by Alexis Angel
You’re probably wondering what’s been going on with us the past nine months, right? Well now is the time to hear the scoop…
No, Zane and I are not married…yet.
We set a date, next spring. I want to wait until the cherry blossoms are in full bloom and get married in the park.
Zane is fully on board with everything I want, and tells me that I can pick everything. I tell him that all he has to do is show up on the date, and that’s his one and only job.
Ideally, if we can wait until precious little Jasmine is walking, then she can be our flower girl.
I’m already starting on the designing process for my lingerie and I’m working closely with one of my designer friends who tells me she’s willing to exchange the wedding dress for free if I provide her with three months’ worth of lingerie for free.
Obviously, it’s a great deal. The exchange is too good to pass up, and I trust my friend immensely to do a fabulous job at pulling together my gown.
In the end, Zane and I just want what’s best for Jasmine, and I know that begins with our combined effort as a family.
Zane is a changed man, and throughout my pregnancy he always did everything I wanted him to do, even the little things like going out to get me a milkshake at midnight or rubbing my feet after work each night.
Oh yeah, and about work.
Our companies are merged now and work as one giant conglomerate that does the designing and manufacturing all in one.
The name is now Lacy Desirable’s and Tanner Manufacturing.
If you’re guessing that neither one of us wanted to give up our own portion of the name, then you’re absolutely one hundred percent accurate on that front.
“Are we going to go for a walk now?” Zane sits up and looks at me.
“No, I think I’m content just to stay right here on the couch cuddling her.” I smile down at her beautiful little face and she wraps her tiny hand around my index finger.
“She’s so little,” he says and leans back.
“I know, and adorable,” I add.
“Okay, then let’s stay here.” Zane runs a hand through his hair then pats my knee. “We can order in.”
“Pizza?” I look at him, hopeful.
“I can do pizza,” he laughs. “Only if it’s the meat lovers.”
“You macho man, you never know when to quit.” I roll my eyes.
“Hey, it’s in my DNA to always keep my tough guy exterior at the front stage.”
“That is until you come home to us,” I say and kiss his nose. “Then you turn into Mr. Softy.”
“Hey,” he grins and points a finger at me, “I will never go by the name Mr. Softy. I mean, fuck. It just goes against my image, and I don’t want people thinking I have a limp cock.”
I roar with laughter, nearly waking Jasmine.
“Relax, no one on earth thinks you have any trouble in the bedroom, but it doesn’t matter anyway,” I remind him.
“Why is that, peaches?” he says, trying out an annoying pet name that I veto immediately.
“Um, peaches?”
“Yeah, it’s cute just like you.”
“I hate that just as much as you hate Mr. Softy,” I laugh.
“Fine, we’ll just call each other ‘hot as shit’ from now on.” He chuckles and kisses my cheek.
“Will you please stop swearing in front of the baby?” I ask.
“Oh come on.” He rolls his eyes. “She can’t understand us yet.”
“Well eventually she will, so you might as well cut back on it now for practice,” I tease him.
“Fine,” he says and picks up his phone. “Do you want me to order the pizza now?”
“Sure.” I nod.
I’m enjoying our quality time together and I never want to go back to work. I’m having such a great time at home with Jasmine.
Maybe I can hire an assistant who can run the business in the corporate office while I work behind the scenes from home.
It’s an option I’ll weigh when the time gets closer for me to go back to work. For now, I’m going to continue to focus on living in the present moment, and appreciating the simple things in life.
I know. Cliché, right? Well, when you become a parent, you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about.
I mean, fuck, Jasmine is already a week old and I want to stop the clock. There are so many moments now that I want to pause and rewind, and I can’t wait for each of her fantastic milestones to approach.
“Hey, Zane?” I call to him as he walks away to order the food.
“Yeah?” He looks back at me.
“I love you, baby.” I grin.
“Baby, I love you more.” He winks at me.
I hit the jackpot in every way possible.
A Special Treat from the Author
I love ya my fab readers!
I know that like we totes don’t say it enough but this whole thing is about you Angels.
With that in mind, we want to share some more love with you.
After this you’ll find six hot reads attached.
•Cunning Linguist by Alexis Angel
•WineBar by Alexis Angel
•100 Days by Alexis Angel
•Dr. Single Dad by Dark Angel
•Mr. President by Alexis Angel
•D.I.L.F. by Alexis Angel
Thank you so much for reading!!
xoxoxo
Alexis Angel
Cunning Linguist
His body makes me shiver...
But it's his tongue that keeps me satisfied.
I'm not even supposed to like him.
I'm here to shut down his late-night talk show after he goes too far.
Jacob Kent. Body of a god. The bank account of a small country.
His job is to give women their O.
He says he's trying to help them be free.
I think he's trying to help himself.
Until he shows me his "methods" first hand.
And let me tell you, I may have been warned about that silver tongue of his.
But there's only one place I want it now, and I don't want to share.
I've fallen in love with a man who calls himself The Cunning Linguist on TV.
Will he still love me once we roll to credits?
Jake
“So, Mia,” I say, flashing my famous panty-melting grin that I know gets all of the girls wet, “tell me a little more about your orgasms.”
