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Insatiable (Insatiable #1)

By:J.D. Hawkins

ps up to her slender neck, tracing the soft muscles with my tongue, and bringing my hand to her breast, where I roll her nipple between my fingers.

"Oh God," she groans, drawing out the last word. I've been called worse.

Then the pulse of her body changes from the rhythmic push and pull of my cock thrusts into erratic spasms of pleasure. She squeals, gritting perfect teeth between wide lips. I feel her juice gush over my cock, slamming out of her. Her pussy tightening so sweetly against the base of my dick that it takes every muscle in my body to hold back.

Her legs drop from my waist and back onto the ground. Now it's my turn. I grip her hair in my fist and push her head down towards my cock, and she willingly obliges. She rips off the condom and starts using her mouth. If I thought her pussy was sweet, her lips are even sweeter. She wraps them around the head of my dick, taking my balls in her hand, kneading them like she's conjuring me to come inside her mouth. Her tongue presses up against the curves of my cock like she's sculpting it.

"Suck it," I say. And she does.

I have my hand on her head, but she doesn't need any direction, she knows exactly what she needs to do. She's moaning and stroking herself with her free hand as she sucks, and pretty soon I'm so hot that the second she opens those blue eyes and looks up at me from beneath the strands of her straight blonde hair, I come between the erotic redness of her lips. She licks my cum from around her mouth, her eyes half-closing with sweet pleasure, smiling as she rolls it around in her mouth before swallowing like it's a vintage wine getting her drunk.

She stands up and pulls the strap of her dress back over her shoulder while I button my fly. Once we've adjusted our clothes and set ourselves right we look at each other through now sober eyes, acknowledging a job well done.

I nod towards her torn panties, lying in the center of the alley.

"Sorry about that."

Her eyes narrow into cat-like slits of the brightest blue.

"You have nothing to be sorry about." And then she slinks away, before I can even ask for her number as a courtesy. Not that I do second dates- if that is, in fact, what we just had.

"My kind of girl," I think, "if I had a kind."

Chapter 2


When people ask me what inspired me to become an architect, I tell them the truth: Women.

Of course, people then assume that means the money, and the power, and the lifestyle, but that's not quite true.

You ever see the elegant columns in the hotel off 8th street? I designed those after a weekend in bed with an Amazonian beauty who never took her heels off.

The way the dome on the River Street sports center draws the eye, making you look up and gasp? That's exactly how Sophia, a Latina from the south side, made me feel about her breasts.

And the oval entrance to the Van Nelle skyscraper? The one that makes you think all kinds of pleasure are waiting once you get inside? Well … You get my drift.

Buildings should be beautiful, and women are the most beautiful things on the planet. That connection hasn't steered me wrong; the architecture firm I set up straight out of college has grown from strength to strength, and I'm in a position now where I only take on projects because I want to – rather than need to. We're turning away million-dollar contracts regularly, and we're making enough that we can even do charity-related work for free.

And they still say you should never mix business and pleasure …

I pull up to the new construction site on 23rd in my Ferrari Testarossa. (Yeah, Ferrari's are cliché – but only up to the point at which you actually drive them.) As I roll the car through the entrance, and see the site of what's supposed to be a new museum – my greatest work so far (and an ode to one of the most freaky alternative chicks I ever met) – I lose it.

"The hell is this!?" I shout to Frank, the foreman, jumping out of the car with the engine still growling. "Where's the God-damned crane? You're reeling the supplies up with ropes?"

Frank jogs over as quickly as his pot-belly will let him and opens his hands in apology.

"There's no crane. We got to bring the girders up like this."

"Like hell you do. What good is a site without a crane? Get the damned company on the phone. I'm gonna tear out the throat of whoever's responsible."

"Sure you will," comes a musical voice behind me. "You already slept with his daughter."

I turn around to see the bouncy figure of Luce, my 2nd in command, and owner of the cutest red hair and sweetest smile this side of a Disney cartoon.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

She nods at the girders. "The guy who owns the crane company found out that you slept with his daughter, Claire. Remember her?"

I do a mental rundown of the last handful of women I've pleasured, at least the ones whose names I remember, but this Claire doesn't ring a bell. "No!"

The eye-roll Luce shoots in my direction could cut the dick off a guy before you can even say 'bobbit.' "Of course you don't, Jax. And now it's biting us in the ass. He's got a grudge against you, and held back on the crane rental. I sure hope she was worth it."

"I do too," I reply sincerely, and now Luce can't hold back the grin she's been hiding behind that faux-reproachful expression.

Luce is awesome. She has a way of delivering even the worst news like it's a punchline, and somehow manages to be on top of everything, while making it look effortless. I can already feel my about-to-punch-a-wall anger becoming a how-bad-is-it acceptance. Still, I manage to grunt a few indignant words. Plus I can't look like a tool in front of my crew.

"That was that, this is this. He can't do that." I whip out my phone.

Her scoldy face is back. "He can, and he has. And now you're not the only one who got screwed." She smirks. Point, Luce. "I told yo