A Million Dirty Secrets Read Online Free Page A

ever been given.”
    It was official; I hated him.
    “I’m sorry. I just never—”
    “You’ve never given a blow job?” he asked incredulously. I shook my head. “Jesus Christ!” he mumbled as he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath.
    His insensitivity to the situation, or maybe his hypersensitivity to it, set me off. Even though I knew I should probably keep my mouth shut—because, let’s face it, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted to me—I just couldn’t take it.
    “You and your glorious, colossal cock can
kiss my ass
!” I yelled with as much emphasis as I could, but I wasn’t done there. “I may not be the type of girl who goes around shoving dicks in her mouth all day—I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have paid two million dollars for me if I was—and I’m sorry if I hurt you, but even if I was experienced at this sort of thing, I … There’s just no way in hell anyone is going to get something that massive crammed down their throat. You’re a freak of nature, but at least I tried, you jerk!”
    Me and my nonexistent brain filter had obviously just contracted a hideous case of diarrhea of the mouth. I was probably about to lose the contract and ruin everything. He just sat there and stared at me. His face contorted from surprise to anger, and then he looked confused and maybe a little constipated. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as if he was about to say something and then thought better of it. Another moment passed before he turned his head to the side and then back to me.
    “So, what you’re saying is that you think I have a big dick, and it might be kind of spectacular?” he asked with a smug grin.
    I sat back on my heels and crossed my arms over my chest, completely mortified with embarrassment because, yeah, I guess that was what I’d just said, technically. But I wasn’t about to admit it for a second time.
    “Do you have any sexual experience at all?”
    Again I shook my head.
    He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once more. He looked like he was a thousand miles away, probably contemplatingwhether or not he was going to keep me. And then he finally tucked himself back into his pants and stood up, towering over me.
    “Let’s go.”
    “Where are we going?” I was ready to beg him not to sell me to Jabba the Hutt.
    “We’re going home,” was his short reply.
    “You’re not mad?” I scrambled to my feet and ran to catch up with his long strides as he stormed out the door.
    “Oh, I am extremely pissed, but I’m trying really hard not to be.” He continued down the hallway without so much as a glance over his shoulder at me. “I suppose if I look on the bright side of things, this means that I can train you to do things the way I like them. But right now, I have a hard-on the size of Texas and I’m not exactly thrilled about it. Where are your things?”
    “In some room off the hallway.”
    We didn’t speak another word to each other as we maneuvered our way back to the room where I had changed my clothes and left my things, including my cell phone. He stood outside the door while I changed out of the bandages that were supposed to pass as attire and back into my tank top and skirt. Once I was dressed and feeling less exposed, he led me out the back entrance to Foreplay, one that I assumed was meant for these types of guests only. When we made it to the parking lot, Mystery Man walked over to a limousine where a short, blond-haired man in a black suit and driver’s hat stood by the door.
    “Mr. Crawford,” the man greeted him with a nod and an expressionless face as he opened the back door.
    “Samuel,” he greeted him in turn as he put his hand on the small of my back and ushered me inside. “We’re headed home for the evening.”
    “Yes, sir,” the driver said as Mr. Crawford, aka Mystery Man, slid into the oversized backseat of the limousine next to me. Not that there wasn’t plenty of room. Personal space