Read Hooked Up: Book 2 for Free Online

him, I could feel his penis thickening even more. I was still enjoying the intensity of my orgasm when he cried out my name, and I felt a throbbing against my insides. He was coming too, simultaneously—emptying himself into my depths, expanding against my inner walls. My muscles contracted and opened, contracted and opened, clenching tightly around him. I was still coming . . . it hadn’t finished . . . wow this was great. So intense. I was crying out.
    “What am I going to do, baby?” His voice was almost a whisper. “What can I do, I can’t keep away from you. I have to fuck you. I just have to.” He sounded anguished, almost tormented.
    I felt mini after-waves undulating inside me, less like a tsunami now, but the sensation of fluttering butterflies. I was groaning softly as he kissed my back, the nape of my neck, and cupping my buttocks with his strong hands like he owned my ass, I collapsed on the table, my chest flat down, my legs still splayed wide open on either side of the table corner, and I released a sigh. I wanted to tell him I was crazy about him but I bit my tongue.
    Cool calm and collected.
    That’s me.

THE MILE HIGH CLUB

PEARL
    “P ACK YOUR SUITCASE.” He started doing up his slacks.
    “What?”
    “It just occurred to me now. I’m taking you away for a long weekend.”
    “Well, I don’t think I can go just like—” I click my fingers—“ that .”
    “Yes, you can. Don’t argue, just get some stuff together.”
    I was standing there, naked, in nothing but high heels. Who does he think he is ? He barges through my back door unannounced, fucks me like I’m a whore, and is now demanding I go away for the weekend with him? Then my faux irritation relented. Isn’t this exactly what you fantasized about, Pearl?
    He looked at his watch. “We don’t have time for procrastination. Hurry up, get your essentials and a change of clothes together. A friend of mine will be taking off soon. If we hurry, we can get there in time, we can’t miss the slot.”
    The slot ? In a daze, I wandered into my bedroom, found a suitcase at the back of my closet, and began to throw a few things in. He followed me, watching, to make sure I was doing as told—meanwhile speaking on his cell, in French, so I didn’t understand a word except “jet” and “passport.” Then he ordered a cab.
    “Passport?”
    “It’s in my purse,” I said.
    “That giant ogre of a thing?”
    “Yes.”
    “We’ll have to do something about that.” His eyes narrowed, then he ran them up and down my body like he wanted to fuck me once more. Not again! How potent can his libido be?
    He clapped his hands together. “Okay, done. Let’s go.”
    “Wait, my toothbrush and stuff.”
    “We don’t have time—I can buy you anything you need.”
    “That’s a cute offer, but I usually buy my own things, thanks.”
    “Yes, of course you do. Hurry up,” he ordered, slapping my nude backside.
    I scrambled into the bathroom, ran some water over a washcloth, and wiped in between my legs, then raced back into the bedroom and grabbed the first dress I saw from my closet and tossed it over my head. It was an old 1950’s flowery thing, cinched at the waist, full-skirted with a tight bodice and low neck. It was the last thing I wanted to wear, but Alexandre was tapping his polished shoe on the floor with impatience.
    “Perfect. You look like a little girl.” He dragged me from the room by my wrist and grabbed my suitcase.
    “Wait! I haven’t put any underwear on.”
    “No time.”
    “Where are we going?”
    For the first time today he smiled. “Surprise.”

    IT WAS A RACE to get here, but we were finally ensconced in the swanky private plane, luxuriating on beige leather seats, while each of us was offered an apéritif ’ by the flight attendant.
    Alexandre’s “friend” turned out to be some high-ranking, government official, next in line, it seemed, to the French president himself. The man was on his way back from a