“This still doesn’t excuse you from interfering with my job search and insisting that you be my reference over Brad.”
“I’m pretty sure it does.” He kissed me. “And now that there’s no chance in hell of you signing my long-term extension contract, and you’ve hopefully realized that I’m not sabotaging you, how about dating me long-term instead?”
“I’ll have to think about it.” I kissed him back. “It depends on what you’re offering...”
THE EMAILS
(Well, “The End”)
Mya One year later...
Subject: My Boss.
Have I told you that I love my boss today?
One hundred percent brilliant and super kind to everyone, she doesn’t make me get her dry cleaning, get her coffee, or do anything that my former bosses (Yes, plural) used to do...
I have two meetings this morning and I can honestly say I’m looking forward to them because they both involve things I really enjoy.
I’m pretty sure I can get used to this.
Your girlfriend,
Mya
Subject: Re: My Boss.
No, you haven’t told me that you love your boss today, but seeing as though you’re technically your own boss, I hope this will always be the case.
Your boss at Microsoft was far worse than I ever was. (I’m actually proud of you for quitting that place after three months.)
If one of the meetings you’re referring to is the one in my office where we’ll be fucking, good to know you enjoy it.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to this.
(When do you plan on changing your closing signature?)
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
Subject: Re: Re: My Boss.
Now.
See you in five minutes.
Mya London,
CEO, London Publishing
A Letter to the Reader
Dear Incredible Reader, Thank you so much for taking time out of your life to read this book! I hope you were thoroughly entertained and enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
If you LOVED it and have any extra time, PLEASE leave a review on amazon, B&N, goodreads, OR find me here on Facebook so I can personally thank you :-) If you hated it, well...keep that shit to yourself! LOL (Just kidding. Feel free to let me know how I can improve next time!)
I’m forever grateful for you and your time, and I hope to be re-invited to your bookshelf with my next release. (Speaking of my next release, if you’d like to be a part of my mailing list so you can be notified of my upcoming release dates and special offers, please sign up via this link. )
Love,
Whitney G.
A Sneak Peek of Reasonable Doubt
By Whitney G. Prologue
Andrew
New York City is nothing more than a shit-filled wasteland, a dump where failures are forced to drop all their broken dreams and leave them far behind. The flashing lights that shined brightly years ago have lost their luster, and that fresh feeling that once permeated the air—that hopefulness, is long gone.
Every person I once considered a friend is now an enemy, and the word “trust” has been ripped from my vocabulary. My name and reputation are tarnished, thanks to the press, and after reading the headline that The New York Times ran this morning, I’ve decided that tonight will be the last night I ever spend here.
I can’t deal with the cold sweats and nightmares that jerk me out of my sleep anymore, and as hard as I try to pretend like my heart hasn’t been obliterated, I doubt that the agonizing ache in my chest will ever go away.
To properly say goodbye, I’ve ordered the best entrées from all my favorite restaurants, watched Death of a Salesman on Broadway, and smoked a Cuban cigar on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve also booked the penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria, where I’m now leaning back on the bed and threading my fingers through a woman’s hair—groaning as she slides her mouth over my cock.
Teasingly darting her tongue around my tip, she whispers, “Do you like this?” as she looks up at me.
I don’t answer. I push her head down and exhale as she presses her lips against my balls, as she covers my cock with her hands and moves them up and down.
Over the past two hours, I’ve fucked her against the wall, forced her to bend over a chair, and pinned her legs to the mattress while I devoured her pussy.
It’s been quite fulfilling—fun, but I know this feeling will only last for so long; it never stays. In less than a week, I’ll have to find someone else.
As she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth, I tightly tug her hair—tensing as she bobs her head up and down. Pleasure begins to course its way through me, and the muscles in my legs stiffen—forcing me to let go and warn her to pull away.
She ignores me.
She grips my knees and sucks faster, letting my cock touch the back of her throat. I give her one last chance to move away, but since her lips remain wrapped around me, she leaves me no choice but to cum in her mouth.
