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Olivia clutches my suit coat, then rubs her nose on my neck. "Oh, God."
"God doesn’t have anything to do with this."
Her neck flushes pink, and moisture begins to trickle down my fingers. "That’s right, baby girl. Make that kitty purr."
Olivia latches onto me as she unleashes a powerful orgasm. She cries out, her fingertips digging into my collarbone. Her body bucks on my lap, her pussy squeezing around my finger. I stroke her clit the entire time, pinching it, teasing it, giving her what she doesn’t know she needs.
"I can hear it.Purr.Good girl."
"I soaked my dress." Olivia’s gasping as she stares down at the mess her pussy made.
I rub her damp folds, which makes her squeeze her eyes shut and whimper. She mewls, grinding against my palm, her barely touched body quivering as her ears turn pink. "Everyone at the restaurant will know I pleased you."
I spread her on the limousine seat, then feast on her wet pussy. My tongue swirls around her clit, licking it, lapping at her tender juices. I groan into her folds, the taste of her berry-scented nectar driving me to the brink.
She comes undone on my tongue yet again, and this time, I swallow everything. I’m a starving vagabond begging the hot desert he’s crawling through to grant him the newfound appearance of an oasis stream to quench his thirst. A roar escapes me when more of her fruity juices squirt on my tongue, and I lap up everything, sucking it deep into my body because I must store it within me, guard it under lock and key.
"Let’s go, bitch."
I take Olivia’s hand in mine when we reach the restaurant. My man card turns into an ace when she blushes as our valet opens the limo door, then bows.
A red carpet is rolled out before us. We walk up to the fanciest restaurant here in Manhattan, cameras flashing as we stroll. It’s their ten-year anniversary and tonight is a festive party. Everyone who eats here gets their photo in theNew York Timestomorrow, and all of Saintswood will know that Olivia dined here withme.
I’m showing my whore the world through my eyes.
"This is what every man wants, Olivia. An innocent girl like you to whom they can give the finest things. Not some bitch who’s been to so many countries she can’t remember them all. You’re perfect. You’ll learn about the bougie life from your Kings."
Our waiter pulls out our chairs, and I growl as I shove him to the side and take Olivia’s chair in my hands. "Sit, my Queen."
She settles into the seat, crossing her hands on her lap. "Thank you."
I turn to the waiter. "If youevertouch my Queen’s chair again, there will be hell to pay."
He backs off at once, immediately bowing. "Yes, sir."
I order for Olivia.
This is every bitch’s least favorite thing to do at restaurants.
They don't want to appear like they’re gorging on everything in sight so they grab a salad because they’re too shy.
If only they knew what men really liked.
I want to see my Queendig into her meal.
Enjoy herself.
Crack open a motherfucking lobster and gobble it down with butter sauce.
She’s my bitch and she deserves the finest things in life.
"We’ll take four lobsters, tuna tartare, escargot, your best rosé, and Beluga caviar. And oh yeah, a salad for my Queen."
My Queen. Something about this causes Olivia’s cheeks to flush pink. "This is a little much, don't you think?"
I squeeze her hand so tight I cut off her circulation.That’ll leave a mark tomorrow."You deserve everything."
Olivia