“Jake!” Mia gasps as if my question shocks her, biting her lower lip as her cheeks redden.
That’s how a lot of women respond when they first come on my show. But by the end of the segment, I guarantee Mia’s cheeks won’t be red from embarrassment anymore. They’ll be flushed bright pink with straight up ecstasy as she comes—really fucking hard—screaming my name the entire time.
Whoa, wait, you say? What kind of show is this, you ask? Let me tell you. But I can’t promise I won’t make you a wet, horny mess by the time I’m finished, and you’ll be thanking me for it.
So, yeah, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jake Kent, host of the hit late-night talk show A Cunning Linguist. It’s the most watched cable show in the history of late-night television. With a name like A Cunning Linguist, you can only imagine why.
But just in case your imagination fails you, allow me to enlighten you. Let’s go back a couple years. Back to when I wrote a book by the same name. My book about expert sex techniques and pleasing women in bed was an international bestseller. Insanely successful. I’m talking Fifty Shades levels of flying off the shelves, virtual and print. Because every fucking woman in the entire world wanted to give her man the ultimate guidebook for going down on her.
Yeah, what can I say? I’m a fucking genius. What woman wouldn’t want a book about a good pussy licking? I bet just reading those words are making you wet right now. Am I right?
Wink.
So anyway, after this book broke all the records, the obvious next step was a talk show. B
ut this isn’t just any talk show. Not even close.
Because I’ve taken my desire to help people have satisfying sex to the next level. Instead of telling them how to do it, I show them. Yep. You read that right. Every single night, my show is filmed and broadcast live. And every single night I go down on the featured guest and give her the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life.
I’ve made my fortune as the Cunning Linguist. I can have any woman I want. And I do. On the regular. I’ve heard there are some billionaires out there who might not like so many women throwing themselves at them because of their financial status. Me? I couldn’t fucking care less. You know why? Because I know why the women are really after me. They want my magic tongue. And I’m more than happy to give it to them.
The world fucking needs more orgasms. And not just any old orgasm. Not the kind that barely makes your pussy clench, the kind that only has a hint of a tingle behind it.
Fuck no.
What this world needs is the eyes-rolling-back-in-the-head, brain-short-circuiting, make-you-cum-until-you-can’t-fucking-breathe kind of orgasms. And I’m happy to be of service.
Every woman deserves that. So that’s why I’m here right now with Mia, her blush just starting to fade as I stare earnestly into her eyes.
“It’s okay, Mia,” I assure her. “That’s why you’re here. You’re not alone. Isn’t that right ladies?”
I turn my megawatt grin on the audience full of women, hitting them with the full force of my raw sex appeal. I can practically smell the pheromones as their panties get even wetter than I know they already are.
Cheers and hoots come from the crowd. Damn right that’s why they’re here. They want to see this for themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all come at once while watching me eat Mia out here in a few minutes.
And this episode tonight? It’s going to be one of a kind. The audience doesn’t know it yet—nobody does except Mia, me, and the crew—but the entire encounter is going to be filmed tonight. Typically the camera gets a shot of me moving in, then pans up to the woman I’m pleasuring, capturing the pure bliss on her face as I give her the orgasm of her life. But lately people have been questioning the show. I’ve seen it all over Twitter. People suggesting that the guests are faking it, that I’m not actually going down on them, that the live audience is paid off to say that I am.
What a load of bullshit. My record is fucking unbroken. Not once have I ever gone down on a woman and come up anything less than victorious. The fact that these fuckers want to mess with my reputation and question my credibility pisses me off like nothing else. So we’re going to shut them up once and for all.
Tonight the audience all across the country will see it all live on TV.
Cutting my gaze away from the audience of horny, simpering, panting women, I glance around the set. This studio is fucking awesome. It doesn’t look anything like your typical talk show set. Yeah, we have a couple of cushy chairs, but everything else screams sex—the black and gray studio walls with bright pink accents, and the muted lighting that gives off a dark and mysterious vibe. It’s sleek, modern, and sexy as fuck. It’s my kingdom, and I’m about to make sure everyone knows I’m still the king of muff diving.
“So these orgasms—” I begin again, but Mia cuts me off with a snort.
“If that’s what you can call them.”
I smirk. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Go on…”
“They’re so boring, so routine, so...mediocre,” she says, seeming to forget her earlier embarrassment as her irritation with her less than stellar sex life takes over. “I mean, I never thought I could be bored with sex. But, Jake,” her eyes widen as if she’s horrified, “I am.”
I cluck my tongue sympathetically. My tongue that is about to get busy. “Mia, I hate to hear that. Because if anyone should be having fantastic orgasms, it’s you.”
I give her a knowing smile. See, Mia here runs a blog where she chronicles her exploits. I did my research—or rather, my protégé Toby did it and gave me the rundown—and Mia’s adventures on her blog have gotten worse by the week.
“I don’t know, Jake,” she says miserably. “Maybe I’m just past my prime. Maybe the best sex of my life is behind me.”
