So this is from Callie and because we haven’t introduced her yet because we’re having a backlog of things to do to get her account set up so she asked me to put up this excerpt!
Excerpt from Beauty and The Beat:
Working in my office, I sway to the music, not really noticing much as I’m working… when I notice a silhouette of a man at the door, and he’s peeking inside.
I stop and tense.
I didn’t even notice him until right now. How long has he been there?
Who can it be?
I gasp as I notice something else.
The man is in without his pants and has an impossibly massive erection. No way that’s his dick. He must be holding a pole. A big, thick, pole? Like a huge microphone stand or something?
Do I need to call security? Like, is this a homeless guy? Or some coked out artist who wandered this way?
I doubt a homeless man made it up this far into Angel Records. So whoever’s massive fucking cock that is…I know it’s slutty but I lick my lips just thinking about stuffing that so far up me and shucking myself on it. I need to get fucking laid.
Clearly, I’ve gone crazy!
He’s probably some drunk artist who don’t know what’s best for him…the man knocks and opens the door, not waiting or anything else resembling common sense like wearing fucking pants and not walking around an office with a raging hard on that could knock down the Hollywood sign.
People say LA is weird, but in all my life living here, I’ve never seen anything like this.
He didn’t even wait for me to say yes.
He has no fucking manners! And don’t listen to what people say. So long as they don’t work in this building, most people in LA are nice.
Well, judging that he’s running around naked, he’s really something else. No manners are only one of the problems.
I grab my ballpoint pen, as self-defense as the door opens. Who knows if he’ll get violent or try to do something else. I keep the pen between my hands.
When I see that cock enter the room first, my pen drops.
That monster is huge. And actually still dripping cum. Holy christ.
My eyes follow up the perfect abs and I’m like, dear God, am I hallucinating?
When my eyes wander all the way up to the man’s actual face and it immediately dawns on me.
“My face is up here, gorgeous,” Aidan Hunter says.
Or better known as Mr. Perfect.
This is the highest paid composer at this label…in the world. The one who keeps the money rolling in. This man is a fucking billionaire and I’ve heard that he has stakes in this company.
I gasp as he comes closer and I get a perfect view of his still dripping cock.
This is probably from the latest conquest but the question is, why is he naked? And in my office to boot?
Is this how the rest of the rich and powerful live? Have they given up on clothes as too much of an inconvenience? Have I been working so hard that I missed LA’s fucking weirdest trend yet?
“Who wrote those lyrics?” He asks me and picks up a folder from my desk.
My eyes widen as it is my plan and he’s holding it front of his still dripping cock.
I press my lips in a thin line even though they tremble a little and grab the folder.
“You’re still dripping,” I tell him, glancing at his cock, speaking a little too fast I think even though I’m trying to keep my cool. “And I’d rather you didn’t do it over my third quarter influencer engagement stats,” I say, snatching the folder back.
See, right now I’m trying to be Tia Fox, badass bitch of the Angel Records marketing department.
All this time in LA, all these celebrities, and now I’m the slobbering fangirl, but I’m pretty sure I’m one half-second away from licking my lips.
I can’t believe it. The rumors are true. Aidan Hunter’s cock is a 12-inch monster.
I wish I could snap a picture. No wonder he’s called Mr. Perfect. Not only is he talented and handsome, but he also packs a very dangerous weapon.
I guess this feels more intimate to me because I was just singing to his song. And he heard me.
“What?” he looks down on his cock and smirks.
“I don’t really care,” he says with a smirk. Aidan’s smile is so charming it should be a crime. His cock is so perfect that indecent exposure should be rewarded.
He’s so fucking cocky that I can’t help my pussy from being attracted to him, but here I am getting wet like a total slut. I don’t really go for cocky men but he has every reason to be proud. That cock’s a beauty.
“You don’t care but I do!” I say, shaking my head. “This is my office,” I say, trying to get him to remember that this is a workplace.
Aidan grins widely, cocking his head to the side with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, I’m here for the lyrics,” he says, leaning against the door frame. “Who wrote them? Because that’s my song. And I need the lyricist who wrote those incredible words.”
I can’t help but blush.
Not only was I singing out loud but the composer heard them. Aidan Hunter wants the lyrics I wrote to his song.
“So?” He asks me.
“I wrote them, and I just made them up now,” I say, grabbing several more folders and starting to head back to my desk. “I am very busy doing clothed work,” I continue.
“You just made them up?” He grabs my folders, following me, and puts them on my desk. Aidan points to my phone. “Whatever you’re working on, finish it up, baby, because I want that magical mind and voice at work on this song. You’re the key.”
A nervous laugh dares to slip from my lips, but I shake my hair, the long waves flowing while I have a second to regain my cool.
“You liked those words, but I didn’t write them down,” I tell him, putting a hand on my hip.
Aidan puts his hands up. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, laughing as a wide smile spreads across his face. “You just made that up, then there’s more of that magic. And at 7, my driver is going to pick you up and we’ll make more music at my condo.”
It wasn’t a question.
And I’m not some bimbo. I mean, I see what he did there.
Narrowing my eyes, I let a small grin start on my lips. “Will you be wearing pants?” I quip.
He laughs, running a hand through his hair.
Fuck, the sight of Aidan doing anything—just on his face even—is a flood of arousal in my now drenched thong.
“Does it matter?” He asks me.
His voice a seduction of its own. I roam my eyes over him.
My body is saying yes and wanting him to fuck me. I want to find out if what they say about him is fucking true. And he’s a freelancer, it isn’t like he works for Angel Records as an employee or anywhere near my department.
I can make any kind of fucking music I want with him.
“See you at 7,” I tell him, handing him my phone as I sit at my desk.
Aidan puts his number in my phone, then hands it back.
“See you then…?” He laughs. “I really try to know a woman’s name before she sees my dick,” Aidan laughs.
“Tia Fox,” I tell him. “Tell your driver.”
With a million-dollar smile and a nod, Aidan Hunter walks out of my office.
I watch that perfect ass and wonder what the fuck I just agreed to.