Claire, the introverted barista from Chicago, has caught the eye of Tradrick Washington III, a seductive and mysterious cowboy with a bank account larger than Montana’s big sky. He’s fallen head over spurs for the bookish young woman from the Windy City.
The newspapers have dubbed Tradrick “The Bozeman Billionaire” and the country’s most eligible bachelor. But what the tabloids don’t know about Trad, is that hidden deep in his sprawling ranch estate is a secret: one so shocking and so taboo that if it were exposed, he may just lose his entire business...and the billions that go with it.
Will Claire be seduced into a world of hedonistic pleasure by the hunky alpha rancher, or will they pay a price for their surprising sins?
A sexy combination of fantasies fulfilled…a dangerous game with a shocking outcome.
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Afterword: Can You Do Me A Favor?
About the Author
"Downtown Chicago is a world away from Montana," Trad thought to himself as he briskly walked down the street.
Trad stood out like a sore thumb, in his well worn cowboy boots, tight blue jeans, heavy Carhartt jacket and dark brown Stetson hat. Despite being in his thirties, his eyes began to show the signs of life on the ranch - crow's feet when he smiled. A girl once described his eyes as "a lost ocean", whatever that meant.
He was late as usual, and he knew his father would be furious. The quarterly meetings with the shareholders were very important - but since moving to rural Montana three years ago, time began to seem more and more unimportant.
Sometimes he would smile thinking back to the life he had before becoming a rancher. Pushed by his father to excel, Trad worked both as an investment banker and an attorney. The youngest partner at the firm. He had a strict regimen for every aspect of his life. He woke at 3:30 in the morning, seven days a week. He worked until 11:30 each night, seven days a week. It left very little time for a social life.
Most of his sexual experiences came by way of high end prostitutes. It was just easier. No wasted time going on dates or using the latest hook-up app. In fact, in his "spare time", what little of it there was, he had actually developed one of the first hook-up apps, a dating tool that specialized in partnering the elite. Once launched and turning a profit, he sold his interest in the app and made quite a pretty penny.
Not that he needed it. Trad had no idea just how much his own personal worth was at this point. He knew it was easily in the billions. When his father was sick earlier that year, he handed the company over to him - making Tradrick Washington III one of the wealthiest men in America.
"Tradrick," he thought, "God, I hate that fucking name."
In prep school he had taken to being called Trad. He would explode if anyone ever referred to him as Tradrick.
In fact, before moving to Montana, Trad's "explosions" had gotten so bad he was enrolled in court appointed therapy. He had learned some tools to help control his temper, but honestly, he rarely used them. He felt that his temper, his hotheadedness, his aggression - was his edge. Plus, it felt damn good to rip a room to shreds just with his words.
The last few months had been a whirlwind. He accepted his father's company, but refused to move back to Chicago. He hated Chicago. Montana was home now. This meant a lot of calls and an occasional fly in, but nothing he couldn't handle. Besides, he could always use these business trips as an excuse to visit some of his favorite upscale hookers in the Windy City. To put it mildly, Montana's working girls had a bit of a different "look" than what Trad was going for.
He had vowed long ago to never settle down. He refused commitment. The very word sickened him to his core. He saw the relationship his own parents had, and vowed he would never repeat the mistakes he witnessed firsthand while growing up.
Besides, no woman was interesting enough for him.
His mind continued to wander as he wove his way through the streets, finally making it to the Washington Building, a landmark of the Chicago skyline which had been in his family for four generations now.
Without realizing it, he had entered the luxury office high-rise with a Marlboro cigarette still dangling from his lips.
"Excuse me, sir," a security guard huffed, "you'll need to put that out!"
Trad ignored the pudgy middle-aged rent-a-cop as he briskly walked past.
"Sir!" The guard howled, "this is a smoke free building!"
Without turning his head, Trad screamed, "and I own this smoke free building, motherfucker!"
Another guard quickly motioned for his associate to politely sit back down as he began to speed walk his way to catch up to Trad.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Washington," the guard said. "Trevor is new here - he didn't recognize you."
Trad shot back, "Fire Trevor immediately. He is no longer welcome in my building." And with that he entered the elevator, flicking his cigarette at the guard just as the doors were closing. He snickered as he began the ascent to the seventy-ninth floor.
