Honey by Jenna Jameson

Author:Jenna Jameson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Inc.
Published: 2014-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“For me the only things of interests are those linked to the heart.”—Audrey Hepburn

Marc came home from his mother’s to find Honey waiting. Only instead of the fabric swatches and paint chips he’d anticipated, she greeted him with candles, champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries—and her nearly naked self.

Draped across two chairs, she was topless except for a men’s silk tie. Shoulders back, legs crossed, and gaze sultry, she greeted him with a slow, sexy scarlet smile. “Like it?” she asked, lifting the tie’s tail and giving it a twirl. “I got it for you.”

On the threshold of the candle-lit dining room, Marc stopped in his tracks, his mouth sucked dry of any saliva, his heart rate ratcheting. Along with the tie, she wore a black thong, black garter belt, black stockings, and black fuck-me pumps. Her hair was pinned high in the front but left loose in the back, waves cascading over one slender shoulder.

Like it? He’d never seen anyone more stunningly sexy in the whole of his life.

Moistening his mouth, he crossed into the room and moved toward her. Play it cool, Sandler, he counseled himself, feeling anything but. Fact was he’d never felt hotter—or hornier—in all of his life, and not only because a beautiful topless woman, Honey, presented herself for his pleasure.

Finding his voice, he finally managed to answer, “I’m not really a tie guy … but it certainly looks good on you.”

“It’s Hermès,” she informed him, turning the tie so that it hung over her back, giving him an unobstructed view of those beautiful, rose-tipped breasts, breasts that he now knew fitted perfectly in his palms.

Mark swallowed—hard. No doubt about it, this girl was definitely getting under his skin. “Expensive?” he said, thinking not only of the tie.

“Very.” Perfect half moon brows lifted. She inhaled and exhaled exquisitely slowly, no doubt knowing what the rise and fall of her diaphragm did to her breasts—and him. “I popped into their store on Madison today.”

Jesus, when he handed her his credit card that morning, he had in mind a trip to Home Depot for housewares and maybe a toiletries run at Duane Reade, not a retail therapy excursion to fancy European fashion designers. “Just like that, huh?”

She nodded. “I had a gift card I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

In the midst of his horniness and hard-on, Marc stiffened. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want you buying me stuff with … his money.”

A tiny frown appeared between her eyes. “The gift card was sent to me by a … previous employer. They send all the girls … employees, past and present, one every Christmas.”

What kind of company sent that caliber of gift card to its former employees? “That’s certainly … hospitable,” he said, making a mental note to revisit the issue of finances, and previous “employers,” later when he wasn’t the only one with his clothes on.

For now, he checked out the prettily set table. A bottle of Veuve Clicqot had been opened and placed in

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