CHAPTER 10
Jennifer
I couldn’t get my feet to move or my mouth to close. In need of a good pee from the soup and the nerve-shattering ride up the canyon, I had followed Helen’s directions down a long, art-filled corridor to the nearest guest bathroom. The door, while closed, was unlocked. I turned the knob and swung the door open. My eyes turned as round as marbles while my heart leapt to my throat. Oh my God! My boss was in the middle of jerking himself off. His eyes squeezed shut, he was totally oblivious to me. I should have run, but it was if my feet were super glued to the pink marble floor and my eyes chained to his pink marbled cock.
I let out a gasp, but his groans and pants washed it out. The expression on his face was one of pure tortured ecstasy. And the one on my face was of pure, total shock. I couldn’t get my eyes off his cock. Holy cow! It was huge! A pink, veined, rigid monstrosity that seemed to have a life of its own. I’d never seen anything like it before. Bradley’s cock was the only other cock I’d personally ever seen, and it sure it didn’t look like this.
My mouth fell to the floor and a bolt of heat tore though my body as I watched Blake come in his hand. A loud feral grunt accompanied the explosion—a burst of creamy cum that seeped through his fingers. With a sigh, he opened his eyes. With one word, they met mine. “Fuck!”
Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, he scrambled to clean himself up while I stood there like a shell-shocked idiot, wordless. He hastily tucked his still semi-erect cock back into his boxers and pulled up his pants.
“I’m sorry,” I finally murmured as he fastened his belt buckle. Mortification raced through me. Doofgirl. Why hadn’t I knocked first? The door after all was closed.
Blake’s face was flushed. Probably the same shade of red as mine. He managed to get his mouth to move again.
“It’s just a cock. A wedge of flesh. You might as well get used to it because you’ll be seeing plenty of them in your new job.”
Okay, a cock is a cock is a cock. But this was no ordinary cock. It was totally beyond, in a league of its own, and it belonged to my boss. How could I ever face him again? Maybe I should just count myself lucky that he didn’t ask me to help him tuck it back in, though the thought of touching that pulsing pillar sent a chill of tingles skittering down my spine.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, almost as if it were an afterthought.
“Um, uh, I have to go.” Sheesh. I sounded like a five-year-old.
“Right.” He quickly washed his hands over the elegant porcelain sink. For the first time, I noticed how spacious and beautiful this guest bathroom was with its hand-painted chinoiserie wallpaper and rich bronze fixtures. My eyes stayed on him as he dried his hands with a monogrammed hand towel that was draped over an ornate bronze rack. God, his hands were beautiful with their long, manicured tapered fingers.
“I’ll see you back in the dining room,” he said as he headed toward the door. To my surprise, as he brushed past me, still motionless, he gave my ponytail a playful tug. “Wait till you taste my mother’s brisket. It’ll make you hungry for more.”
With that, he left me alone to pee and to ponder as I sat on the toilet why the tingles that had traveled down my spine were now gathered in the area between my thighs.
The rest of the Shabbat dinner transpired without a major incident. Blake was right—his mother’s tender brisket was delicious and could turn an herbivore into a carnivore as his father joked—but it took all my effort to eat it. I’d totally lost my appetite. My stomach was twisted and my heart was hammering. All I could think about was another hunk of meat—Blake’s mind-blowing cock and the explosive orgasm I’d witnessed. Why the hell hadn’t I just dashed out of the bathroom? Why had I voyeuristically watch him come? And soak up every orgasmic second of his orgasmic display? Maybe, this new job was doing a head job on me—no pun intended. Or maybe . . .
“My son tells me you’re getting married,” thundered Blake’s father, hurling me out of my perturbing mental ramblings.
“Who’s the lucky man?” chimed in his mother. “And what does he do, dear?”
I set my fork down. I could feel Blake’s eyes on me. “He’s someone I met at USC, and he’s a dentist.”
“I hate dentists!” shouted out one of the twins.
Blake’s sister shot him a dirty look. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Jackson.”
“Well, it’s true. They’re super mean, and they won’t even give me a lollypop.”
I stifled a laugh. I’d always hated going to the dentist as a child, and now I was ironically marrying one.
Depleting her God-knows-what-number glass of wine, Blake’s grandmother got in her two cents. “Dentist shmentis. Bubala, with your looks, you could do a lot better. Get yourself a nice rich man with a big shmekel like that Christian Grey—or my grandson.” She winked at Blake, who had turned crimson at the mention of the word shmekel, whatever that meant. Likewise blushing, I squirmed in my chair and accidentally brushed my thigh against his. He didn’t flinch.
Helen’s lovely blue eyes, identical in color to Blake’s, widened. “Mother, you’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey?” Her voice registered extreme shock.
“Puh-lease. I’ve read them all. At my age, you have to get it anyvay you can. Blakela, sveetheart, you should make TV shows of those books.”
Blake’s father looked my way. “Congratulations, Ms. McCoy. You’ve just found your first viewer.”
With a smug, triumphant smile, I turned to face Blake. He smirked.
“Good luck, Ms. McCoy. But I’m still convinced your idea is absurd.”
“We’ll see.” The ratings war was on. May the best man—or woman—win.