As per usual, the meeting was a bore and could have been done via Skype. Trad paid little attention to the board and even less attention to his father, who despite failing health was still able to sit in on these quarterly meetings.
Afterwards father barely said 'hello' to son. He did manage to get in one parting shot before leaving, "Jesus, Trad," his father barked, "you're not the fucking Marlboro Man. Get a suit."
"Fuck off, old man," was Trad's response.
Needless to say, father and son had a very strained relationship.
As the last of the board members made their way out of the boardroom, Trad surveyed the Windy City - the way a lion surveys its kingdom. Despite now being the "Billionaire of Bozeman", as local newspapers back home in Montana had dubbed him, Chicago was his true domain. The view from the seventy-ninth floor was breathtaking. He owned the city.
Trad left the confines of the boardroom and rounded the corner down the hall to his office. It hadn't been touched in months. He did all his work from his laptop in Montana.
Everything was neat and precise and exactly how it was left the last time he stopped through. Fumbling for his key-chain, he fit desk key into lock and opened the top drawer of the mammoth solid oak office desk which had a fine layer of dust on top. He refused to allow anyone in his personal office while he was away.
"I fucking hate offices," he said out loud - despite being alone.
Paging through his black, Moleskin notebook he considered his options before flying out.
Candy, Jasmine, Rose, Grace...
Each girl had an entry in the notebook. A few key characteristics were written down beside their name. Not that he cared, it was simply to appear like he was a true gentlemen.
Candy - blonde, 22y/o, stupid
Jasmine - blonde, 19y/o, big tits
Rose - mixed, young looking, good legs
Grace - brunette w/ dyed hair, tattoos, pierced tongue
The descriptions were helpful, but quite frankly, the women blurred together. What really mattered was what was scrolled on the line under neath name and description:
Candy - blonde, 22y/o, stupid
Great blowjob, swallows
Jasmine - blonde, 19y/o, big tits
Possible lesbian (?), down 4 3sums
Rose - mixed, young looking, good legs
Grace - brunette w/ dyed hair, tattoos, pierced tongue
Anything goes, squirts, etc.
And so it went.
Page after page after page.
He sighed thinking about the options. Sex was a simple business transaction. He shopped around, found something (in this case, someone) he liked, made the purchase, and enjoyed the merchandise. It was just easy. No mind games.
He had been profiled by numerous newspapers and magazines over the years. Since his late teens he was consistently named one of the "most eligible bachelors". Women could smell the money and the power when he walked in a room, and consequently they threw themselves at him. But a relationship meant commitment and trust, and Trad vowed he would never fall for that trap.
He texted Grace and Jasmine. Scheduled a party at his penthouse suite for 9:00 PM that evening.
This will be fun! He thought to himself, before locking down his office for another few months.
By tomorrow morning, I'll be on a plane for Bozeman. And I'll have fucked two of the hottest girls in Chicago! He smiled, for the first time all day.
Lighting another cigarette in the elevator, Trad was greeted by the recently terminated security guard.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Washington," the man said solemnly.
Trad smirked and blew a large puff of smoke in the man's face as he briskly walked past him and out the building.
The Chicago wind whipped him in his face and Trad was surprised by the sudden burst of cold autumn air. Turning left and heading down the street, he found his favorite coffeehouse and decided he needed to fuel up before the big night.
"One espresso," he muttered as he scrolled through his phone, not bothering to look up at the young barista.
"Long day?" The friendly woman asked.
Trad didn't bother to respond. He was quickly deleting all unnecessary emails from his inbox. He texted his assistant:
I want to receive NO more emails,
unless absolutely necessary.
Do your fucking job -
keep my inbox clear you fuck!
He sighed and muttered, "worthless fuck" under his breath.
"Here's that espresso," the girl said.
Finally looking up from his phone, Trad grabbed the drink and made eye contact with the young woman.
Immediately he felt a strange sense of embarrassment by his behavior. The barista was cute, almost pretty in an unconventional way. But there was something about her eyes and her smile that he instantly felt compelled by.
"Sorry," he said, "long day, yes."
"Me too," she smiled, genuinely.
"Is it almost over for you?" He asked.
"No, I just started my shift an hour ago. But this is my second job. I already put in eight hours earlier today," she said.
"Well, you're done for the day," he said.
Opening up his wallet, Trad motioned for the young woman's manager.
Trad began to pull hundreds from his wallet, he set a pile of ten on the counter.
