Erotic chat 2013

Cary Taylor’s lips had a come-hither curve and his long, lean frame was blocking the intersection. He lounged on his side, bare-chested and barefooted, his jeans unbuttoned to show both the waistband of his underwear and the sleek lines of his ripped abs.The taxi driver was hitting his horn repeatedly, as if that would clear the way. His dark brown hair was sexily mussed and his emerald eyes were bright with mischief.I needed him like I needed my heart to beat, and he’d put himself in great jeopardy, risking The blare of a horn snapped me back to the present.Through the windshield, I saw my roommate’s million-dollar smile flashing at me from the billboard on the side of a bus.The night doorman opened the car door before I could tell the driver to turn around and take me back, and the sticky August air rushed in to chase the air-conditioning away. The iceman thawed a bit for you.” “Maybe he did, but it’s over.” “That doesn’t mean you don’t know something, Eva. “Maybe some other time,” I said, leaving the option open because I intended to keep tabs on her.“Good evening, Miss Tramell.” The doorman accompanied the greeting with a tap of his fingers to the brim of his hat and waited patiently while I swiped my debit card. I’ve got a story I’m working on, and I could use your help.” “No offense, but I can’t think of anything I want to talk to a reporter about.” “Not even Gideon Cross? “Especially not him.” As one of the twenty-five richest men in the world, with a New York real estate portfolio so extensive it boggled the mind, Gideon was always news. This is your chance to get a bit of your own back.” A rock settled in the bottom of my stomach. ” I asked quietly, intuitively certain she’d fucked my man at some point in the past. His money doesn’t give him the right to do whatever the hell he wants.” I took a slow, deep breath and remembered when Dr. I can help you figure out what’s newsworthy.” “What’s your angle? As if he sensed my uneasiness, Chad, one of the night crew at the front desk, approached. Johnson was just leaving,” I told him, consciously relaxing.

I stepped into the elevator and hit the button for my floor. I exited on my floor and let myself into my apartment, crossing the spacious living room to dump my purse on one of the kitchen bar stools.

Even our therapist could be ethically and legally bound to break our confidence.

A burly, neon-vested traffic cop appeared and urged the bus into its lane with an authoritative white-gloved hand and a holler that meant business.

I hated the thought of having to hold back what Gideon had done for me.

I wanted desperately to talk about it, to get help working it out in my head, but I’d never be able to tell anyone.

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