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It was funny.
Ollie vB:
For a SPIN. Get it?
Ollie vB:
Because you’ll be doing it on a laundry machine during a load.
Ollie vB is typing…
Zach:
Quick, Fae.
Zach:
Block his number before he makes a load joke.
Farrow left the chat.
Zach left the chat.
Ollie vB:
And what a load it is going to be…
Ollie vB:
Goddammit.
Athousand-page thesis could be written on the marvels of discovering sex for the first time.
Every time I exited Farrow’s tight pussy, the thirty-three years I’d spent outside of it felt like a total waste.
Unfortunately, she had things to do. Vera to ruin. A medal to earn. Romeo’s needy wife to shave. (Ollie walked in on them and managed to send pics before Rom tossed his phone down the garbage disposal.)
So, I found myself at the country club, working out my frustrations on the tennis court. Solo, as always. Whacking every ball the machine launched my way.
When I stopped to rehydrate, I spotted Mom at the edge of the court. She wore a full-blown business suit, confirming my suspicion that we hadn’t bumped into each other by chance.
“Zachary.” She squeezed my cheeks, pushing her Hermès up her arm. “My one and only son.”
I dislodged my face from her paws. “Mom.”
Oh, Constance.
Never one to take a hint, even if it was thicker than a tree trunk.
I’d made myself scarce at the estate the past week, opting instead to whisk Farrow away to The Grand Regent and getaway spots that reminded her of Korea.
“You’re harder to find than a matte alligator Birkin.” She fussed over my sweat, producing an XL sunblock stick from her bag. “Where have you been?”
Inside Farrow Ballantine’s dripping pussy.
“Hell and back.” I slung the tennis racket over my shoulder, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Why? What do you need?”
I was in no mood to entertain her wants and needs.
