Epilogue
Nalia
“Come on, come on, where the heck is that dress?” I muttered. I tore into my closet, and eventually managed to find the little, black dress I had been looking for in the back behind my winter clothes. Crazy place for it to be, but it didn’t matter. If I didn’t hurry up, I was going to be late. Not that it was a new concept.
Throwing it on, I pulled all of the curlers from my hair and gave it a fluff, glad that I had already done my makeup. Tonight was extremely important, and I didn’t want any part of it or me to be out of place.
In the middle of all the hubbub, the doorbell rang. I rushed barefoot to it, throwing open the door to find my brother waiting impatiently in the doorway. “I’m running behind.”
“Tell me what else is new,” Jackson grumbled as he walked in, Grace was right behind him. “That’s why I picked you up last, sis.”
I rolled my eyes at him, a little too melodramatically for his liking, although Grace let out a chuckle.
“I couldn’t find my dress,” I shot back, picking up the small studs that Owen had given me for our first Christmas together. The thought made me smile, set my heart aching to see him, and sent my pulse racing.
It was rare that we spent more than a day apart, but he had been working so hard on tonight’s event that I had stayed largely out of his way for the better part of two days. He had been working feverishly to make sure the event would go off without a hitch. Besides, my apartment needed to be packed up, hence the reason I couldn’t find anything. Half of the place was already in boxes, and the other half was scattered in piles and stacks and general mountains of disorder.
I was moving in with Owen at the end of the week, a date which would mark one year of happiness for us. He had popped the question about moving in to me over dinner just a week prior, and since I already spent the majority of my time at his place anyway, there didn't really seem to be any reason to continue to pay rent here.
“Come on, Nalia!” Grace shouted from the hallway, her tone bordering on agitated. Probably not because I was running behind as much as she was having to listen to Jackson go on about me running behind. When it came to Jackson, she had a rather short fuse, and her moods could switch in a blink. Plus, she was ready to go. For some reason, she was more excited than I would have thought for tonight’s event. We were all excited, though.
I had cried like a baby when Owen had casually mentioned a few months before that he was putting on a black tie charity event for the local orphanage. After growing up in and out of orphanages, I had a heart for helping in that area, and there were a great deal of kids growing up like I had who were going to benefit from his generosity.
The thought of my own past and the fact that he was so dedicated to helping people who were going through such hardships really made my heart swell with both pride and love. It made me even more proud to call him mine, and ever so grateful to have someone like him in my life. I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve someone as kind and generous as Owen but, whatever it was, I thanked God for it.
Finding my shoes, I slipped them on and grabbed my purse, adjusting my dress as I clacked down the hall until I stood before them. “How do I look?”
“Like a woman who’s making me late,” Jackson jabbed, rolling his eyes. “Come on, seriously, we are going to be late if we don't get a move on. C'mon, hustle! Let's go, let's go!”
I socked him in the shoulder as we walked out to his car. “No need to be such a grouch! We'll get there on time, take a pill. Besides, you know I’m not going to be late for Owen’s big event, as hard as he’s been working on this. He's been so stressed about every detail of this event being right for, well, for a long time now. It's really taken it out of him.”
“I’m sure you can provide him with some extra special relief,” Grace giggled from the front passenger seat eliciting a loud groan from Jackson. He had finally come around to the fact that Owen and I were a couple, but there were times I still thought my brother felt like it was going to fall apart at any moment.
Thankfully, he and Owen got along pretty well now, and I knew it was only a matter of time before my brother finally got used to the fact that I had, in fact, wrangled the wild rock star and not only locked him down, but domesticated him, as well. He'd never believed that such a thing could have been possible, but there I was—there we were.
“Do you think the mayor will come tonight?” Grace asked as she checked her reflection in the visor mirror, making sure that everything was perfectly in place and that her makeup looked as good as it had when she had left her house. “I honestly can’t believe I’m attending this event,” she said, sounding overly excited, almost like a middle school girl going to a high school party.
I eyed my friend, wondering why she was so enthusiastic. While I was blown away by some of the names that were going to be present, Grace had been in the limelight for so long that I just assumed she knew most everyone and that she’d grown used to attending events like this. Surely once you'd been to enough of these things, you'd get over them and perhaps even begin to see them as something of a chore, right? But there she was, acting like a girl heading to her first prom.