"Here is one thousand dollars," he said.
"What's that for?" The manager asked.
"I am buying her freedom for the day," Trad said confidently, adding, "I am giving you a thousand dollars and she's going to leave right now. You are going to promise me she has a job here still - despite her leaving during a shift like this."
The young barista began to blush. She stammered, "Oh, ah, I can't, I..."
The manager said, "Claire, I'd like to split this with you," as he took five hundred for himself and handed the remaining money to the young woman.
"And I have your word she still has a job here?" Trad asked.
"You have my word," the manager said, "but do you mind me asking where a cowboy like you got this kind of money?"
Trad smiled and put his wallet in his back pocket. "Just luck, I guess."
Claire continued to look overwhelmed and in shock.
"Um, ah, I can't just leave."
"Sure you can, I just bought your freedom for the day," Trad replied with a crooked smile.
"You're not a serial killer are you?"
"Do I look like a serial killer?"
"Look, you can leave now and do whatever. You don't have to go with me anywhere. You said you had a long day, so I just paid to make it shorter for you." And with that, Trad turned and walked out the door.
Claire stood in shock as her manager pushed her to go thank the stranger in cowboy garb.
"Hey, mister!" She yelled out the door, "wanna have a coffee?"
Holding up his espresso, Trad replied, "no thanks - I already got one from this cute girl!"
It was strangely out of character for him to behave like this. It was fun playing the flirting game, but he knew it could only lead to heartbreak, divorce and loosing half of everything. Yet, there was something about this bookish barista that compelled him to be flirtatious.
"Seriously," she smiled, "let me grab a quick cup and let's talk for a few."
Trad slowly walked back towards the coffeeshop and said, "ok, but I'm buying."
"I get it for free - plus you just spent a grand here!" She giggled.
"No ma'am," he replied, "it's my principle - I have to pay. What do you want?"
"I'd love a pumpkin spice latte," Claire added, "extra whipped cream."
Ordering again, this time with the barista by his side, Trad placed the order. "Pumpkin spice latte, extra whipped cream for my friend..."
"My name is Claire," she said, realizing they had not formally exchanged names.
"For my friend, Claire."
Watching the other barista make her drink, and thinking about the fun to be had at nine that evening with Grace and Jasmine, Trad reached for yet another hundred in his wallet.
Placing it on the counter, he said, "hundred bucks for the whipped cream dispenser."
The other barista looked strangely at Trad and then at her manager who quickly walked to the counter grabbing the hundred dollar bill while saying, "Done and done!"
Trad put the dispenser in his messenger bag and handed Claire her pumpkin spice latte.
"Let's walk," he commanded.
Trad was surprised how easy talking with Claire was. He actually couldn't remember the last time he had such a nice, long, pleasant conversation with another human being - let alone such an attractive and fun girl.
The conversations he had with attractive and fun girls were usually just the basics for hiring a hooker - making an agreement on the acts and the cost. But Claire certainly wasn't like his typical high end call girls.
She was nerdy, clearly bookish and her features gave her an unusually cute look. She wouldn't be considered conventionally "hot", but there was something about her that made her extremely attractive.
While they walked the city streets, Trad found himself imagining how hot it would be to fuck this young barista. He also surprised himself by thinking about how he'd like to take her out to dinner as well. He actually didn't know which he'd like more: dinner or sex.
What the fuck is happening to me? He wondered, silently.
He eventually decided he needed to show Claire his penthouse building. Winding their way two blocks east and one more block north, they found themselves walking at a more brisk pace to try to beat the setting sun and the impending crisper, colder air.
"I want to show you something," he said, interrupting Claire who had been talking about her love of knitting.
"Wait, what?" She said, still lost in her own thoughts about the scarf she had begun earlier that week.
"Up there, he said," pointing to a very tall, very luxurious looking building.
"What's up there?" Claire asked.
"My place," he quickly added, "but that's not what I want to show you."
"What do you mean?" She asked again. Claire was intrigued by the strange cowboy, but also didn't want to be the kind of girl who went following strangers she had just met hours earlier.
"I promise, we're not going to my place," Trad assured her, "I mean, this is my building, but we don't have to go onto my floor."
"Wait, what do you mean this is your building?" Claire asked, wide-eyed.
"Oh, ah, well I own this building." Trad said flatly.
"You own the entire building?" The young woman asked in disbelief.
