away
By Emily J. Wright
Publication Date: March 13th 2019
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Suspense
The name just doesn’t have a nice ring to it, but it’s a way of living.
His life motto—pleasing every woman with multiple orgasms and making them beg for more.
His only hobby—swinging on a sex swing with a voluptuous woman.
His favorite vacation—drinking ‘Sex on the beach’ in his Jacuzzi while a woman goes down on him hard.
All he wants is sex—anytime, any day, with no strings attached, and no commitment.
As for settling down, he doesn’t believe in marriage, nor has time for something as stupid as love. He has a business to run too, you know. How else could he afford the lifestyle he has worked so hard for?
It was not easy for him to make way from a modest suburb of Chicago to a penthouse in the upper east side of New York. He had to push people around. He dipped his toes into blackmailing. He broke the trust and hearts of hundreds.
Is he proud of his actions?
Yes, of course.
Will he do it again?
Is he afraid of the Karma?
Nah…He is a Chicago born and bred. He’ll make Karma his bitch before she could do the same.
“Fuck you, Brandon.”
‘Love thy neighbor.’ That’s what Brandon thought the Bible say. But some women from the neighboring building threw shoes at him which made him believe otherwise. That’s not the welcome home present he was expecting.
That’s some of the kind words he has been called on his first day back from the hospital.
It has been brought to his attention that he wasn’t the nicest person to be around. He broke ties with his parents because he found them too clingy. His friends are ungrateful bastards. And he has no one left to share his life with.
But good for him that he doesn’t remember any of it. He lost his memory in an accident that put him in a coma for two months.
Now, he is determined to get his life back on track. To make amends to those who he has wronged. But only if he could stop getting distracted by the beautiful blonde whom he fell in love with when he was in a coma.
He is hallucinating according to his doctor. His butler says she is a flicker of his imagination. But she is real to Brandon, and he will find her by any means possible.
While the debate still continues about her existence with no agreement in sight, they all, however, agree on calling her ‘the blonde who got away.’
She is moaning and chanting my name again and again. I can’t blame her for being a fan; I am a superstar down there, plowing her field for the final touchdown.
As I move my tongue in and out, tongue-fucking her like never before, I can feel her whole body trembling and pussy clenching. She is about to have an orgasm, and the way she is scratching me with her toenails, it’s going to be a big one. Her stiff body lightens as she comes on my face, giving me what I wanted in return for my efforts.
It’s over for her—but not for me.
I remain under her sweatshirt, with my tongue inside her, cleaning her out like a Roomba. I give a final deep kiss to her pussy and then pull my head out.
She is in the euphoric state—heavily breathing, body quivering, profusely sweating, mouth agape, eyes wide open.
Yes, I blew her brains out. A job well done. Thank you. Thank you very much.
I snap my fingers before her face to bring her back to her senses. “How was it?”
“One of the best—no, probably the best—no, the best.”
I was so good that she couldn’t decide. She is flustered.
“Glad you like it.” I smooch her, letting her taste herself as I gently run my fingers through her hair. And then I rest my head on the softest pillows I could find: her bosoms.
While she strokes the back of my head, I bury my face deep into her soft breasts. She embraces me in her arms, and with a kiss, places her chin right on the top of my head.
“This is just the beginning of our anniversary.” I turn my head and kiss her boobs. “Wait till I show you what I have planned for you in the morning, afternoon, evening and night.”
“Huh . . . sounds like you have done a lot of planning for this day,” she says coldly.
Not much enthusiasm. I don’t know why? Maybe she is just tired, or probably mad that I teased her too much before finishing her off.
“Yes, I did,” I say, rubbing my face against her breasts.
“So, you fed me, eat me, and also have an entire day planned for me, but don’t want anything in return? Not even a tie pin? Are you that selfless?”
And there is that tone again. What has gotten into her today? Did I offend her someway?
And how selfish does she think I am?
Okay, I am a bit selfish when it comes to her boobs . . . or pussy . . . Never mind.