Unlike Grace, I no longer felt the need to be famous. Once upon a time, I thought that if I got myself out there that all of my dreams would come true, but recently I had come to realize that I already had everything I needed. Owen was so much more than I could have ever imagined or wished for, and I couldn’t wait to see what else our lives would hold for the future. Now that his touring days were behind him, he had really delved into his record label, signing some new talent that, in my opinion, was going to make him a great deal of money. The sky was the limit for the future.
“Wow. I don’t think the orphanage has ever looked so good,” I remarked as we pulled into the parking area.
I gazed up at the brick building with pride, admiring some of the changes that had been made thanks to my new foundation—the one I was funding with sales from my songs.
It wasn’t much yet, but I wanted to do what I could, and I wanted the children that stayed there to think of this place as a home, not a jail or a place of purgatory. It had to be, above all, a place in which they could feel safe and wanted. With Owen’s help, I had started to oversee some renovations to the building and land, changes that I was really proud of. Tonight’s fundraiser would hopefully allow me to expand and help other orphanages as well.
I focused on the spotlight shining brightly on the name of the building as, below it, elegantly clad men and women ambled through the doors, heading through to the gymnasium where the event was being held. Owen and I had gone back and forth on where to hold the event. In the end, we had both finally decided that having it here where the attendees could see where their money was going was the most sensible option.
We climbed out of the car and made our way up the stairs, then headed down the hallway to the gym, which, in stark contrast to its usual simplicity, had been turned into a formal affair. A pianist was situated on stage, playing some soft music while everyone mingled. I was a little in awe of the big names in attendance, including politicians, musicians, and a few actors. Knowing my boyfriend, he had probably just gone through his Rolodex and casually pulled out names of people he thought might support our cause; he was extremely well-connected.
“I’m off to mingle!” Grace announced cheerfully as we walked through the door, immediately disappearing into the crowd. I looked at my brother, and we both shook our heads. I had no idea what had gotten into my bestie, but she seemed to be very into the event.
“Do you see Owen?” I asked Jackson, surveying the attendees for the familiar face that still got my pulse racing every time I laid eyes on it.
“No, I don’t see him, but I do see food, and lots of it. Delicious, delicious food.”
I rolled my eyes. If there was one thing my brother could do, it was eat.
“Come on then, I know what you're after. Let’s get something to eat.”
I followed the path he made through the crowd over to the buffet. The spread was impressive. Definitely gourmet quality, but as suave and sophisticated as the hors d’oeuvres were, I was pretty sure we would still be hitting up a fast food joint at the end of the night on the way home.
“This is a pretty sweet layout,” Jackson admitted as we stood around, nibbling on the appetizers. “Owen really pulled this off. I wasn't expecting him to go all out with the catering like this.”
“Leave it to you to judge an event based on the food,” I joked, my attention wavering as I scanned the crowd for Owen.
I spotted Talon in the distance, so I excused myself and walked over, tapping him on the shoulder. He spun around, moving with cat-like grace. As soon as he saw me, he grinned cheekily and allowed his eyes to rove up and down my figure for a few moments. I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw the gesture.
“Nalia, you look hot,” he drawled, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Have I told you how lucky a man my brother is?” he winked.
I gave him a once over in return. He looked rather dashing in his tux, the way it was molded to his lean frame. “You’re not looking so bad yourself,” I replied warmly. “Thank you so much for coming, Talon. It means a lot to us.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said, patting his pocket. “Hell, I already have my donation all written up. No way I'm not chipping my share in for such an awesome project. You guys really have done a great thing here. Respect.”
“Well, the orphanage will appreciate it, I can guarantee that. Hey, have you seen your brother around here?”
Talon laughed. “You mean the nervous wreck I passed earlier? The man is a billionaire—how the hell he can be so nervous about a charity event is beyond me. Sheesh. You'd think he'd never stood up in front of a crowd in his life before. Weird, huh?”
“I don’t know why he's be so nervous, but I better find him. Talk him down,” I sighed. “Enjoy yourself, and don't party too hard. Yet!”
“Yet!” he replied with a laugh. “That's the key word, my dear, yet!”
