Chapter-73: how to get this lucky star to be my little lover
Just today he made a bloody profit other than meeting Mohini. This made him happy but he doesn't know the cause. So he attributed it to the luck he rubbed off from Mohini. So he was more determined to get her to his side.
If possible he would keep her as his hidden lover. He was sure that martin could not do anything to her. So keeping her with martin and giving her to a eunuch is not much different in his mind.
The phone felt heavy and hot in Mohini's hand, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Down the hall, the front door clicked shut Martin, her sweet, oblivious Martin, leaving for the night. The silence he left behind was absolute, and in that silence, her desire screamed.
She scrolled to the new number, the digits feeling less like a contact and more like a loaded weapon. She pressed call. It only rang once. "George duster..."
His voice was a low rumble, a sound that seemed to travel straight down her spine and coil, hot and possessive, in the pit of her stomach. "Mr. Duster… It's Mohini. The one that you just recruited…." Her own voice was a breathy, pathetic little whisper.
A soft, knowing chuckle from George duster and said "Mohini... I don't forget a face or a form. What can I do for you?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand sneaking under her top to palm the small, tender swell of her fruit. She knows that she has to act like an innocent woman and get what she wanted.
This is both to keep her reputation and also give the other party more interest in her. Based on primary visual inspection she was sure that he has a bigger meat rod and has some potential she just have to wait and check how good it is. She immediately put on the act.
A soft gasp escaped her. "Mmmnpfh. I… I can't stop thinking," she breathed into the phone, her fingers pinching her own cherry, sending a sharp, delicious jolt through her. "About what you said…. About my… potential…."
"And what potential is that, little one?" he purred, the sound intimate, as if his lips were right against her ear. "You said… you said a real woman knows how to be seen. My fiancé… he doesn't see me like a real woman. He looks really ignorant about my womanhood."
The words, a half truth that felt like a whole lie, tumbled out. She made it look like martin did not appreciate her beauty and only thinks of her and the marriage as some sort of game and an event in his life.
"A tragedy," George murmured, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Such a rare piece of art, left in the dark. Come to my penthouse, Now… Let me appreciate you properly. I heard that you have changed a lot after you separated from the lark family.
I want to see your changes with my own eyes. The address is 12 Grand Avenue. Penthouse-B... The elevator key is waiting for you at the concierge under your name." He didn't wait for her answer. The line went dead.
Mohini quickly put on a good dress but also covered everything carefully so that others would not recognize her identity and went to the address given by George. The sleek, silent elevator soared upwards, its motion a queasy mirror of the ascent in her belly.
The doors whispered open directly into a cavernous space of dark polished concrete and floor-to ceiling glass looking the glittering city. The air smelled of expensive aftershave and something else, something clean and cold, like metal.
George stood by the window, a silhouette against the urban tapestry. He turned towards her, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't smiling. His gaze was a physical thing, a laser that scanned her from her shaky heels to the nervous tremble of her lips.
"You came." He stated it as a fact, a predator noting the arrival of its prey. Unfortunately he doesn't know that he was the prey. The most capable hunters always look like a weak little prey that can be caught easily.
"You knew I would," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. He set his glass down on a marble side table with a definitive clink. He moved toward her, not with haste, but with an unnerving certainty.
He stopped just inches away for her, his heat radiating against her. His finger, startlingly warm, hooked under her chin, tilting her face up to his. "Let's have a look at what Martin is so carelessly ignoring."
His other hand came up, his thumb sweeping slowly over her bottom lip. Her mouth fell open on a shaky sigh. He traced the bow of her upper lip, the calloused pad of his thumb a delicious abrasion.
"Such a perfect, pretty mouth," he mused, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Does he ever tell you that? Does he ever get on his knees and beg to be let inside this sweet, hot little hole of yours with his mouth?"
Yes martin is really good with his mouth and he can kiss almost any part of her body to make her reach climax really perfectly. Even though he is a disappointment in other areas, his mouth is one perfect thing and his tongue is amazing.
But she cannot tell the truth to George so she shook her head, a frantic little motion and her eyes wide. "No. I didn't think so."
He leaned in, his breath ghosting across her mouth. "A man who doesn't worship a tender body like yours, a mouth like this… he doesn't deserve to have them." Then his lips were on hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss.
It was a claiming. His mouth was hungry, demanding, his tongue sweeping past her lips to tangle with hers. The taste of him, whiskey and pure, undiluted man, flooded her senses. Slurp. Schlllp...
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