“You are the first and last thing I truly wanted. Your presence in my life is everything for me. I don’t have any desire left for anything else in my—”
“You jerk!” she shouts, grabbing my hair, and yank me off her breasts. She is breathing heavily on my face, practically huffing.
I am not a fool. I know she is mad at me. But why? What did I do to deserve this?
She pulls my hair harder and again screams at my face. “Tell me what you want!”
All right. I get it now. She thinks I am rubbing it in her face that I have an entire itinerary planned while she failed to even remember this day.
Yeah, that must be it.
She can be a little immature sometimes. By now, she should have realized that I am the prisoner of her love. I am doing this for her to have a nice and memorable day.
“Calm down, sweetheart,” I say, trying to cup her face.
But she slaps my hand away and shouts, “Don’t call me sweetheart!”
“Okay . . . listen. Just like a wedding is all about the bride, and the groom is more or less like a prop, same goes for the anniversary. I am just here to serve you. It’s your day. It’s all about you.”
“All about me, huh?” She let go of my hair, and her face breaks into a smile—an evil smile.
“Absolutely. You can do anything you like,” I say with sheer determination.
“Sounds good,” she says, smacking her lips. Must be enjoying her pussy taste the same way I did.
Finally, I am successful in putting some sense into her that this is . . .
Holy fucking cow!
Out of nowhere, she shoves me away, all the way to the sink. I regret paying for her classes now—especially the kickboxing one. As her gaze meets mine, I nervously gulp down.
Now, what does she have in mind? Am I wrong in loving her more than anything in this world, my life included?
She jumps down from the kitchen counter and kicks her panty out of the way. “Now, I am going to do to you whatever I like.” She comes closer, and in the blink of an eye, she is in my arms.
What is she, a daredevil? That was quite a long jump.
Before I could wrap my mind around what just happened, her legs are tightly wrapped around me, and I am getting kissed all over my face.
I don’t know what led her to do this. It may be my romantic gesture, or she is returning the favor for eating her, or I am some kind of symbolic gold medal for her record-breaking jump.
Either way, I am really liking what she is doing to me.
She is biting my lips, scratching my neck, and hugging me like a bear. With her lips in a friendly battle against mine, and her tongue shoved deep in my throat, I have no chance but to surrender. I tap on her shoulder, requesting a moment to breathe, but she ruthlessly denies.
I consider myself a generous lover. Gets rough a little bit only when I am told to. Sure, I like to tease, but only because it builds up an explosive orgasm.
But I am nothing like her.
When her horniness reaches the saturation point, she becomes inconsiderate, wild, passionate, and without limits. In simple words, she becomes a horny slut.
I tap on her shoulder too many times, but then my hands just become cold and motionless. I see a white light before my eyes, calling my name, asking me to join it.
Emily J. Wright had her life planned out from the start. She graduated from high school, went to college, did her CPA and got a corporate job as an analyst. But one thing she didn’t plan for was finding clumps of hair in her shower drain. That’s when she realized that the numbers in her head can’t co-exist with the stories forming in her head. So, for the sake of her hair, and not appear sleeping with open eyes in every office meeting when her mind drifts away to think a plot twist to bring the protagonist together with the heroine, she puts fingers to the wireless keyboard and starts putting together the stories.
While the rest seems busy writing about the alpha males with abs that can be used as a grater, she writes about the wild, sassy heroines who can be only tamed by the grand, sweep of the floor romantic gesture of a man with abs that can be used as a grater. PS: She loves abs.
In the world where quiet is a luxury, she found her home in the peaceful suburbs of Dublin, Ohio, where she lived with Zeus, her Labrador, and her cat, Mimi, who makes Zeus miserable by day but sleeps with him in his bed at night.
Yes...she is still single by choice. She is waiting for someone with whom she can share the same chemistry that Paul Reiser and Helen Hunt had in ‘Mad About You.’ Damn it! That show has ruined her. Fingers crossed, this year she gets what she wanted.
And one more thing, for a millennial, her social media skills sucks, so she would appreciate if you stop by her pages to give her some tips.
Twitter / Instagram / Goodreads / Bookbub / Newsletter
From one bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix.
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