I walked on, wondering where Owen could be. Finally, I spotted him near the stage. “Hey, sweetheart, why are you hiding out over here?”
“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. He looked drop-dead sexy in his white tux, his hair carefully styled and held in place with so much gel that I was sure it wouldn’t move even in a hurricane. “You look good enough to eat. Way tastier than any of the swanky dishes I had the catering company whip up. Kinda making me hungry,” he said with a grin.
“Later,” I promised as he pulled me to his side, wrapping an arm around my waist. “And speaking of the catering company, wow! I think it’s safe to say that this event is a success already. You did an amazing job, my love. The orphanage is going to benefit greatly from this.”
“I’m just glad I could help with something that means so much to you,” he told me, his expression tender.
I melted against him, once again finding it hard to believe how lucky I was. And believe me, it had nothing to do with the money or who Owen was professionally. I loved Owen for Owen and would have loved him for his heart and soul had he been penniless. I was absolutely sure I would love him for the rest of my life.
“Come on, let's get things moving. We've got a schedule to stick to, and we don't want to waste anyone's time. A lot of big names have come out to support this, and we don't want to let 'em down,” he reminded me, tugging on my waist.
I followed him up the steps and onto the stage where the pianist was just finishing up a number. Owen nodded to him, and he stood, exiting the stage as Owen moved to the front of it. As soon as he was in front of the crowd, any trace of nervousness he’d had seemed to vanish. The stage really was a place where he felt truly at home, whether in a small dive bar in front of a dozen people, or on an arena stage in front of a crowd of hundreds of thousands of people.
“Good evening!” he shouted as if he were at a concert. “And thank you all for coming tonight. This is a very special night because we're all here to honor a cause that is very dear to someone who is very dear to me. My amazing girlfriend, Ms. Nalia Dean.
“I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge all the selfless work she's done for this orphanage. Your contributions tonight will continue the progress we have been fortunate enough to make from a humble beginning and hopefully, many other orphanages in the future. I promise you that your generous contributions will make this place a safe, wonderful home for these children for many years to come.
“You're not just building a place, ladies and gentlemen. You're not just stacking bricks and cement on top of one another. No, you're building lives. Beautiful, wonderful lives, full of hope and promise for the future.”
He then looked over at me, motioning for me to join him. I put on a smile as I nervously stepped up next to him, wondering what on earth he was about to do.
“As many of you might know, Nalia is a very talented pianist, and we have been working on her album in the studio for a few months now. Would you like to hear a song from her?”
I blushed as the crowd clapped and whistled. Owen was smiling down at me, nodding in encouragement. He leaned over to whisper some encouraging words in my ear. “Show off, babe.”
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over to the piano and sat down at the keys. I launched into a new song, surprised when Owen came to stand behind me, the mic in his hand. He began to sing the lyrics. We had practiced a few times before, but his voice still brought tears to my eyes. Maybe because he was singing a song we had created together, and he sang from his heart what we created from the heart.
The crowd fell silent as I poured myself into the song. And with the intensity of the music and the performance, coupled with Owen’s sweet voice, my heart was overwhelmed with love for him. His voice trailed off as he finished the lyrics and waited as I finished the last few notes. I simply sat there for a moment, my heart pounding in my ears as silence fell over the entire space.
Then, abruptly, the place erupted with shouts and cheers louder than I could have ever imagined. Smiling bright, I stood and glanced back, intending to prompt Owen to take a bow with me.
But he wasn’t where I had expected to see him. Instead, my eyes fell toward the floor where Owen was behind me on bended knee. In his hand, he held a small, black box. The crowd’s applause died to silence, and Owen looked up at me, smiling with tears rimming his eyes.
“Nalia Dean, no one has ever made me feel the way I do when I am with you, and I don’t ever want to find out what it feels like not to have you by my side. You are the most compassionate, loving person I have ever known, and I am so damn happy to have you in my life. I love you, more than any words could ever express. So, in front of all these witnesses, I’m asking if you will make me the happiest man on the planet. Will you marry me?” He opened the black box, revealing the most exquisite ring I’d ever laid eyes on.
“Owen,” I whispered as my hand covered my mouth in surprise, tears blurring my eyes. “Yes, yes, yes, I will. A million times, yes.”
