I hired Ava for a simple reason. Rich people prefer to bearound beautiful women, and there’s an abundance of aspiring models in Miami. Ava is a professional, but I haven’t missed her lingering glances and shy smiles.
I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship. I had a steady physical coupling with a woman who lived in my building in New York City. It was strictly sex, nothing more. She was a fashion model with honey-blond hair. It was the hair that got me because I don’t usually go for tall, thinner women. I like them shorter, with something to hold on to.
Summer’s pictures infiltrate my memory again.
I need to get laid soon. I wonder if Noelle would fly in for a night.
I consider texting her as I make my way back to my office. We had a consistent but casual relationship before the funeral.
Ava sways her hips as she walks in front of me, but I find myself navigating to my text thread with Summer. I shut my office door before pulling up the pictures of her in the pink lace.
Fuck me.
She sent me three, and if I were more of a gentleman, I would have deleted them. Despite my disciplined nature and self-control, I haven’t been able to talk myself into it.
The first one is my favorite. She’s sitting on the bed, legs spread wide, making her thighs look delicious and grabbable. Her thumb is pressing into her bottom lip, eyes looking directly into the camera. Her nipples are hard and perky. Her breasts are on the smaller side of a C-cup, just enough for a handful. I have big hands, but I know cupping her ass with them wouldn’t quite be feasible.
I groan, leaning forward over my desk. My dick is as hard as stone now. If Summer Sullivan took up any more real estate in my mind, I’d run this company into the ground from sheer neglect. With a few clicks of my mouse, I navigate on my MacBook to the security cameras that show the backyard of the beach bungalow. She’s outside now, talking to a man. I still asmy eyes follow the pixelated version of her on the screen, walking around, pointing out areas on the cinder-block wall that separates our yard and the neighbors.
I wish this damn thing had audio.
The man walks up to her, draping his arm around her shoulders.
I grit my teeth, releasing an exhale and exiting out of the screen. My muscles are tense. I need a good, long workout session and a swim in the salt water of the Atlantic.
After leaving work, I drive to my penthouse and change into my running clothes. I nearly sprint the two miles down to the beach before stripping off my shirt and shoes and diving into the chill water. I swim out, relishing in the waves rapidly cooling down my overheated frame. I tread water for a few minutes while watching the sun begin to dip down over the horizon before finally making it back to shore with long strokes. I pull my shirt over my head and put my shoes back on.
I jog back to my penthouse at a much slower pace, trying to train my thoughts to focus on work-related issues as my clothes dry. I always run in moisture-wicking shorts that dry most of the way before I get home.
Normally, I would be calling my dad on a night like tonight. He would be cooking dinner for Clara and trying out a new bottle of Merlot. I would casually inquire about Summer, and they’d update me on her life. I miss talking to my dad. He was the one person in my life I never felt the need to perform for.
Now, I’m left with my only connection to Summer being thesensual pictures she sent me accidentally andher legal obligation to work with me if she wants any of her inheritance.
I wasn’t supposed to think about the pictures.
I’m riding the elevator to the top of the building when my thoughts take the dark road down to the gutters of my mind.
Her breasts look so soft and sensitive to touch. They weren’t innocent pictures, but somehow, her expression was vulnerable. It makes me want to teach her things.
Once I get to my door, I’m relieved mine is the only one on this floor because my erection is tenting my shorts. I shut the door behind me and walk to the kitchen island, where I left my phone. It only takes seconds to navigate to the pictures I saved in a hidden album.
This is wrong. This is so fucked up and wrong.
I can’t help myself. I’m like a man possessed as I select my favorite one, and it fills the screen. I kick my shoes off.
It’s not enough. I need to see more detail. I want to study the color of her tan lines.
I walk into the living room and grab the remote. I forcefully hit the power button to turn the TV on. Once I select the screen share option on my phone, I’m able to cast the picture to my TV through the Bluetooth connection.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter under my breath as her body fills the screen.
Guilt plagues me like a curse, but it’s not enough to make me stop. Now that the photo is on a seventy-five-inch screen, I can make out the pink slit between her legs and the freckles on the top of her breasts.
She didn’t send these to me. They were meant for another man. She hates me. She would hate me even more if she knew what I was doing.
I still can’t stop.
I reach down and peel off the damp shorts. My dick springsfree, already seeping from the tip. I keep my eyes on her as I sit back down on the couch with a groan, stroking my hand over the velvety skin of my cock. The lotion is all the way in my bedroom, but I can’t force myself away from the picture of Summer on my screen to get it. I spit in my hand and keep rubbing up and down. I picture myself between those thighs, spreading them wider than they already are. I want to see her up close. I want to taste her.
