Page 78 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“Is that so? Your boyfriend Bodi Banks doesn’t have a beard.”
“He doesn’t need one. He’s just the epitome of sex, so he doesn’t need little tricks like a full-grown beard to make him look sexy.”
I know we’re joking, but a part of me wants to rip Bodi’s dick off right about now.
“You’re about two seconds from getting spanked,” I warn.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”
Quickly, before she can move out of the way, I roll her over and pin her against the bed. She’s laughing . . . that’s until my hand falls with a slap across her ass, quieting her before a low, erotic moan is heard.
My dick grows to exponential length. Out of curiosity, I slip my hand between her legs and press my fingers against her tight hole. I glide right in from her arousal.
“Fucking hell, baby. Did that turn you on?”
Her hips move against my hand. “More than you know,” she whispers.
Shit.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Chapter Nineteen
**PAISLEY**
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Reese left this morning, after thoroughly exploring my body with his tongue . . . with a giant smile on his face and more confidence than I’ve ever seen. He wasn’t at all nervous, not even a tiny bit. But here I am, about to walk into CenturyLink Center in Omaha, sweating profusely and with a pile of nerves in my stomach.
This is his last chance at the gold, and this is only the trials. I don’t follow swimming. I know, shame on me. I should at least for the bare-chested men prancing around in spandex, that’s an added bonus. With my lack of knowledge, I’m unsure who the top contenders are and if Reese has a definite chance of making it or if he’s going to slip in by the skin of his teeth . . . or should I say fingertips?
Dressed in white shorts, red Converse, and a blue USA shirt, I clench my purse at my side and walk to the venue. The steel and glass structure of the CenturyLink Center is quite impressive, standing at an extraordinary height, almost intimidating. From the outside, you can tell this is a venue where dreams are made, and where dreams are crushed.
My goal is to find Bellini and Reese but the media room is deep in the depths of the building, causing me to flash my badge to everyone who asks just to get to where Bellini is interviewing with Reese. Last night, Reese was irritated with his commitment to show up with Bellini today. He felt cheap, like a sellout, and hated every aspect of it. I wasn’t going to tell him that he was a sellout. I didn’t think it would go over well. I understand his reasoning for signing; he was preparing for life after the pool.
Luckily, I wasn’t needed right away so I slept in while Reese prepared for the day. He left before I even tried to unglue my eyes. He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek and left me a note on the bedside.
Good morning, baby. Can’t wait for you to watch me secure a spot on the team today. I plan on having multiple celebratory fucks with you tonight so make sure you eat some protein today. Your tits will be pictured in my head as my end goal, first to the wall means first to your sexy-as-fuck nipples.
xxxx--->o (That’s me kissing you and then fucking your hole. You’re welcome) - R
Not the most eloquent man, but it sure as hell got me excited for tonight.
Lucky me.
I didn’t have to get to the venue early, but unfortunately, Melony did, being the one who had to do Bellini’s hair and makeup for the event. Poor girl. Aww. To live the rich life where you sit in a chair and everyone else does the hard work around you. On the plane, Melony shared that Bellini is the worst person to do hair and makeup for. Not because she won’t stop playing Candy Crush Saga on her phone, and not because she has to work around Pope Francis. No. Apparently, Miss Prim and Proper is not quite the classy debutante she tries to portray herself as. Bellini has some serious morning gas. When I heard that, I could not stop giggling.
I walk down a narrow hallway, full of bustling people with many jobs to do. Shoulders bump into mine, people cut me off, and camera flashes go off in my eyes, shooting off test shots. From a distance, I can see a white backdrop and a plethora of media correspondents huddled around, including Bellini’s camera crew.
Bingo!
I approach the set-up but am quickly stopped by a large man with no hair but enough tattoos on his head to make up for the cue-ball look.
“Ma’am, only authorized personnel are allowed.”
I flash him my badge and start to walk past him but he stops me again.
“That doesn’t grant you access into this room.”
