Monday, April 18, 2016

Tapping the Billionaire by Max Monroe

This is the picture




There are 8 more days till this comes out and I got permission from the author to share.



F*ck yes, it is! An excerpt, that is. You may have gotten distracted by Kline. Are we right?

Here's a tiny little taste of our guy. We can't wait until you have the whole meal. ;)

 

Intro

      I’m Kline Brooks.

      Harvard graduate.

      President and CEO of Brooks Media.

      Net worth: $3.5 billion.

      Devilishly handsome. How do I know this? I was prom king two years in a row.

      Highly intelligent. Proof? I can solve any Rubik’s Cube, in front of your face, with magic fingers.

      Certified master of female orgasms. My fingers, my tongue, my cock—I can make you scream, “I’m coming!” before you even realize I’ve removed your panties with my teeth. Not the almost orgasms that spur a pathetic moan and half-ass whimper. No. I’m talking toe-curling, back-arching, earth-shattering Os that will leave your voice hoarse, your body shaking, and pack a punch so powerful you’ll be left a sliver of intensity short of unconscious.

     

      Am I piquing your interest?

     

      Should I mention my cock is the kind of cock that’s actually dick-pic worthy? I’m not talking an average six-inch shaft. I’m talking big. Thick. Smooth. And hard. Especially when there’s work to be done.

       Or maybe all I’ve done is turn you off. Are you thinking I’m like every classless man out there who’s literally a disgrace to my gender?

      The type of spineless dicks who won’t call the next day. The guys who specialize in late-night booty calls but refuse to take a woman out on an actual date. Yeah, you know exactly who I’m talking about. Those idiots who have women thinking staying single for the rest of their lives is a better alternative than dealing with the bullshit that’s running rampant in the dating world.

 

      Well, I’m not that kind of guy.

     

      I say what I mean and mean what I say. I don’t kiss and tell. I call the next day. And if I’m interested in a woman, I will take her out on a date. I’ll open doors for her. I’ll pull out her chair. And I’ll never be the kind of horny bastard who texts dick pics—unless the right woman begs me for them.

      Bottom line, I’m a gentleman. I prefer monogamy to serial dating and fucking my way through New York City. I’ve spent the past few years avoiding the kind of women most would label “gold diggers” and trying out a couple of girlfriends in between. I’ve looked for the kind of woman I want, but lately, I have to admit I haven’t put in as much effort. My focus has been on my company—building it to what it is and then keeping it that way, not only for me, but for all of the people who work so hard for me.

      Until Georgia Cummings.

      She’s fiery, beautiful, has this sassy attitude that demands attention from everyone within her orbit, and is worth way more in value of character than I am in money.

      I don’t know how I missed her.

      I don’t know why it took me so long to really see her.

      Two years, right there in front of my face as my Director of Marketing.

      Maybe it’s because I need to stop drowning myself in work so much. Maybe she didn’t want to be seen.

      No matter the reason, it only took one spur-of-the-minute decision for this remarkable woman to come barreling into my world.

      I wasn’t prepared for her.

      And I sure as hell had no idea she’d knock me on my fucking ass.

      Because the nice guy who believes in real love enough to build his entire fortune from a dating website?

      That’s me.

      And this story?

      Well, that’s us.

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