Read Online Filthy Gorgeous by Jodi Knight - Free Book Online

pearls, and one of those crazy bird’s nests hats on the side of her head that women think makes them look elegant.
    That aside, she’s filthy rich. Her husband is an investment banker, but rumor has it that she’s a real cougar. I can swing that to my advantage.
    Our guests take their seats. I stand at the front of the room and flash Juliana one of my trademark dimpled smiles. The future happiness of my penis is in her hands.
    Let’s do this.
    Operation Cat Piss, here I come.
    ***
    Well, we did it.
    Not that there was any doubt, but Juliana loved my presentation, and Renée is preparing the contract as we speak.
    Right now, I’ve got more important things on my mind; my dinner date with the delectable Miss Bryant. When it comes to preparing for first time sex with a new partner, market research shows that men spend considerably more money than women. If you think all a man does before a big date is take a shit, a shower, and a shave, you’d be wrong.
    It’s imperative that a guy takes the time to look his best. Women say they don’t care about a guy’s looks and that it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
    Can you say bullshit?
    Women want to be screwed by a Vin Diesel look-alike, not Mr. Stay Puft.
    Luckily I was at the front of the queue when Mother Nature was dishing out the sexy genes. As an added bonus, I have two features that truly set me ahead from the rest of the pack.
    Can you guess what they are?
    That’s right.
    My dimples.
    My smile could melt the panties off a blind feminist. Those little puck marks on either cheek have gotten me out of so many scrapes and into so many beds that Karl thinks they should be made illegal.
    My dimples aren’t just my best friend; they’re my secret weapon. Have you ever been angry at a guy with dimples? Of course you haven’t.
    Go on—try it.
    It’s impossible.
    I know you’re dying to know how Alexander Slade is preparing for tonight’s session of lust with Ella. First of all, and for the second day in succession, I made it chest day at the gym. I performed an extra five hundred sit-ups before booking myself in for an emergency chest wax.
    I’m happy with my body, but even the most aesthetically gifted need the occasional tweaking. Yes—it hurt, but the indignity of a chest, sack, and crack is the price a guy has to pay for passion.
    I look in the mirror. Shall I go for the clean shave or sport a little stubble? This is a tough choice. I’m going with my three-day old scruff. It’s rugged, it’s sexy, and it’s the perfect length to enable me to nestle my face into Ella’s honey pot with little chance of chafe.
    Besides, it makes me look slightly devilish, don’t you think?
    My hair is a shade of dark chocolate. I don’t do gel. I find that women don’t cream up over the Julio Iglesias look. A little wax always does the trick. I pull my hair up in spikes and then ruffle it into a rakish style.
    Women love a rake. I’m told it’s that winning combination of disheveled charm and immorality that get their ovaries trembling. I rummage through the racks of my walk-in closet and decide on a crisp white shirt, dark grey slacks, and a pair of my most expensive brogues.
    Do you see that cabinet over there? The one with the colorful bottles? That’s my cologne cupboard. I have a whole shelf dedicated solely to eau de seduction .
    Impressive, isn’t it?
    There’s a secret to selecting the right scent for a date; you have to match the top notes to the lady in question. I have two options in mind for Ella, but I always let Petie make the final choice. My cock has yet to let me down. Holding a bottle in either hand, I stroll over to his cage. “Okay buddy, which one will it be? The brown bottle with the boozy rum opening and the soft white musk dry down with swirls of sweetness, or the green? This one’s all about the leather and wood.”
    Petie nods to the green bottle.
    I raise an eyebrow. “You sure, buddy?” He bops his head up and down, but I’m not