Authors: Justine Elvira
Tags: #Love, #obsessive relationship, #friends to lovers, #New Adult, #nanny romance, #naive girl in big city, #serial romance, #bet between lovers, #one night promised, #rich successful bachelor
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This book is a work of fiction and any
resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or
occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines
are created from the author’s imagination and are used
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causes a strong urge or desire to have or do something and
especially something that is bad, wrong, or unwise.
If I were able to define beauty it would be
simple. I'd just have to say her name. The way she smiles at the
simplest of things, or the way she crinkles her nose when she
doesn't like something. There's beauty in her laugh, her love of
children, her kindness towards others, and her painful past full of
despair and heartache. The pain she hides from the rest of the
world is the most beautiful of all. It makes me want to protect her
until my last breath. If the world got to see what I see every day,
she would no longer be just mine. Every man who was lucky enough to
be in her presence would want her.
"Can I get you anything else, sir?"
The fasten seat belt light flickers off,
letting me know that it's okay to move around the plane cabin after
the long stretch of turbulence ends. I stand up, stretching my legs
out in front of my first class seat. There are two hours left on
this eight-hour flight to London and I'm already itching to get
back to Chicago.
"No, thanks," I reply, brushing past the
petite woman and making my way to the small lavatory located in
first class. It's unoccupied so I squeeze myself inside and lock
the door behind me.
After relieving myself of the several cups of
coffee I've consumed on the flight, I zip up my pants and wash my
hands in the tiny sink, briefly glancing at my appearance in the
The man staring back at me looks worn out and
fucking old as shit.
I've noticed the subtle changes in my
appearance these past couple weeks and at first I thought I was
going crazy. I was convinced I was seeing things that weren't
there, but when the first few gray hairs started to appear near my
temples, I couldn't pretend to imagine it anymore. The stress of
everything having to do with
has made me age.
I hate leaving her, even for these little
trips where I'm gone for less than forty-eight hours. Although I've
hired the best team around, I don't trust the care she's under. If
I'm not there to supervise the daily schedule, I live in fear that
someone will make a mistake or mess up, and I'll be forced to live
the rest of my life without her.
A life without her is not a life I'm willing
I press down on the faucet and cup my hands,
letting them fill with water before splashing my face. The cool
water is refreshing against my skin, and in an odd way makes me
feel slightly better and more awake. As I'm drying my face there is
a knock on the lavatory door. I toss the paper towel in the garbage
and unlock the door, ready to go back to my seat but instead
someone walks in.
"Are you sure there's nothing else I can do
for you, sir?" the eager flight attendant asks. I've always had
this effect on women and even though I look the worst I've ever
appeared, apparently women still want me.
She's looking up at me, her eyes coated in
heavy make-up. She can't be older than twenty. Her button up flight
attendant top is open, revealing her perky, young breasts and while
her offer might have been something I would have considered a while
back, it's no longer a desire of mine when I'm in the right
She clicks the lock behind her and moves
towards me in the confined space. The small toilet is pushing
against the back of my legs so I have nowhere to move. Her firm
chest brushes against mine as the palm of her hand slides against
my stomach and lowers to the front of my trousers. She rubs the
small palm of her hand up and down, attempting to get a reaction
from my cock. I'm too stunned at the moment to stop her, too tired
to think straight.
"I can be very helpful," she offers.
She undoes the button of my pants and slowly
unzips them, lowering them past my hips. She places her delicate
hands over my cock again and begins to stroke me over my boxer
It's been so long since I've been touched. I
can't remember ever going this long without my dick receiving some
kind of attention from the opposite sex. I need to stay focused. I
need to remember why I'm here, why I'm on this plane. I run on a
strict schedule. I like my detailed to-do lists and today's list is
an easy one. There are just four simple steps.
*Go to London
*Sign the necessary paperwork needed at my
*Get my ass back on the plane to Chicago
*Go see my girl and make sure those
incompetent assholes don't fuck up while I'm away
I'll be home in less than forty-eight hours.
I can get through forty-eight fucking hours.
As I'm repeating the words over in my head I
almost forget about the young woman in front of me until I feel my
cock stir to life. Warmth spreads through my body and the desire to
fuck something so I can come suddenly takes over my thoughts.
I look down at my dick but can only see the
fiery, red hair of the flight attendant as she pulls my boxers down
and devours my cock with her mouth.
Fuck me. That feels incredible.
I forgot how nice a soft set of lips and a
warm mouth can feel around my cock.
As soon as I think it, a visual of the
argumentative, fun-loving brunette I love pops into my head and I
groan in agony instead of satisfaction. The redhead takes this as
encouragement and she gently bites down on my long, hard length
before dragging her teeth up to the head and sucking the tip. As
great as it feels, I'm forced to push her off of me. She falls back
against the door and I quickly zip myself back up while looking at
her stunned face.