At this, I lean forward and grip her knees, squeezing gently. She gasps and bites her lip again, and I smile wider.
“That’s total fucking bullshit, Mia. You’re in your mid-thirties. You’re just now hitting your prime for fuck’s sake. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” I look out at the audience, making sure my face shows just how earnestly I feel about this. “Every woman, no matter what her age, deserves to come really fucking hard as much and as often as she’d like.”
“I’m losing interest in dating, to be honest,” Mia continues with a sigh, but her knees have fallen apart just slightly, and I haven’t moved my hands away. “I even want to get married someday. But I need to know if it’s me. I need you to restore my faith, Jake. I need to know that orgasms can happen for me.”
“Mia,” I say, pitching my voice low and meeting her eyes as I let my fingers drift a little higher on her thighs. Her muscles twitch and her breath comes faster, and I know for a fact it’s not her. So I tell her. “You’ve just been sleeping with the wrong men. Tell me, what do you like? Do you like it slow? Fast? Do you like it hard?”
Mia swallows, her eyes clouding with lust. “I like it slow at first.” Her hands drift to her throat involuntarily and her lips part as her breath hitches. “Then I like it a little faster. Maybe a little harder.”
“Maybe?” I give her a wink and slide my hands even higher, not even needing to push her legs apart because they’re just falling open for me.
A strangled moan escapes her lips. “Definitely harder.”
I chuckle. “That’s what I thought.” I brush my thumbs along her inner thighs. “What else Mia? What do you want?”
Her eyes close and her head falls back, and I take the opportunity to sink to my knees in front of her chair. The audience goes a little crazy, the energy in the studio thrumming through me, just like the blood that’s now pulsing through my own body making my cock hard and throbbing.
Fuck, at times like this I really want to just wrap my hand around my thick shaft and make myself feel as good as the women I pleasure. But I don’t. I never do. This is about them, and I’m not a selfish bastard when it comes to sex. I’m a giver. I give and give and give. And then I give some more.
The heat from Mia’s pussy is practically radiating out like a blazing fire, and I haven’t even touched her yet, despite the fact that she’s now pushing her hips forward, already lost in the moment, trying to make contact. I love that Mia agreed to have everything shown tonight. She’s not ashamed of sex, not like some of the women I’ve coached. She’s just bored. Well, I’m about to take her on the ride of her life.
“Do you like it when someone sucks your clit?” I ask, since she’s already forgotten I asked her a question.
All I get is a moan.
“You know what I think, Mia?” I ask, ready to dive in. There’s nothing I love more than a soaking wet pussy, and I know Mia’s going to taste great. I push her skirt up and hook my thumbs in her thong, yanking it down in one quick motion. “I think your partners just aren’t taking the time to pay attention to you. They’re thinking about themselves and what your body does to them, not about how they can make you feel. They aren’t paying attention to your cues and reactions, so they aren’t hitting the right buttons.”
Mia spreads her legs wide, and the audience is practically vibrating with anticipation. “Show me, Jake. Please,” she begs. “Prove to me that I can still have good orgasms.”
Good? Fuck that. She’s about to have an orgasm that blows her fucking mind. I’m going to show the entire world that I’m one hundred percent the real deal.
With the audience cheering me on, I sink my lips into Mia’s hot, pink pussy, and her hips jerk up at the contact. I don’t hold back. I’m pulling out all my trick
s this time. I don’t have my reputation for nothing. I’m not the host of A Cunning Linguist because I give satisfactory head. Nope. I’m without a doubt the best in the world.
I lick and suck and flick and plunge my tongue into Mia’s dripping pussy, gripping her hips to hold her still because she’s bucking and writhing like a madwoman. Her cries get louder and louder until she’s screaming my name.
And the cameras capture all of it. My head buried between her legs, her quaking body, her pussy that’s starting to pour rivers of cum all over my face.
The audience is going fucking wild like I’ve never heard them before. Glancing up at Mia’s face, I see her eyes roll back in her head.
See? What did I tell you?
Then she gives one final scream—my name of course—and her body lifts up off the chair, then collapses.
I lean back on my heels and wipe my mouth on the jacket of my ten-thousand-dollar suit.
Mia just fucking passed out.
I look at the camera and flash my cockiest grin. That will show all the doubters and haters.
Next thing I know, Toby is running over to help revive Mia. When she looks up at me with awe in her eyes, and says, “You’ve restored my faith in the existence of orgasms,” I think for a second she’s about to declare me the fucking messiah of cunnilingus.
The audience reaches a fever pitch, and I wink for the camera. Once again I’ve over delivered on the promise of a mind-blowing orgasm. I am, in fact, the Cunning Linguist.
Jake
“Dude,” Toby says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That was fucking insane.”
I laugh as I settle down in my desk chair, unknotting my tie and throwing it across my office to land on top of the pussy-juice stained jacket that’s hanging over the arm of my buttery leather couch. This office is a total man cave. I spend a shit ton of time here, so I made sure my interior designer made it comfortable. It’s all dark woods and leather, dark gray walls. I even have a huge, heavy wooden bar imported from Germany off to the side with the most expensive distillations of scotch available.