And then she swallows.
Every. Last. Drop.
Impressive...
Finally pulling away, she licks her lips and leans back against the floor.
“That was my first time swallowing,” she says. “I did that just for you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” I stand and zip my pants. “You should’ve saved it for someone else.”
“Right. Well, um...Do you want to order some dinner? Maybe we could eat it over HBO and go at it again afterwards?”
I raise my eyebrow, confused.
This is always the most annoying part, the part when the woman who previously agreed to “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” wants to establish some type of imaginary connection. For whatever reason, she feels like there needs to be some type of closure conversation, some bland reassurance that’ll confirm that what just happened was ‘more than sex,’ and we’ll become friends.
But it was just sex, and I’m not in need of any friends. Not now, not ever.
“No, thank you.” I walk over to the mirror on the other side of the room. “I have someplace to be.”
“At three in the morning? I mean, if you just want to skip the HBO and go for another round instead, I can...”
Her irritating voice fades into my thoughts, and I begin to button my shirt. I’ve never spent the night with a woman I met online, and she isn’t going to be the first.
As I adjust my tie, I look down and spot a tattered pink wallet on the dresser. Picking it up, I flip it open and run my fingers across the name that’s printed onto her license: Sarah Tate.
Even though I’ve only known this woman for a week, she’s always answered to “Samantha.” She’s also told me—repeatedly, that she works as a nurse at Grace Hospital. Judging by the Wal-Mart employee card that’s hiding behind her license, I’m assuming that part isn’t true either.
I look over my shoulder, where she’s now sprawled across the bed’s silk sheets. Her creamy colored skin is unmarred and smooth; her bow shaped lips are slightly swollen and puffy.
Her green eyes meet mine and she slowly sits up, spreading her legs further apart, whispering, “You know you want to stay. Stay...”
My cock starts to harden—it’s definitely up for another round, but seeing her real name has ruined any chance of that for me. I can’t stand to be around someone who’s lied to me, even if she does have double D tits and a mouth from heaven.
“I’m pretty sure it does.” He kissed me. “And now that there’s no chance in hell of you signing my long-term extension contract, and you’ve hopefully realized that I’m not sabotaging you, how about dating me long-term instead?”
“I’ll have to think about it.” I kissed him back. “It depends on what you’re offering...”
THE EMAILS
(Well, “The End”)
Mya One year later...
Subject: My Boss.
Have I told you that I love my boss today?
One hundred percent brilliant and super kind to everyone, she doesn’t make me get her dry cleaning, get her coffee, or do anything that my former bosses (Yes, plural) used to do...
I have two meetings this morning and I can honestly say I’m looking forward to them because they both involve things I really enjoy.
I’m pretty sure I can get used to this.
Your girlfriend,
Mya
Subject: Re: My Boss.
No, you haven’t told me that you love your boss today, but seeing as though you’re technically your own boss, I hope this will always be the case.
Your boss at Microsoft was far worse than I ever was. (I’m actually proud of you for quitting that place after three months.)
If one of the meetings you’re referring to is the one in my office where we’ll be fucking, good to know you enjoy it.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to this.
(When do you plan on changing your closing signature?)
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
Subject: Re: Re: My Boss.
Now.
See you in five minutes.
Mya London,
CEO, London Publishing
A Letter to the Reader
Dear Incredible Reader, Thank you so much for taking time out of your life to read this book! I hope you were thoroughly entertained and enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
If you LOVED it and have any extra time, PLEASE leave a review on amazon, B&N, goodreads, OR find me here on Facebook so I can personally thank you :-) If you hated it, well...keep that shit to yourself! LOL (Just kidding. Feel free to let me know how I can improve next time!)
I’m forever grateful for you and your time, and I hope to be re-invited to your bookshelf with my next release. (Speaking of my next release, if you’d like to be a part of my mailing list so you can be notified of my upcoming release dates and special offers, please sign up via this link. )
Love,
Whitney G.