He smiled and slipped the ring on my finger before rising to gather me in his arms, kissing me and holding me tightly against him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“For what?” I asked, pulling back to look at him.
“For taking a chance on me. For believing in what we could be. We are going to make a beautiful future together.”
And we did.
BILLIONAIRE RIDES
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Ethan
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Colson?"
"Yes: blow me," I stated.
I leaned back in my chair as my beautiful assistant Angela got down on her knees beneath my desk and went to work. I ran my hands through her red hair as her head bobbed up and down and her mouth worked enthusiastically. Within a few moments, her expert tongue would bring me to climax and I'd shoot my load down her eager throat, and then watch as she picked up her files and went back to work.
This was the life, and I was living the dream every man wished for — only it hadn't come easily. I'd started working at 13 when my mother ran out on my father and me for another man. My father had been weak and couldn't take it. He turned to drinking and could never hold onto a job, so it was up to me if we were going to keep from starving out on the streets.
It was tough, but even though I was working full time, I still managed to keep top grades in school. One of my teachers noticed and recommended me for a special internship in the Business Leaders of Tomorrow program at his alma mater. My father had remarried by then, and I knew he'd be okay on his own, so I went ahead and applied, never thinking that I'd really get in — but I did.
They admitted me on full scholarship, and when the program was over, I was offered full-time employment at one of the nation's top manufacturers of engine parts: Krueger Auto Parts. Even without a fancy degree, I could do the job of running the shipping and manufacturing warehouses in every town I was sent to, and soon I was brought to work in their corporate headquarters in Los Angeles.
I worked my ass off, coming in early every morning and staying late every night. I took on all the shit assignments nobody wanted to do and volunteered to work weekends and even holidays. I climbed up the ranks faster than anyone had ever seen, and by 30, I was running the motorcycle parts division for Krueger.
The job was my passion, and I worked closely with scientists and engineers, wanting to learn everything I could about what made bikes run better, faster, and more efficiently. I talked with long-time riders and kids just starting to learn what they wanted in a bike. On my days off, I went for long rides in the California countryside to get a feel for the wind in my face, the tires on the road, and the motor between my legs. It was a powerful feeling, completely freeing, and I wanted more. Most importantly, I understood what drove our customers and how to give them the best riding experience possible.
I took my ideas to the CEO and founder of the company Martin Krueger, but he didn't give a shit.
"Do you have any idea how expensive it would be to start manufacturing this motorcycle? We would have to sell 100,000 to make a profit," Krueger said, crossing his mushy arms over his fat belly. His balding head was always beaded perspiration, and his skin was a shade too pink, like an angry little piggy.
"So, we'll sell 100,000. I'm willing to work with marketing to get our name out there, not just as a parts manufacturer, but as a creator of the country's best motorcycle. Once riders try this bike, they'll sell themselves. I just need our factories to build them," I said passionately.
I believed in the product I had worked so hard to develop. I'd created cost estimates, profit projection reports, and even had a sample of the bike created as an example, using my own savings. The bike had been test-driven by a dozen different riders, and they all loved it. I knew the bike would be a huge success — if only Krueger would give it a chance.
Unfortunately, Krueger was too stodgy and stuck in his ways. He handed me back my research without even taking the time to look at it.
"If we manufactured that many bikes and they didn't sell, it would ruin us. Just stick to your job of managing the parts warehouses and leave it to Harley Davidson to build the bikes. I didn't hire you for your creativity. Why do you think I plucked you out of the intern program instead of going for someone with a business degree? It's because I want someone who will just be a cog in the engine I designed and not try and one-up me with dumb ideas. Don't forget who signs the paychecks around here. Now quit wasting time and get back to work."
That's when I quit. Krueger gave me a nice severance package, after I put the portly piece of shit in a headlock and threatened to expose some of his muddy little secrets to the media.
I used the money, along with what I made selling off all my Krueger stock, to invest in my own motorcycle company. The bank didn't want to give me a business loan at first, but I had a good reference to co-sign with me — my old teacher was now a professor at the Ivy League university where the banker wanted to send his son and the professor promised to give him a letter of recommendation.
It was all I needed, and Speed Motorcycles was born.
