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“I have a housekeeper here. She cleans it and stocks the fridge. We’ll be here till Thursday morning, so if you want anything specific, I’ll ask Jada to have it delivered. Bananas. Eggs. Hot sauce. Bottle of twist-off $3 wine?” I smirk at her.
She looks me in the eye. “I prefer the fancy box of wine with the little plastic pour spout, if you must know.”
God, if I don’t fuck her soon, my balls are gonna explode.
Wait, asshole. She doesn’t wanna fuck you. She thinks you’re a piece of shit.
But would she change her mind after I bent her over the table by the window with my view of the Hudson River and jammed three fingers up her pussy?
Or maybe if I took her to my bedroom and threw her legs over my shoulders, letting her head dangle off the bed so I can ram my thick cock into her while she looks backwards out at the view of Central Park? She’s not gonna be impressed by my 2 bedroom $7M New York City condo in Central Park West. But maybe she’ll be impressed by my ability to hit her G-spot while also making her clit sing.
I rented this place when I moved here two years ago. Last year, I bought it without touching a dime of my trust fund.
But that wouldn’t impress her much. What does impress a girl like Carly Adler? She looked at me like I was a superhero when she left the apartment and saw my two-and-a-half-year-old nephew sleeping on me on the couch. Yeah, my eyes were only half closed as I’d heard her leave.
My father reacted to my buying this condo by buying me the condo in San Diego. It was a lot like when I was sixteen and bought my first car, my Crossfire, with my own money and he reacted by buying me a BMW a year later. I sold the BMW. I still have the Crossfire.
“There’s your room.” I gesture to the hallway. The second bedroom has a double bed and an ensuite. She doesn’t have an ensuite bathroom in San Diego. It’s a smaller bedroom, no balcony, but it’s got a great view.
“I’m across the hall. You hungry?”
She nods. “I could eat.”
“Go ahead and get settled. Meet me in the kitchen and we’ll see what’s here.”
My apartment here is smaller than the San Diego one, it’s modern, open, mostly windows. You don’t live up here and pay this price without tak
ing every opportunity to admire the view.
She’s in the kitchen with me a minute later. My head is in the fridge.
“Deli sandwich stuff, a sushi boat, grapes, a cheese tray, potato salad, tuna macaroni salad with deviled eggs, roasted red pepper hummus, stuffed olives…”
“How old is that sushi boat?” she looks concerned.
“It’s from today. Jada stocked the fridge today.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So, any of that sound good?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, definitively.
“Which---” I start.
“All of it. I’m starving.”
“You gonna eat all my food, peaches?”
“Damn straight, Hot Sauce,” she answers with a devious smirk on her face.
Fuck, she’s cute.
I grab a baguette Jada put on top of the microwave and pass it to her and then pull everything out of the fridge. Jada knows what I like and when I’m here, she’s in every day cleaning up my mess after me and stocking more stuff that she knows I like unless I leave her a note with something specific I want.
I open a bottle of red and pour two glasses.
Carly has pulled the bread out of the paper bag, grabbed a bread knife from the block, and she’s slicing the baguette while I lay everything out.
