So Spankable! , livre ebook
22
pages
English
Ebooks
2013
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22
pages
English
Ebooks
2013
Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage
Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne En savoir plus
Publié par
Date de parution
28 février 2013
Nombre de lectures
5
EAN13
9781782347514
Langue
English
Title Page
SO SPANKABLE!
By
Angela R Sargenti
Publisher Information
So Spankable!
Published in 2012 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Angela R Sargenti 2012
The right of Angela R Sargenti to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my first and very best fan, Rob Collier, for all his support and encouragement over the past couple of years—and all his help with the computer. And I promise, Rob, I’ll eventually finish After Old Joe.
The Art of Forgiveness
Dear Diary,
Oh, my God.
You’d think we did some huge crime, having a three-way with Aja.
Vince was all right with it the whole time we fucked and sucked each other, but by morning, he was all guilt-ridden, and he packed up and left in a big giant hurry.
My uncle and grandfather, with whom I live, just threw up their hands.
“I guess you’ll never settle down now, will you?” they asked me, and, “I thought he was the one.”
Well, Diary, I did, too.
* * *
I didn’t hear from Vince again for nineteen days.
I kept track like in prison, crossing off each miserable day without him and throwing myself into my work to keep my mind off him.
On the twentieth day, he finally relented and called me.
“We need to talk,” he told me. “Can you come up and stay the rest of the week?”
“Of course.”
So I packed my bag and my laptop and got into my car, not caring how much I had to do or how soon the family fundraiser was.
There were hundreds of things that still needed doing, hundreds of details to attend to. As you know, it’s an important event and I’d answer big if I dropped the ball on it.
I was about to back out of the driveway when my grandfather came bolting out of the house.
“Please don’t go.” he begged. “I’ll never hear the end of it from your uncle.”
“Jesus, Grandpa, he’s your son. Grow a spine or something.”
Well, Diary, once I was out on the road, I felt pretty bad and I called my grandfather back to apologize. As luck would have it, my uncle picked up the phone instead.
He said, “You screw this up and I’ll roast you alive,” and I wasn’t sure if he meant Vince or the fundraiser.
“But you want him back, too,” I said. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t screw it up.”
* * *
Well, Diary, traffic was light and I was breezing right along when I realized what the likely result of coming to San Francisco would be. And just as I expected, Vince met me walking up, like he’d been on the lookout for me.
When he got to me, he grabbed me and jerked me toward him.
“Vince, wait.”
“Nuh-uh. I’ve waited long enough.”
He ushered me toward the museum’s heavy glass doors. A guard opened one of them for us, but Vince passed him by without a word. I smiled and shrugged at the man as I was tugged along, and Vince pulled me off toward the elevator with him.
When we got to the third floor, he dragged me past a whole lot of blond maple floors and magnificent views, never speaking once. When we finally reached his office, he let go of my wrist.
I chafed at it and faced him.
“Jesus, Vincent, relax.”
“You relax. Sit your ass down. Now. And when everybody else leaves, you’re getting it.”
I shrugged and stole a quick glance at the clock.
Three o’clock?
I’d be here all year.
I took up a chair to the side of the room and watched him as he worked. Several people came and went, but when he failed to introduce us, they just smiled and pretended not to see me anymore.
The clock ticked louder as my doom approached, and I wished I brought my laptop in so I could at least get some work of my own done.
“Stop fidgeting,” he told me, but it was torture just sitting there, Diary.
