Pearl (The Pearl Series) by Arianne Richmonde

Author:Arianne Richmonde [Richmonde, Arianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: forty shades of pearl, alpha male, books like fifty shades of grey, romantic suspense, books like crossfire series, arianne richmonde, 40 shades of pearl, the pearl trilogy, France, romance, shimmers of pearl, erotic romance, shadows of pearl, women’s fiction, inspirational romance, erotica, billionaire romance, contemporary romance, multicultural romance
Publisher: Arianne Richmonde
Published: 2013-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

By the time I reached Pearl’s apartment, my heart rate had doubled. Tripled. She hadn’t apologized. She’d been using me. Using me to further her career. And now she was onto the next guy (her next project) without even a blink of one of her big, baby-blue eyes! Her whole “I haven’t had an orgasm forever” was bullshit, obviously. Her little ploy to draw sympathy, to get gullible men like me all worked up and horny. To bring out our macho side—be the one to make her come, be the one to fuck her properly. Clever girl. Clever, clever girl. She’d hooked me in. Now she was moving onto the next guy.

She deserved a fucking Oscar.

Perhaps she won’t even be home. Maybe she’s on that son-of-a-bitch arms dealer’s yacht by now, her lips clamped around a straw sipping cocktails, or worse…her lips clamped around his….ugh! The thought made my brain burn. But my dick was propelling me to her. Just thinking about her was getting me hard. I couldn’t bear the idea of that cocky-faced shit touching her ass—that sexy, curvy ass, or kissing her beautiful lips. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn’t want to let the distance between us encourage some gatecrashing jerk to push his way into her life.

The doorman let me in, and as he was reaching for the landline to call her to announce me, I dashed through the lobby to the service elevator, thought twice and legged it up the back stairs, instead. I couldn’t risk Pearl instructing him not to let me up, or halting the elevator between floors. I’d bang on her kitchen door until she answered—goddamn it, I had to have her. Had to fuck her. Remind her how good we felt together. Remind her that she didn’t want any other man bulldozing his way into her panties. The fact that I, myself, was acting like the biggest bulldozer of all, escaped my one-track mind.

By the time I reached her floor, I was sweating. My tailored suit didn’t help my frantic climb. I banged on her back door outside her kitchen. I stood by the trash bins, my heart pumping as adrenaline surged through me like a lion hunting its prey.

Pearl answered the door. James Brown’s Sex Machine was blaring. Good. She probably hasn’t even heard the phone which is still ringing—the doorman trying to announce me. She stood there, and I swear to God, my dick flexed hard within seconds. I was like an untamed animal. All decorum lost, all manners out the window.

I heard myself actually panting. “That’ll be the doorman on the phone telling you that a rapist is on his way up to fuck you,” I blurted out, not even thinking how crass I sounded.

She looked fucking beautiful, all poised in her business outfit: white shirt and navy blue pencil skirt and high heels. She must have just gotten home from work. My eyes raked her up and down and I even rearranged my crotch—that obvious—I had a hard rod in my pants.

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