Page 32 of Hate At First Sight


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I instinctively put my hands between Mr. Beach Billionaire’s legs.

Dear God, I didn’t know they had anacondas in Costa Rica.

I gasp, holding onto him. He pauses for a moment.

“Scared?”

“No,” I mutter. “Not scared.”

Just inexperienced, maybe. My last boyfriend, well…he was fine but he was not hung like whateverthatis.

And the thought of being fucked by him with that makes me even wetter as he continues licking me.

His grip tightens around my hips, his tongue touching just the right part of me.

Pleasure rolls through my entire body and I cum again.

I let out a loud moan as I do, my movements increasing.

Finally, drenched in sweat, I pull myself off of him.

My eyes are hooded and he’s grinning, still laying back with my juices on him.

“Holy shit.” I try to catch my breath.

I look over at him.

“I’m good,” he says, wiping me from his mouth. “You can say it, it’s alright.”

“So I came. Big deal. Can you let your ego not be the main focus of every conversation for even a single second?”

He bites his lower lip. “Man, I thought after I made you come that hard you’d at least lose the attitude. Guess you need one more.”

He takes my hand to trace the outline of his package.

My eyes widen.

“It’s so damn big,” I let out.

He grins. “No lie there.”

Whatever we just did was one thing.

But going all the way is another.

“Alright,” I say, pulling my hand back.

“Alright, what?”

“Alright, thanks for the surfboard delivery. Time for you to go.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. I have a date.”

He jumps to his feet.

“You’re actually going on your date? After that?”

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