Page 32 of Naughty Nelle

“That’s good.” My voice is monotone.

“Can you forgive me?” She returns to the champagne.

“Yes.” I don’t tell her that I’m not going to forget about this incident. Forgetting anything is the last thing I want to do in my amnesiac state.

“Thank you, darling.” A few fat tears roll down her high cheekbones, taking some of her mascara with them. My eyes stay on her as she rises and repositions herself in front of me. Squatting down, she works the button of my jeans and then yanks down my fly. My big flaccid dick sits parked between my legs.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to make it up to you,” she purrs.

I don’t stir. And then without warning, she dumps the remainder of her champagne on my shaft, soaking my cock, my balls, and my jeans. I jolt from the sudden cold sensation.

“Jesus, Katrina. What the fuck?”

“Do you still love me?” She rolls her tongue around the circumference of my dripping wet crown.

My breath hitches. I seriously don’t know the answer to that question. And it’s like my drenched cock is rolling its eyes and saying: Don’t look at me. I have no clue.

“Show me you love me,” she lilts, gripping the base. Her billowy lips descend on my length and then make their way back up. She repeats the movements, picking up speed. My soft cock doesn’t respond. I just want to tuck it back into my jeans and get away from her.

“Dammit, Brandon. What’s wrong with you?” she growls before going down on me again.

Squeezing my eyes, I groan loudly and almost leap up from my chair. “Christ. What the hell are you doing?”

An unexpected answer. “I’m delivering your sides—the lines you need to rehearse for this week’s upcoming shoot.”

My eyes pop open. Shit. Zoey.

She slaps a folder down on the table. “I’m sorry to interrupt something so important.”

“Zo—”

She cuts me off. “I’m off to a meeting with my dad. I’ll have my phone with me so call or text me if anything else ‘important’ comes up.” In addition to air-quoting the word important, she puts a sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

“No, wait.” My voice takes on urgency that borders on panic. Like I’m silently saying, “Please don’t leave me alone with Katrina.” My cock smarts.

Too late. She stoically marches off after her eyes clash with my fiancée’s.

Sliding my sore cock back into my soaked jeans, I jump up from my chair to tell her what happened, but lithe Katrina springs to her feet simultaneously and shoves me back down.

She snaps at me like a rabid beast. “We have business to finish up here.”

I leap back to my feet and this time I shove her out of the way.

She gasps. I curse under my breath. Zoey’s gone. I grab the file on the table.

“I’m heading back in. I’ve got lines to figure out.” And that’s not all I need to figure out. My mind’s confused; my heart’s confused; and my cock’s confused.

“Fine.” Katrina flings the word at me and then dives into the pool.

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