"Yes, and the top floor is where I live when I'm in town. But that's not what I want to show you." He said.
Claire couldn't believe how strange life could be sometimes. Just hours ago she had started her shift at the coffeehouse and this strange, and very good looking cowboy walked in. A cowboy! In downtown Chicago! He was a hard book to read, but she sensed there was a mutual attraction, so she had agreed to go for a walk throughout downtown. Now, here she was at the address of one of the most prestigious high-rises in the United States, and this cowboy was claiming he owned the place!
Impossible! She thought.
Curiosity was getting the better of her, so she agreed to follow the mysterious stranger into the building.
I don't think he'll kill me. She said silently to herself. He's too cute to be a serial killer. Wait! Isn't that what all the girls used to say about Ted Bundy?!
As they entered the massive structure, Claire couldn't believe her eyes. It was by far the nicest building she had ever been in.
The bellhop reassured her immediately when he said, "Good evening, Mr. Washington. How are you and your lady friend, tonight?"
"We're fine, Josh, thanks." Trad replied as he handed the earnest bellhop a bill from his wallet.
"We'll be heading to the rooftop," Trad added.
"Very good, sir." Josh replied as he quickly led Claire and Trad to the elevators.
Claire pushed one of the buttons for the elevators.
"That one is for residents, ma'am," Josh said.
"Oh, ah, I'm sorry," an embarrassed Claire replied.
"We'll be taking Mr. Washington's elevator," the bellhop replied as he held up a pristine gold colored key.
With a sudden ding, the elevator doors opened and the trio got in. Claire noticed there were no buttons inside to press - and no numbers. There were simply two key holes. She watched as Josh put the key into the top hole.
She suffered from slight claustrophobia but she felt safe and warm standing in between the two men. Trad must have sensed her mild fear because, without asking, he put her hand in his.
"Enjoy yourselves," Josh said as they reached the final destination. Of course, Claire assumed this had to be the end of the line - as she found herself on the roof of the beautiful building.
Trad motioned for her to walk across the length of the building to the glass structure far from the small enclosure that housed the elevator.
It was cold and she pulled her coat close to herself in a feeble attempt to get warm.
When they reached the glass house, Trad motioned for her to let herself in.
"Go ahead, open it," he said.
Turning the gold handle, Claire entered the structure. It was breathtaking. The entire house was made of pure glass, affording an amazing view of not only the entire city expanse of Chicago, but of Lake Michigan and of course the beautiful night sky. The moon was full, and Claire realized as she stared into the darkness above that she hadn't seen stars in a very, very long time. The lights and buzz of the massive city always made star gazing impossible.
"It's like we're back in Montana," Trad said wistfully.
"Oh, you live in Montana?" Claire felt her heart sink.
"No one lives in Montana," Trad said forcefully, "Montana let's you live in her - that's what I like about it."
"It must be beautiful there," she replied.
"There's a wild beauty, a rugged beauty, yes," he said.
Claire sat down on the inviting couch and took in her surroundings for a moment. She realized the glass house was the perfect temperature, it was even just a bit too warm.
The sun must warm it naturally all day! She thought.
She also realized that Trad hadn't turned on any lights. It was peacefully dark - but her eyes made out the entire room which was decorated with an inviting modern flair, very masculine, but very refined. The light from the moon and the stars was enough to illuminate Trad and her surroundings.
Trad. She thought. Such a beautiful man. But he seems so distant, maybe even a little dangerous. What am I doing up here?
Sensing her feelings, Trad put down his phone and stood up from the chair he had been in and moved towards her.
The last text he sent moments ago was to Grace and Jasmine, the prostitutes he had scheduled. It read:
Something came up, must cancel.
My assistant will pay you as agreed.
Trad crossed the room, eyes locked on Claire with a lustful intensity.
He's so confident. So strong. So unlike anyone I've ever met. She thought.
Without saying a word, Trad grabbed both her hands, causing Claire to rise to her feet.
Taking her face in between his strong, weathered hands, he leaned in and began to kiss her with a passion that made her instantly tingle from her toes straight up to the crown of her head.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to let go.
Tonight, I'll be one of those bad girls. I'll do whatever he wants. She thought, sinfully.
Trad lifted her off the ground and in one swoop threw her over his shoulder.
He must be a lumberjack - or a potato farmer! She giggled at the sensation of being carried just like a sack of potatoes.
