It Started as a Joke (All the Presidents' Beds, #1) Read Online Free Page A

him that don’t really exist.  He slides his fingers out and gently massages my lips.  He takes his left hand off my clit and wipes it on my towel.  As I steady myself back on his lap, I realize that he’s still looking at the screen, not my naked breasts and pussy, and his once-hard bulge has gone soft.
    “Happy birthday,” he said, smiling.
    “Thanks,” I said.  “That was fantastic.”
    “I remembered what you like.  You are very easy to please.”
    “Speaking of pleasing, would you like to head to the bedroom for some pleasing of your own?” I asked.  It was only polite; he’d just given me a pretty fantastic orgasm.  He smiled then turned his face away.
    “You know, I’m not sure if it was something I ate, but I am just not feeling up to it,” he said.  Of course.  When we were dating, there were always excuses.  Stomach ache.  Migraine.  Tuckered out after giving me oral.  For a while I ascribed it to a lack of chemistry or my own flaws as a lover.  Over time, however, it became clear that there were other issues.
    “OK.  Well, do you want to stay and watch something?  I feel like you should get some sort of consolation prize if you aren’t getting the big O,” I joked. 
    He held my shoulders sweetly then gradually extricated himself from the chair.  He picked up his neatly-laid-out clothes.
    “You are a beautiful woman, Alice, and too kind.  I have some calls to make about my exhibition, so I must demur.  I will see you there, though, right?” he asked. 
    “Yes, definitely.  I’m looking forward to it.  I’ll bring Sandra and The Mogul; I’ll bet they’d love to buy a piece,” I said.
    “Perfect.  See you then,” he walked over and gave me a kiss on the top of my head.  I reached out and gave his cock a little pat.
    In the ridiculous, deep voice I reserve for speaking to male body parts, I said, “See you next time, buddy.  Maybe he’ll let you come out and play.”
    “Hilarious,” he said.  I followed him to the door, gave him a peck on the cheek, and then locked it behind him.
    8:30, next morning.  A text from Sandra.
    Gay, huh?  See you in 10.
    Out of bed and into a blue polka dot dress that hugged my curves, I hurried around the apartment trying to make it presentable.  The dishes in the sink had been sitting for days, a plasticized layer of takeout that would take too long to get unstuck; I turned on the faucet and squeezed some dish soap into the sink to make it seem like they were new.  I grabbed a wet rag and wiped the copious amount of crumbs off the counter, organized the shoes by the door and threw everything that didn’t have a permanent home in the living room into the hall closet. 
    Sandra knocked precisely 10 minutes after she had texted. 
    “GPS is the fucking tits.  It says 10 minutes, you get there in 10 minutes,” she said as a greeting.
    “We were the ones who...” I trailed off.  Because of my high security clearance and the number of defense department projects my organization worked on, I could rarely talk about work matters.  In fact, today’s visit with Sandra would be the first time I told her about an actual project since I had been recently reprimanded for the doing the same a couple of years before.  To be as vague as possible: I told her to invest in something; she had The (at the time) Little Bump invest in it; in the last year, The Little Bump had become The Mogul because of that investment.  Since my company tracked the financials of all associates, they deduced my tip.  Official reprimand, but well worth it.
    “You better keep that mouth closed.  I can’t risk you losing your job and coming to live in our guest house,” she said. 
    “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you,” I said.
    “Wait, not yet.  Tell me about Alessssssandro, ” she said.
    “Not much to tell.  Totally gay.  He has an exhibit opening in a couple of weeks that you’re going to go see and buy something,” I