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The water beats down and my muscles start to loosen. I stand there, forehead against the tiles while everything swirls in my head. If I can’t convince Marc of my innocence, then I’ll have to settle for the next best thing: clearing my name in the media. I need Ava for that. Because as much as I want my brother to believe me, my priority has to be ensuring the family business isn’t ruined by this.
I’m in charge for a reason, because I know how to prioritise.
Eventually, the hot water brings me back down to earth. I turn off the taps and step out of the shower. Steam swirls and I swipe my hand across the mirror. My reflection is distorted, dark eyes and dark features warped by anger and condensation.
The apartment is silent.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief. I did the right thing walking away from Ava tonight. As much as it wasn’t what I wanted, I need to keep my head in the game. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have needs to take care of.
I towel my body off and head into the bedroom. The upstairs floor of the apartment is mostly open, like a loft. A low metal railing rings the edge, allowing me to look down into the loungeroom and kitchen below. My king-size bed sits in the middle of the space. I need to be quiet.
What is she doing to me?
I flop down on my bed, the springs squeaking under my weight. The cover is soft against my back and cool air prickles along my damp skin. I lie there for a moment, staring into the fractured darkness, watching the lights shimmer outside. I strain, trying to hear if Ava is awake below me. But there’s nothing.
Good.
I run my hand down my stomach and reach for my cock. I’m impossibly hard, even now. The shower did nothing for that—perhaps I should have taken a cold one instead of a hot one. I wrap my hand around myself and squeeze, flexing my hips and tightening my ass. I did this only a few hours ago, but Ava has me hot and bothered again. I can’t let this get out of hand... No pun intended.
The drawer next to my bed has a bottle of lube and I squirt some into my hand, rubbing it up and down the length of my cock, coating myself in it. I close my eyes and press my head back against my pillow, letting myself sink. Behind my shuttered eyes, she’s there. This time I don’t push the fantasy away.
I don’t think about what it means, about whether it’s real or simply a product of this fucked-up situation. I don’t temper myself.
I glide my hand up and down my cock, twisting when I reach the head. My other hand palms my balls. In my mind, she’s here. Stripping off that simple black dress and exposing her curves to me, letting her long dark hair tumble over her tits. I love a woman who’s got hills and valleys, whose thighs touch.
I was that kid who felt nothing toward the actresses of my day, instead getting hard over vintage films with Sophia Loren and Marilyn Monroe. I’ve always been attracted to softer women with flared hips, round bums and cleavage for days.
I stifle a grunt as I jerk myself, tugging on my cock in a way that makes the fantasy rich and bright. I pretend it’s her hand working me over. Her in my bed instead of empty space.
Sex has no place in this arrangement, I know that. Even with Ava sending me mixed signals, I know better. But my libido—which has been forced to take a back seat this past year while I threw myself into taking over the helm of my family’s company—has jumped back into the driver’s seat. I’m hungry, wanting.
I wanther.
Temptation rolls around in my head, like the ball of a pinball machine. She’s the one who laid the suggestion down and opened that door.
I’m hard as marble remembering the way she looked up at me, with big, sultry eyes. Lips parted just so. The muscles in my ass and thighs clench as I squeeze myself, sliding my hand up and down slowly. Deliberately.
Flinging my other arm across my eyes, I thrust into my hand. I try to be quiet, stifling each grunt and groan. It will never be as good as the real thing, but this flickering reel of fantasies pulls me in. I can almost feel the softness of her tongue against my cock, and the tight pressure of her mouth.
I pretend she’s here with me now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ava
ICAN’TSLEEP. I toss and turn until my skin is damp with sweat and my hair sticks to the back of my neck. Why is it so hot in here? Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just me, burning up with the way Daniel looked at me when I propositioned him.
Unsuccessfully, remember? He turned you down.
And why wouldn’t he? His brother is married to freaking Miss Australia.That’sthe calibre of women these brothers will end up with. Not unemployed schoolteachers who come from the burbs. Not Target-wearing, just-scraping-by women who grew up undeniably ordinary.
But I felt something. A connection, a passing of electrical current between us... Didn’t I?
I toss again, my legs twisted in the sheets. I should have packed my vibrator.
“Ugh, why do you do this to yourself?” I stare up into the semidarkness. Outside the city lives and breathes, lights shining, cars gliding, people dancing.
I sit up and rake a hand through my hair. I need a drink of water—somethingto cool me down. My bare feet hit the floorboards and already it’s a relief to my overheated skin. I walk to the door and pull it open. With all these big windows, it’s easy enough to see my way around the apartment. My feet make soft noises against the polished boards as I pad quietly to the kitchen.