I named my first bike The Rebel, and it sold 200,000 units the first year and double that the next year. After that, I designed the Chrome Cruiser and then Highway Man. Each design was more successful than the last, and when Krueger came to me begging for the contract to distribute our patented specialty parts, I did one better and bought the son-of-bitch out. Now, all parts for Speed Motorcycles bikes were manufactured and sold by our own distributing subsidiary, Krueger Auto Parts, and fat, old Krueger gets his paychecks signed by me.
I could have fired him after that and destroyed his company by selling it off bit by bit, but that's not my style. People don't learn from cruelty. They learn from discipline, carefully measured and distributed with thoughtful intent.
That's how I lived my life from the days of my childhood, when I was just 13, and needed to balance work and studies and caring for my old man. It's how I made it through a grueling internship and years of shit jobs climbing up the corporate ladder, and how I managed social relationships and dating after being abandoned by the one woman who should have loved me. I lived my life by a strict code of adherence.
Of course, being disciplined didn't mean one didn't deserve a reward for work well done. That's where my assistant came in.
Angela Stratham was everything I could want in an assistant. She was 26, bright, hardworking, and sexy as hell. She had emerald-green eyes and voluptuous curves she didn't mind showing off. We'd started screwing around in my office about six weeks ago when I came into my office late one night to find her naked, draped across my desk. It had been a rough day at work, and she provided me with just the pick me up I needed. We'd been fucking around ever since, but I wouldn't call her my girlfriend — more like a really attentive assistant who gives great head.
At the age of 42, I'd given up dating years ago. Women were always throwing themselves at me, but it wasn't real. I worked hard to stay in shape with regular workouts in the gym, and I knew I had the kind of looks they found attractive. I kept my black hair cropped short, and I'd been told more than once that my gray eyes flecked with blue and gold looked like swirling clouds in the middle of a thunder storm. It was all bullshit, though.
These women who were always flinging themselves weren't interested in me. They didn't want to know the real Ethan Colson; where I was born, what I liked, what my favorite foods, movies, and books were. They didn't want to know about my hopes, fears, dreams, and ambitions. They just knew I was the owner and CEO of the country's top motorcycle company. They only saw the luxurious suites of our corporate offices, the fancy cars I rode around in when I wasn’t on a bike, and the sprawling estate of my Beverly Hills mansion. When they looked at me, they were only seeing dollar signs.
Seeing the way my mother had destroyed my father when she left him had taught me one valuable thing: never open your heart to a woman. There was always a part of my father that was visibly scared. He catered to her every whim, he was vulnerable and cowardly. He had been broken and the wounds never fully healed.
I tried having a girlfriend once in college, but when she broke my heart, I saw just how vulnerable an organ it was, and I knew I was in danger of suffering the same way my father had. So, after that, I vowed never to put my heart in jeopardy again. Sure, there was always a beautiful date on my arm for parties and special events — and don't get me wrong, I got plenty of sex — but I never had a relationship with a woman. It was too messy and put too much at risk, so I always cut them off after a date or two. This office fling with Angela had already gone on too long and it was time to end it.
It's just that I was getting tired of being alone, of waking up each morning to an empty pillow beside me and not have anyone I could talk about my day with at night. I realized I was getting sentimental; I turned my attention back to the incredible feeling of Angela's hot wet mouth on my throbbing cock.
"Suck it, baby. I want you to drink my come." I ran my hands through her hair, encouraging her to work even more enthusiastically.
Just then, my office door swung open and Keith Wilkes stuck his head inside. He had the California-blonde looks that were so prevalent here in the City of Angels. People liked him instantly, which made him the perfect guy to head up my marketing department.
Advertising was my one weak point. I liked designing the bikes, figuring out to streamline them and give them more power, crunching the numbers, and finding ways to make things work. I did not like schmoozing people, asking advertisers and investors for more money, or pandering to customers. I left that up to Keith, and he did a terrific job, netting me millions of dollars over the years. There was no one I trusted more. Still, he didn't need to know the secret dirty deed that was happening under my desk.
"We're about to get started with the selections of the models for next month's magazine. Do you want to sit in?" he asked casually.
