Percy Wetmore Mga Nobela at Kwento

Some arrogant, privileged playboy fantasy. But the handwriting was precise. And it was signed with a wax seal: L. Bellamy. I nearly quit that day. But then I saw the envelope tucked beneath it. $3,000. Cash. For one day’s work. The East Wing belonged to Luca Bellamy, the older brother. Cold, unreadable, ex-military. He walked like a man who didn't waste time. Sharp cheekbones, always in suits, and a voice like winter. The younger brother, Elias, lived in the West Wing. Shirtless more often than not. Careless grin. Curls falling over his forehead. Always watching me like I was dessert he hadn’t earned yet.

Whitmore. It wasn’t a birthday gift, at least not intentionally. It was a ritual. For the past eight years, without fail, Senior Mr. Whitmore has sent me a book on the 25th of every month (my birthday falls on October 25th). Always something new. Always something thoughtful. I hadn’t needed to buy a book for myself in years.

It was Percy's secretary who had said that the Watson Group would be in crisis if they offended Drake. That was why Percy had refused to work with Prospectus Technology. Now? They hadn't offended Drake, but they had offended Damon. If they had to offend someone, he'd rather it be Drake. Percy had worked with Damon for years. He knew Damon wasn't the type to push people to their breaking point. As for Drake, Percy had investigated him—he was a ruthless man.

A soft moan escapes my lips, a growl leaving his—making me even more wet than I already am at the thrill of how he’s handling me. He sticks a finger inside of me, curling it towards my pubic bone and he sure knew right where to touch. The movements of his finger as he adds another inside of my hot wet core sends me almost over the edge and then he speaks. “Cum for me Remi.” The way he said my name and the combination of him kissing my neck not only made sparks but felt like electricity and the way his fingers slicked in my wet pussy had me shaking with pleasure. “I... I’m coming Wyatt.” A breathy moan devoured by his lips.

The moment he stepped closer to me, I realized this could never be a police officer. Police officers are not usually this handsome and fit. Fuck, I couldn't believe who I was seeing. Bishop! The Managing Director at Wet Nights Club. Wet Nights is an elite club for mostly the top citizens of the states. I've been hearing about Wet Nights and I've dreamt of working at the club as a performer because I heard they pay their dancers very high. But it's not easy to get a job at Wet Nights. Though, it's a popular club but it held a lot of secrets, secrets that shouldn't be known outside the club. Due to their delicate nature of treating their clients with secrecy, they're being extremely careful ab

Rolled us spooning, cock staying in lazy thrusts, pain and pleasure humming. "Anytime means now, baby.. feel me own you slow?" He whispered dirty in ear: "Woke you fucking, now sleep with brother's cum inside. Tomorrow? More.... kitchen, pool, whenever. You're my forbidden slut." I moaned soft, wiggling against him, intoxicated still. He dropped wet kisses on shoulder, hand sliding to core, fingers circling clit gentle then rough. Buried fingers inside beside his softening cock, battling slow. "Ahhh... just like... don't stop fingering!" Screamed quiet. Saliva from his mouth on my neck, trailing down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ ICW V6 Percy" One time, he was doing an experiment of some sort and a beaker was stuck to his hand! And this wasn't your ordinary stuck! It was like cemented to his hand kind of stuck. He couldn't change his shirt because that hand couldn't fit through his sleeve! We had to cut his shirt off, cut his suit, sew it on him and drag him to the ball with that beaker stuck to his hand. The * laughing* whole time there he hid his hand! The nobles! *Laughing* You should have seen them!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------