She's pretty, gorgeous really, but she's not
. No one will ever come close to her.
"That was sweet of you to offer, but I'm
afraid I'm a one woman man."
"I can be discreet. No one will know," she
"And I don't like repeating myself. You're a
young woman who probably has more to offer a man than a blowjob in
the lavatory of first class. You should focus on your job, while I
focus on getting back in my seat. Excuse me."
I gesture towards the door and wait for her
to stand up and adjust her clothing. She unlocks it and steps out
of the small, enclosed space. I follow behind her to go back to my
seat. The large leather seat is comfortable and I recline back,
shutting my eyes to try and forget what just happened.
Forty-eight hours. I just need to get through
the next forty-eight hours.
My fascination with her started in the lap
lanes of my exclusive five star health club. I'm not sure what drew
me to her. It wasn't sexual or lustful, just pure
I don't normally behave like this. It's
sickening, really, and I probably should be sprawled out on an
uncomfortable couch waiting for a psychiatrist with an Ivy League
education to prescribe me something, or to lock me away in a white
padded room for the rest of my life.
I feel this way because I've hit the ultimate
Do you see the guy standing behind the
chrome, three-tier towel rack, staring out at the long length of
the lap pool like a creeper, or pedophile? The devastatingly
handsome man with short, dirty blond hair, but long enough for you
to hold on to while he's fucking you? That dumbshit is me.
Over the past year I've gone from being the
most eligible bachelor in the Chicago land area to a dwindling,
pathetic version of that man.
I hate the man I've become. I'd beat the shit
out of me if I could.
I'm arrogant, cocky, rich, and sexy as fuck.
Women can't wait for the chance to try and seduce me so they can
jump into bed with me. My good looks draw them in and my light blue
eyes deceive them into trusting me. So why the hell am I hiding
behind a towel rack stalking a woman I don't know, and who is most
definitely not my type?
I guess to figure that out we need to start
back at the beginning: The first day that my dick started to
disappear and I began growing a pussy.
I'm one of those men addicted to healthy
eating and fitness. My workout routine is just that, a routine. I
arrive at the health club around nine every morning, right after my
morning meetings. I run for an hour on the treadmill, weight lift
for thirty minutes, go to the mats and pound out five hundred
sit-ups, and finish off with a trip to the sauna.
My body's a well-oiled machine; I like it
This has been my routine for a long time.
I've worked out six days a week for over fifteen years, only
resting on Sundays because of family obligations. Truthfully,
Sundays are when I need to exercise the most. My family would drive
anyone crazy, and physical exertion is the only way I can relieve
So you could say I was surprised when I
received the results of my annual physical last year.
I was a thirty-four-year-old healthy male. I
knew I had nothing to worry about. Men wish they were in the
physical condition I was in. My doctor, who also happens to be one
of my closest friends, hooked me up to the treadmill and started my
annual stress test; the results were more than disappointing.
Apparently, I have issues knowing how to
handle and deal with stress. I didn't need to pay the fucker and
have him hook me up to a machine to find that out. I knew this
already, and so did he. The treatment plan he put me on?
Participate in more activities that help relieve stress.
What the hell did he want me to do? I already
spend my mornings at the health club, and in the evenings I worked
out my stress in the bedroom. There's Melissa on Mondays, Jenny on
Tuesdays and Saturdays, Mercedes on Wednesdays, Bailey on Thursdays
and Sundays, and I always left Friday nights open so I could fit in
whatever girl met my standards when I was out at the bar with the
guys. I never went home empty-handed.
Why am I telling you this?
I'm telling you this so you can see why
creeping on some chick I don't know, like I'm a fucking predator,
is pathetic and uncalled for. I'm better than this. I shouldn't be
stalking her; she should be stalking me.
The female population has been after me since
my first trip to the sandbox when I was just two years old. My
mother loves to tell this story. You see, I was minding my own
business and filling my bucket up with sand, when an older boy
stole my shovel. I started to cry (not my best moment) and then two
little girls went over to that older boy and got my shovel back for
me. The details are fuzzy, mostly because I wasn't old enough to
remember and my mother likes to embellish when storytelling, but
that day I left the sandbox a new man.
I had received my first and second kiss that
day. For a boy who still wore diapers and was probably sitting in
his own piss and shit, this was a huge moment in the history of
Oh yeah, my name’s Theodore Rosely, but
everyone calls me Theo.
I've never liked my name. My parents are
stuck up elitists and named me Theodore after President Franklyn
Theodore Roosevelt. My father is a senator and his life-long wish
was for me to follow in his footsteps, so I obviously chose another
path for my life to go down.