Trad threw her down onto the most comfortable and luxurious bed she had ever felt.
"It's like being in a cloud!" She said out-loud, without thinking.
Trad chuckled, "that was the idea, it's organic goose down with hand woven Egyptian organic cotton."
"For a cowboy, you sure know your bedding," she playfully joked.
"And for a barista, you sure know your lattes," he replied with a smirk and a playfulness in his eyes.
As he began to undress the young woman, she said, "But you didn't have a latte. I did. Pumpkin spice!"
"I know," he replied, "but I'm going to have one now."
And with that he forcefully removed her skirt and panties in one harsh pull.
Claire had never felt such a mixture of fear and excitement before.
Grabbing the last of the latte she had absentmindedly forgot to finish during their walk, Trad slowly poured the frothy beverage all over Claire's silky smooth and now very nude body.
She was surprised and startled, "what about the sheets?!" She said.
Trad put one finger over her mouth to quiet her.
He then parted her lips and inserted his finger into her mouth. She instinctively began to suck as she felt his strong body over hers.
Pulling out his finger, he traced it down the length of her coffee covered body, finding his way to her womanhood.
Slowly parting her legs, he teased her lips and began to tenderly play with her clit. Claire immediately began to get very wet. Her desire for the stranger was more intense than she'd ever felt with any lover before.
"I'm so sticky," she whispered, seductively in his ear.
"Are you referring to the coffee, or to this?" He replied as he inserted his entire finger into her warmth.
"Both," she moaned.
Pulling his finger out of her throbbing pussy, Trad licked himself and said, "you taste so fucking good."
Claire fell deeper into the never-ending comfort of the mattress as Trad's tongue began to lick every inch of her chest. He stopped for awhile and tenderly bit and sucked both nipples.
They looked perfect in the moonlight of the evening.
He continued down her chest, licking the remains of the pumpkin spice latte off the lusty young lady.
Jesus, her body is perfect. Trad thought.
Finally, positioning his head lower and lower, Trad made his way to Claire's very wet pussy. She wrapped her legs tight around his head as his tongue began to dart in, out and all around her salty sweetness.
Trad worked on her clit, sucking and biting it tenderly. The scruff on his beard tickled her silky legs and she stroked his head as he continued to eat her pussy. Eventually, he used a finger to stimulate her while he ate her.
She had never felt like this before. Her entire body was trembling.
"Cum on my face," he ordered.
Claire was shocked by the request but more than willing to oblige.
Trad's tongue continued it's licking, sucking, biting action. Faster and faster and faster. His expertise allowed him to dance between gentle and rough and she knew within moments she would be sent straight to orgasmic heaven.
"Oooooohhhh, ahhhhhhh." she moaned.
Lick, suck, bite. Faster, faster, faster. Gentle, rough.
"Ohhhhhh myyyyyyy goddddddddd," he voice rose to a howl as her entire body shook in pleasure. Without realizing it her legs tightened even more around the cowboy's head and she ground her pussy on his tongue with each pulsating throb as she came.
"Jesus," she said in disbelief.
Trad slowly stood up, and took off his shirt and unzipped his jeans. A rock hard, bulging cock was ready for her.
She couldn't believe his body, which was muscular and toned unlike anyone she had ever been with. He looked like a guy on the cover of a trashy romance novel - all hard muscle and well defined abs. Most importantly, he had an enormous penis.
It must be ten inches! She thought shocked.
Claire crawled towards his manhood and slowly inserted him, inch by inch into her mouth. She was determined to take his entire cock down her throat, as a thank you for the most amazing orgasm of her life.
Trad watched in wonder as the young barista devoured his man meat.
Jesus, she can deep throat better than 99% of the hookers in this town! He thought in wonder.
Claire was determined to reciprocate the pleasure she had just experienced, and began to suck his cock, faster and faster. Using her tongue to dance on the bottom of his shaft, she took great pride in seeing Trad's eyes roll back as his head tilted towards the heavens.
Towering over her tiny body, Trad looked back down at the awkward beauty.
She looks so good with a dick in her mouth! He observed. Her cheekbones caved in as she made the sucking motion, highlighting her catlike eyes and graceful face.
"I want you to cum in my mouth," she moaned in between sucks.
"Not until I fuck you," he ordered.
