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Once I’m in the master suite, my memories of the curvy girl are even more vivid as I look at my bed covered in the same sheets she curled her fingers around and drenched with her juices. My cock twitches at the thought of that plump body, and the way her slick pussy cushioned my pole as she moaned. Shit, the brunette was so good, so tight, and so responsive. I definitely want more, and I know she didn’t want to leave either.
So where the fuck has she been? Why won’t she take my calls? I pull out my phone and dial her number one last time. Just like the hundreds of times before, I’m sent directly to voicemail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred. Proceed directly to jail.
In a fury, I throw the phone on the floor. This girl has me doing things I’ve never done before. Since when do I obsessively check my phone and keep calling a girl I slept with only once? It should be the other way around, goddammit.
“Sir?” Charles asks, knocking softly before letting himself in my room. Fucker should have waited for an invitation, but my butler’s been with me for ages, so I just sigh.
“Your scotch,” he says formally, setting down a tumbler a quarter filled with amber liquid on a marble coaster.
I take the glass and down it in a single gulp. The liquid burns as it slips down my throat, and I breathe out bitter fumes. Fuck, that burns. But it feels good, and I can feel the warmth settling in my belly already.
“That’ll be all, Charles. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” My butler takes the empty tumbler from me and exits my room, and not a moment too soon because my cock’s begging for relief. At the mere thought of the female, I’ve become painfully enlarged, and I find myself wishing for a photo of Katie or something to use as I jerk myself off to release the frustration. But my memory of her is so vivid that I don’t need a photo—I can remember her smooth, beautiful face contorted in an expression of overwhelming pleasure, and it makes me hornier knowing that I was the cause of that reaction.
I quickly remove my dress slacks and lie back on the bed with my eyes closed. I begin touching myself, imagining it’s her tongue. She’ll slip me into her mouth like a good girl, gently caressing the vein on the bottom of my cock before lightly sucking on the tip. Fuck, that would feel so good. And then she’d take my entire massive length down the back of her throat until her eyes water and she gags.
The vision is so tantalizing that it doesn’t take long for me to finish, white cream spurting all over my hand, virile and hot. And unfortunately, this has been the extent of my sex life since that night with Katie. Every fucking day, I stroke myself to the memory of her tantalizing body and moans, and it drives me crazy. I’m a man who can get any woman he wants, so why am I touching myself like some teenage kid? Shit. I try not to think about how pathetic I feel as I clean up and straighten my slacks.
My phone sits where I threw it on the carpet, and desperate to try again, I pick it up and dial Katie’s number once more. When it goes to voicemail, I’m tempted to throw the cell at the wall this time, but reason prevails. I set it carefully on my nightstand instead.
“Fine,” I mutter bitterly in defeat. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m done.”
As hard as it is, I decide I’m not going to put in that kind of effort for a woman who clearly doesn’t want me. It’s pathetic. It’s pitiful. It’s not what I do. She’s just one random girl I fucked, and there will be many more where she came from. Shit.
Throwing myself back on the bed, I vow to erase her from my memory. But despite my efforts, everything comes back to Katie. Her beautiful face drifts before my mind’s eye, and my hand reaches down to my cock once more, the length already hardening at the image of her beautiful visage. Damn it. And this time, when I climax, an involuntary cry erupts from my throat.
“Fuck,” I grunt, voice hoarse from both the strain and pleasure. “Katie!”
Because I’ve fallen for her completely…but unfortunately, the beautiful brunette isn’t interested.
Chapter Seven
Katie
One year later …
Trentie is crying in his crib. He’s a relatively quiet baby, but it’s like he can sense that something is about to change so he’s using the full ability of his lungs to make sure I don’t forget his presence.
I slip on my dangly, faux diamond earring and walk down the hall to the nursery. Trentie’s gleeful smile when he sees me is enough to make me second-guess going back to work, but I have no choice. It’s been five months since my beautiful baby boy was born, and I’ve spent every day at home making sure he knows just how loved he is. I’ve got enough in my savings account to keep us afloat for a while, but it can’t continue like this forever – I have to go back to work to make a living for me and my child. But as much as it breaks my heart to leave him, I miss working too. After all, I did build the event planning company on my own, and I don’t want to see it fail without my management.
