Résultats de "Whitney G." dans Toutes les catégories

Le karma est une belle garce ! J'aime les femmes. Je les adore même. En particulier quand elles sont blondes, pulpeuses, et de préférence quand ce ne sont pas des menteuses... Mais c'est une histoire que je garde pour une prochaine fois. En tant qu'avocat en vogue, je n'ai pas de temps à perdre avec une relation. Je satisfais donc mes besoins avec des femmes que je rencontre en ligne.

My resignation letter was rejected by my boss with his sexy, trademark smirk and an "I highly suggest you read the fine print of your contract...." So, I did. And now I've realized that unless I fake my death, poison him, or find a way to renegotiate my impossible contract, I'm stuck working under one of the cockiest and most ruthless bosses in New York. Then again, I thought that was the case until he called me late last night with an emergency proposition....

My cock has an appetite. A huge and very particular appetite: blond, curvy, and preferably not a f--king liar... (Although that's a story for another day.) As a high-profile lawyer, I don't have time to waste on relationships, so I fulfill my needs by anonymously chatting and sleeping with women I meet online. My rules are simple: one dinner. One night. No repeats. This is only casual sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. At least it was until Alyssa...

Claire Gracen's life is picture perfect. Her career as a marketing director is on the brink of being legendary, and her marriage to her high school sweetheart has never been stronger. No, wait. It has. It used to be amazing and fulfilling, but one day Claire realizes that she's been living a lie and her best friend and husband have committed the ultimate betrayal. Broken and depressed, Claire is in need of something new - new city, new job, new friends.

Thirty days ago, my boss, Mr. Wolf of Wall Street, came to me with an offer I couldn't refuse: Sign my name on the dotted line and pretend to be his fiancée for one month. If I agreed, he would let me out of my employment contract with a "very generous" severance package. The rules were pretty simple: No intimate kissing, no actual sex. Just pretend to love each other for the press, even though I've secretly wanted to knock that sexy smirk off his face since the first day we met.

Kyle Stanton is the cockiest playboy who has ever set foot on this university’s campus. He’s also the last person on earth that I want to interview for my senior thesis. If I hear him utter the phrase “No need to stare, I’ll let you ride it up close and personal, just say the word” one more time, I will scream. At least, those are my initial impressions until he proposes “a perfect deal” that works in our best interest. Until one filthy kiss changes everything, and he shows me a side of himself that makes me fall in love.

"À qui de droit : Je vous écris cette lettre afin de présenter officiellement ma démission de Parker International (et son PDG arrogant et condescendant), prenant effet dans deux semaines à compter de ce jour. Ce fut une décision TRÈS FACILE à prendre, sachant que les deux dernières années ont été absolument horribles.

Well, I was failing to write a sex scene. As an author of more than 50 smut books, I was struggling to do what I did best. So, for fun, I asked one of my best online friends for some help.

The man I fell in love with is a f--king liar. I don't have much time to reveal all the details, but I will say this: The "Woman disappears after wedding" and "Woman flees after honeymoon" headlines are lying. I'm not missing. I didn't run away after my wedding. I would've never run away right after our amazing honeymoon.

Je n'aurais jamais dû accepter cet arrangement... Il y a trente jours, mon patron - M. Wolf, le Loup de Wall Street - m'a fait une offre que je ne pouvais refuser : signer un accord et prétendre être sa fiancée pendant un mois. Si j'acceptais, il mettrait fin à mon contrat de travail avec une " très généreuse " indemnité de départ. Les règles étaient plutôt simples : pas de baisers, pas de sexe.

Dear Hayley, I'm assuming you're still hungover, so I'll make this brief. Last night, you slipped under my sheets (without my permission), and we almost had sex. I got the hell out of the bed once I realized it was you, and I took you home. That's the story. The end. Period. Just in case you've forgotten, you're my best friend's little sister. We will never be anything more. (We can't be anything more.) Our previous friendship is still unresolved - or "over", in your terms, so I'd prefer if we worked on becoming just friends again since you're in town.