Angela was completely hidden under my desk, and he had no idea she was there. Still, hearing his voice startled her, and she jerked up her head. I forced her back down, letting her know I wanted her to keep going, and she continued the blow job while I talked to Keith. The excitement of being so close to getting caught doing something so taboo only heightened my pleasure.
"Have you selected a model for the cover yet?" I asked. I was surprised by how normal my voice sounded, even as Angela sucked my shaft with greater fervor and I felt myself nearing climax at an alarming rate.
"No, not yet. I've narrowed it down to the top dozen, and I was going to see how each of them looked on the bike before making a final choice."
"Great, go ahead. I'll be right there." God, what Angela was doing to me felt incredible. I never wanted the moment to end, but I knew it was about to.
Keith nodded in consent and closed the door behind him as he left. No sooner had it clicked shut than I blew my wad, shooting my hot seed down Angela's throat. She guzzled it eagerly and then licked me clean. Afterwards, she zipped my trousers closed, stood up with a smile, and said, "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Colson?"
"That will be all for now." I flashed her a grin and watched her fine ass sway as she walked away.
Yes, she was a mighty fine assistant. The relaxing blow job she'd given me was just what I needed to clear my mind and focus on the photoshoot. We were preparing to launch a new ad campaign for our newest bike, The All-American. The model chosen would be featured on the cover our publication, Speed Magazine, sitting on the bike. In a town like L.A. that was flooded with beautiful young women anxious to become stars, it was going to be one girl's lucky break.
I'd told Keith I wanted a sexy blonde for the photoshoot, and he didn't disappoint. When I walked into the room, it was filled with a dozen gorgeous young blondes, all dressed in bikinis and high heels.
"These are the finalists. What do you think?" Keith slapped me on the back as he saw me walk in.
"Start putting them on the bike one a time so we can see how they look. When I see the right one, I'll know it."
Keith and I sat side-by-side in chairs as the girls were brought up one at time by Keith's assistant to model with the bike. Some of them were clear professionals and knew how to pose on the motorcycle with perfect poise. Others were clearly a little a lost as they did their best to sit on the bike in a sexy position without falling off. One girl in particular seemed to be having a tough time.
"What's your name?" Keith asked her with a frown as he scribbled swiftly on his tablet.
"Kayla Brandt."
She handed us each a copy of her résumé and a quick glance told me she was 21-years-old. Perfect.
I didn't want the baby-face looks of an 18-year-old, but our cover model still needed to look young and vibrant, with no wrinkles, a perfect body, and large breasts. I knew it was crazy in a town like L.A., but I really wanted a girl with natural breasts and not the kind purchased at a plastic surgeon’s office. There was just something about the way those fake breasts never moved that was a major turn off for me. I wanted a real girl, with real, God-given tits; what could be more All-American than that? And I wanted them to be big and perfectly round with that little bit of bounce that made every guy's dick instantly hard.
This girl had that. Everything about her was fresh, and pure, and as American as apple pie.
The photographer positioned her on the bike while the assistant adjusted her bikini top. Then he started snapping some shots as I read the rest of her résumé. It was disappointedly sparse. She worked full-time as a waitress, had no formal training, and basically no references of note. It was the kind of poor résumé I usually tossed right in the trash, but with this girl, I couldn't. Perhaps it was her lack of experience that I found so attractive. She didn't have any of the pretenses most L.A. models had. Everything about her was natural. I closed her file to just sit back, watch, and enjoy.
Kayla was fumbling awkwardly with her bikini top as she posed with the bike, and I heard the photographer tell her to stretch her arms out towards the handlebars. Suddenly, the strings of her bikini came untied and the top came falling down, giving me a full view of her naked breasts. They were magnificent: full, round, and slightly misshapen in that perfect way that natural tits fall when they're ripe and ready to be devoured. I wanted her like I'd never wanted any woman before.
Blushing furiously, she struggled to cover herself and ended up knocking the bike over. It fell to the floor with a noisy crash, and she ran from the room, clutching her top and crying.
"Good riddance to that mess. We can forget her all together," Keith said, but I'd never been more captivated by a girl in my life. I wanted her to be the new cover girl of Speed Magazine, but after that disaster, it was going to be tough. Still, as I thought of the sweetness of her smile and the perfect way her breasts jiggled as she walked, I knew I had to find a way to make it happen.