A Sneak Peek of Reasonable Doubt
By Whitney G. Prologue
Andrew
New York City is nothing more than a shit-filled wasteland, a dump where failures are forced to drop all their broken dreams and leave them far behind. The flashing lights that shined brightly years ago have lost their luster, and that fresh feeling that once permeated the air—that hopefulness, is long gone.
Every person I once considered a friend is now an enemy, and the word “trust” has been ripped from my vocabulary. My name and reputation are tarnished, thanks to the press, and after reading the headline that The New York Times ran this morning, I’ve decided that tonight will be the last night I ever spend here.
I can’t deal with the cold sweats and nightmares that jerk me out of my sleep anymore, and as hard as I try to pretend like my heart hasn’t been obliterated, I doubt that the agonizing ache in my chest will ever go away.
To properly say goodbye, I’ve ordered the best entrées from all my favorite restaurants, watched Death of a Salesman on Broadway, and smoked a Cuban cigar on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve also booked the penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria, where I’m now leaning back on the bed and threading my fingers through a woman’s hair—groaning as she slides her mouth over my cock.
Teasingly darting her tongue around my tip, she whispers, “Do you like this?” as she looks up at me.
I don’t answer. I push her head down and exhale as she presses her lips against my balls, as she covers my cock with her hands and moves them up and down.
Over the past two hours, I’ve fucked her against the wall, forced her to bend over a chair, and pinned her legs to the mattress while I devoured her pussy.
It’s been quite fulfilling—fun, but I know this feeling will only last for so long; it never stays. In less than a week, I’ll have to find someone else.
As she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth, I tightly tug her hair—tensing as she bobs her head up and down. Pleasure begins to course its way through me, and the muscles in my legs stiffen—forcing me to let go and warn her to pull away.
She ignores me.
She grips my knees and sucks faster, letting my cock touch the back of her throat. I give her one last chance to move away, but since her lips remain wrapped around me, she leaves me no choice but to cum in her mouth.
And then she swallows.
Every. Last. Drop.
Impressive...
Finally pulling away, she licks her lips and leans back against the floor.
“That was my first time swallowing,” she says. “I did that just for you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” I stand and zip my pants. “You should’ve saved it for someone else.”
“Right. Well, um...Do you want to order some dinner? Maybe we could eat it over HBO and go at it again afterwards?”
I raise my eyebrow, confused.
This is always the most annoying part, the part when the woman who previously agreed to “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” wants to establish some type of imaginary connection. For whatever reason, she feels like there needs to be some type of closure conversation, some bland reassurance that’ll confirm that what just happened was ‘more than sex,’ and we’ll become friends.
But it was just sex, and I’m not in need of any friends. Not now, not ever.
“No, thank you.” I walk over to the mirror on the other side of the room. “I have someplace to be.”
“At three in the morning? I mean, if you just want to skip the HBO and go for another round instead, I can...”
Her irritating voice fades into my thoughts, and I begin to button my shirt. I’ve never spent the night with a woman I met online, and she isn’t going to be the first.
As I adjust my tie, I look down and spot a tattered pink wallet on the dresser. Picking it up, I flip it open and run my fingers across the name that’s printed onto her license: Sarah Tate.
Even though I’ve only known this woman for a week, she’s always answered to “Samantha.” She’s also told me—repeatedly, that she works as a nurse at Grace Hospital. Judging by the Wal-Mart employee card that’s hiding behind her license, I’m assuming that part isn’t true either.
I look over my shoulder, where she’s now sprawled across the bed’s silk sheets. Her creamy colored skin is unmarred and smooth; her bow shaped lips are slightly swollen and puffy.
Her green eyes meet mine and she slowly sits up, spreading her legs further apart, whispering, “You know you want to stay. Stay...”
My cock starts to harden—it’s definitely up for another round, but seeing her real name has ruined any chance of that for me. I can’t stand to be around someone who’s lied to me, even if she does have double D tits and a mouth from heaven.
