Typist #2 - Spanking the Billionaire Novelist Read Online Free Page B

serious. Don't do that. I've been paid to be here, and paid for the cell phone, and I don't want anything else, except the tiniest bit of respect. Please show me that courtesy, or I'm out that door, and I won't feel sorry for you and your sad-author routine.”
    He looked grumpy, like a kid who'd been grounded.
    I started gathering the dishes.
    “I'm sorry,” he said.
    “What? I didn't quite hear what you said.” I put down the stack of dishes at the end of the table and waited.
    “I'm sorry,” he repeated.
    I smiled. “Ah, I just never tire of hearing that phrase from a man.”
    He did an exaggerated eyeroll.
    “Put on something sexy for tonight,” he said. “I want everyone to see my hot lady stepping off the back of my bike.”
    “Sure,” I said, tossing my hair in a nonchalant manner. He'd called me his hot lady, and it gave me these feelings— these warm feelings —for Smith Fucking Wittingham.

3: Small Town, Big Fun
    The “motorbike” was one of those four-wheeled all-terrain vehicles.
    “You drive,” Smith said.
    “But I'm wearing a dress.”
    He laughed. “Don't be such a girl and hop on. Spread your legs wide and straddle all that power.” He slid back on the padded seat and patted the area in front of him.
    I could see the outline of a bulge in his tight-fitting jeans—a bulge that was growing.
    I said, “You just want me in front so you can press your man-happy into my ass.”
    “Hike up that dress and hop on, hot stuff.”
    I circled the vehicle, raised one leg and awkwardly got on the seat in front of him. Smith immediately cuddled into me from behind, both hands up on my breasts.
    He pressed his face into the back of my neck. “My man-happy is very happy.” Indeed, it was tumescent and pressing into the upper part of my buttocks.
    “You're going to dry-hump me all the way into town, aren't you?”
    He nibbled on my shoulder. “The bumpy trail will do most of the work.” He squeezed my breasts and breathed hot, moist air on my neck.
    I giggled, the excitement tickling between my thighs and up my back where he was touching me. I said, “Let's go back to the cabin … for a few minutes or so. Then we'll go into town.”
    He flicked the back of my earlobe with his tongue. “Why don't you just turn around? We can do it right here, on the bike.”
    I considered turning around, but I'd just done my hair and my makeup, and Smith would only mess it all up. Sex could wait. I was looking adorable in one of my new dresses and a pair of strappy sandals, and as much as I wanted Smith inside me, I was also keen to get away from the cabin.
    “Or just lean forward more,” he said, his hands off my breasts and scooping under my buttocks. “So I can get it in your ass.”
    “Yeah, that settles it,” I said, turning the key to start the ignition.
    The ATV trembled to life, vibrating deliciously between my legs. The feeling wasn't as strong as a vibrator, but coupled with Smith's hands on my body and mouth on my ear, the sensation was not entirely unpleasant.
    He showed me how to work the brake and the throttle, and we were off, bouncing down the trail.
    Driving that thing made me feel like a little kid on her first bicycle. I had an enormous grin on my face for most of the drive, and when we arrived in the little town, I was disappointed the journey was already over.
    We parked the quad behind a gas station, in front of a fence with a metal sign reading Reserved for SW.
    “You're quite the VIP,” I said, whipping out my compact so I could check my lipstick and hair.
    Smith stood quietly by for a moment, then said, “You look radiant. That dress, that shade of blue that's nearly purple—it brings out your eyes in the most remarkable way.”
    I squirmed from the flattery. “So, where is this shindig happening?”
    He cocked his head and pointed one finger in the air.
    There was music, and it wasn't coming from the speakers mounted to the gas station.
    “That's the band,” he said.
    “And