The first night I met Gillian Taylor, she claimed she was a pilot. Then she claimed she worked for a "private airline." I knew right then and there that she was lying to me, and that sexy as hell or not, she was the type of woman I needed to avoid. Still, after a pleasurable one-night stand, I was certain we'd never see each other again. Until I saw her in an airport a few weeks later.... Until I realized that we were both assigned to work the same flight. She was the flight attendant. I was the pilot.

Being a doctor in New York City has never been easy. Especially for someone like me, who has a private practice and an incompetent staff who insists on leaving me to fill in for them. When my team finally came to their senses and decided to bring someone more competent into the practice last month, I was actually elated. Until I realized that our new "doctor" was none other than the woman I was supposed to meet for dinner two weeks ago. The same woman who stood me up...

Have I already told you that I hate my boss today? Sexy as hell or not, this pompous, arrogant, ASSHOLE asked me to pick up his dry cleaning the second I walked through the door. Then he told me that I needed to take his Jaguar to a car wash that was ten miles outside of the city, but only after I needed to stand in a never-ending line to buy some type of limited, hundred-dollar watch. I honestly can't wait to see the look on his face two months from now when I tell him that I'm quitting his company and that he can kiss my ass.

I've hated Rachel Dawson since I was seven years old. My next-door neighbor and number-one sworn enemy - she's the reason why almost all of our childhood fights ended with me setting something of hers on fire. (Or, vice versa.) She snitched on me when I broke curfew. I snitched on her when she lied about having a boyfriend. We went back and forth like this throughout high school, both vowing to never talk to each other again when we went off to college. But that was until she showed up at my apartment during my senior year and asked me for a temporary place to stay.

Arizona Turner has been my best friend since fourth grade, even when we hated each other. We've been there for one another through first kisses and first times, and we've been each other's constant when good relationships turned bad. (We even went to colleges that were minutes away from each other.) Throughout the years, and despite what anyone says, we've never crossed the line. Never thought about it. Never wanted to...until one night changed everything. At least, it should've....

I woke up five hours late after a reckless one-night stand with the sexiest, cockiest, and most arrogant man I’ve ever met. My top two clients for my PR company left to my number one competitor, my roommate "accidentally" bleached my favorite suit, and my favorite coffee shop was shut down for "health concerns". Still, none of those things dimmed my excitement for what was supposed to be the best four o’clock signing session of my career. Then that sexy, arrogant one-night stand stepped into my office with a familiar smirk and introduced himself as my new, cocky client....

Charlotte Taylor has three automatic strikes in my book: 1) She hates me. She also claims that I'm a "domineering jerk with a huge, overbearing ego". (I do have something huge. It's not my ego, though.) 2) She takes our mandatory tutoring sessions way too seriously. 3) She's sexy as hell...and a virgin. At least those were her strikes before our study sessions started lasting longer than they were supposed to. Until one innocent kiss became a hundred dirty ones, and until she became the first woman I ever fell hard for.

Please leave your message at the sound of the beep.... Penelope, I know that it’s three o’clock in the morning, but I need to get this off my chest. I can’t give you any more advice on landing this other guy, can’t tell you another “sexy” thing that you should do, or suggest a new set of filthy words that you should text him late at night. As your best friend, I’ve reached my limit, and I can honestly say that he doesn’t deserve you. I’m not saying all of this because I’m f--king jealous, or because he had the audacity to say that he makes more money than me.

Me llamo Andrew Hamilton y soy uno de los mejores abogados de Nueva York. No puedo perder mi tiempo con relaciones románticas, por lo que cubro mis necesidades saliendo con mujeres que conozco de forma anónima a través de una página web de encuentros. Tengo un gusto muy particular: rubias y curvilíneas, que a ser posible no sean unas jodidas mentirosas (aunque eso es otra historia). Mis reglas son muy sencillas: una cena. Una noche. Sin repeticiones. Se trata solo de sexo. Ni más. Ni menos. Por lo menos se trataba de eso hasta que conocí a «Alyssa».