Pulling Claire to her feet, he turned her around, bent her over so her hands were on the bed and her ass was facing his cock. He parted her legs and slipped in from behind.
Her pussy was extremely tight and warm. More than anything, it was wetter than he was used to.
"You're so wet," he moaned.
"You made me cum," she replied.
The two began their dance as he slowly slipped in and out of her glorious pussy. He felt her warmth and surveyed the city as they fucked. Harder and harder and harder.
She was moaning just the right amount. Not the pornstar-like howls of a call girl, and not the silence of clammy prom night virgin, but the moans of a girl that loved getting fucked.
And Claire truly did love to get fucked.
"You like when I fuck you?" He asked.
"I love it. Fuck me harder!"
Trad began to pound her pussy, his balls slapping against her ass in a rhythmic thunder.
Finally, he pulled out and turned her around with a forceful speed, shoving his massive dick into her mouth and down her throat.
Claire gagged but the rush of his forcefulness sent shivers of pleasure through her body.
He wants me! She thought. He really wants me!
She began to suck even harder and faster than she had ever sucked a guy before. She wanted the stud to know how much she liked her cowboy.
Trad leaned his head back and felt a massive load of thick, hot cum explode into Claire's warm mouth.
She clamped her lips down and felt his pulsating rod shoot several more thick streams of jizz down her throat.
He tastes so good.
Finally releasing his cock from her mouth, she licked the tip, making several cute circles around it and kissing it once for good measure.
Claire licked her lips and used her finger to wipe some of his semen from her chin and she lovingly put it in her mouth.
"You taste so good." She said, licking the last of his cum from her lips and fingers.
"Better than a pumpkin spice latte?" He joked.
They both laughed as they fell into bed in a post orgasmic bliss.
The sunlight pouring onto her sweet face woke young Claire out of her restful slumber. Her eyes darted around the room as she danced in between dreams and reality.
She was still in the glass house, high on top of Chicago. She stood up and realized she was completely naked. She looked out the window and came to another realization: it didn't matter. The building was so high that no one could see in. She was free to be nude and avoid any lookie-loos.
Turning around to wake Trad, her heart sunk as she saw the massive king sized bed was completely empty.
She sat back down and sighed.
I guess I was just a one night stand. She thought as she slowly began to crawl around looking for her discarded clothes from the night before. As she got dressed she realized the billionaire playboy probably just saw her as a quick conquest, maybe even a joke on a dare from his rancher buddies back home: 'see if you can score with the nerdy barista while you're in the big city!'
I'm sure that's what his friends said. She sighed again.
Claire didn't take the time to brush her hair or fix her makeup. She felt used. She felt discarded. A rich man's play toy for the night.
He probably has a wife back home in Montana! She let out one last audible sigh before leaving the glass house forever.
In her self-inflicted sorrow, Claire hadn't bothered to look in the direction of the door. Had she done so earlier, the sight of bellhop Josh wouldn't have come as such a surprise.
"Jesus!" She shrieked, dropping her handbag and all of its contents on the roof.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Josh added, "I didn't mean to startle you."
He quickly bent down to gather her belongings and scurried to place them in her bag.
"It's ok, I just don't know what's going on or where Trad is. I thought I'd see him again, you know?"
She shrugged to the bellhop as if to get some clue on just how many women Trad pulls this little "pump 'em and dump 'em" routine on.
"Ma'am," Josh relied, "I have worked for Mr. Washington for over a decade now and this is the first morning I've been asked to help a lady friend."
Claire felt confused as Josh handed her a note.
The paper was thick and the embossed header read, "Tradrick Washington III".
Below the header was a hand written note:
„Ich bin wirklich begeistert. Auch die Möglichkeit des zusätzlichen eReaders im Abo finde ich persönlich toll.”
„Die Auswahl von Legimi ist großartig.”
„Der Leser findet seine E-Books/Hörbücher sehr schnell und sie lassen sich, ob mit oder ohne Internetverbindung problemlos öffnen.”
Wurm sucht Buch
„Ich finde das Angebot von Legimi richtig toll.”
„Besonders schön finde ich die große Auswahl an möglichen Abo-Modellen und besonders die Abos mit eReader.”
Miss Foxy Reads
„Ich muss sagen, dass ich von dem E-Reader mehr als positiv überrascht bin.”
„Das ist wirklich eine großartige Idee und mal was ganz Anderes.”
Mikka liest das Leben...
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