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My hand froze, my heart pounding.
Dammit. No, no, no. No.
This couldn't be happening.
But it was. And I couldn't stop myself.
My hands seemed to have a mind of their own, no matter how much my brain protested. Slippery soap and shampoo slid along my fingertips as I tightened my grip around my dick, squeezing it over my slick skin.
A frenzy built up inside me, making every move I made frenetic.
Twisting my hips, I pumped into my own hand. Until the pulses became relentless. Until I could feel I was reaching for the crest.
I closed my eyes and saw Lacey’s big green ones, and I came, groaning out loud into the shower stream.
Breathing heavy, water splashing on my skin, I waited for the waves of pleasure to subside. It took them several seconds before the embarrassment kicked in.
Furious with myself, I finished washing myself, nearly storming out of the glass encasement and bathroom into my adjacent bedroom.
Today, I’m determined to shove yesterday’s 'incident' to the back of my mind, especially with our New York trip for the "Save the Turtles with Ties" event looming—a phrase I never thought I'd utter. Somehow, I'm optimistic about the PR buzz it'll create for the Storm.
Riding this wave of positivity, I find myself at Lacey's favorite cafe on a Thursday afternoon. I order a vegetarian sandwich and an iced vanilla latte, then grab a seat to scroll through my phone while waiting.
The sound of someone approaching my corner table makes me look up, expecting a barista. Instead, I'm met with Vanessa Wellington's gaze.
With her blonde hair tightly pulled back and glasses perched low on her nose, my financial advisor and former childhood friend looks more severe than ever.
"Nessa..." I straighten up. "What a... pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"
"Hello, Aidan," she replies sharply, taking the seat across with a rigid smile. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the Storm's success. They're on fire. You must be proud."
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by her approach.
"Yes, I'm proud," I answer, eyes scanning for my late latte. "But why are you here, Nessa? You're not one for casual visits."
Nessa leans in, her tone shifting. "I've been monitoring the Storm's performance, and it's time to think about diversifying your investments."
As I lean back, ready for a typical financial spiel, Vanessa throws me a curveball, overshadowing my concern for my missing latte.
"I've talked to your father, Gerald, recently."
My heart skips.
"You did what now?" My voice climbs unintentionally.
"Yes," she continues, fingers nervously tapping. "Gerald's been watching the Storm's success and wants to discuss potential joint investments. Can you believe it?”
Believe it?
I feel a wave of heat as my palms sweat. "Nessa, listen," I say, struggling to keep calm, “Gerald is practically a stranger. We've barely spoken in years. He's met my daughter, his granddaughter, once and mistook her for the neighbor's kid." I grind my teeth. "I appreciate the effort, but I have zero interest in investing with Gerald. I'd rather invest in a chocolate fountain for my office."
Nessa laughs, her eyes twinkling. "I get it. But consider this: Gerald might know business. And, let's be real, a chocolate fountain won't rake in much."
"Vanessa," I say through clenched teeth. "I'm not interested."
"I'm sorry if I overstepped," she starts, but I cut her off.
"Nessa, I'm not interested."
