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That’s mine.
I can’t get too attached.
So I head for the shower, letting the hissing cool water ground my mind.
I shouldn’t bait that sweet girl into thinking we’re dating or whatever.
All I want her for is skin therapy.
She’s just another fuck, after all, even if she’s the first one I’ve been excited about in over a year.
I shower off quickly before heading to bed, careful to charge my phone for tomorrow.
I resist the urge to jerk my dick off in the shower, thinking about that little sound she made when I sent her to heaven.
No, better to save it for tomorrow.
The poor woman talks like she’s never had a real man before, and I’m aiming to leave her with enough big dick energy to remember.
Sometimes I feel bad about my fuck-and-release policy, but it’s for everyone’s benefit.
I don’t do relationships.
Not since Uncle Sam owned my balls twenty-four seven after I enlisted at eighteen. Or after I signed them away again to Enguard.
No time for that shit, and no heart to spare.
For me, there’s only time to rock Delia’s universe and hope I don’t leave her totally wrecked for the lucky bastard who finally gives Cinderella the fairy tale she deserves.
* * *
My gut churnsand I’m shaking my head constantly as I pull up to the place.
The mansion could rival the showiest billionaire’s compound with its tall iron gate and a winding driveway that curls on forever.
Sure, I knew the latest rich dick Mom hooked up with was loaded, but it’s hard for me to believe justhowrich this prick really is.
There’s a guardhouse and everything manning the entrance. The slim, perma-frowning older man inside looks like he wants to search my truck for burglary tools.
I flash my badge with a sigh.
What fucking guard wears a suit and tie for perimeter duty outside a formal event, anyway? He looks more like a hotel clerk than an imposing professional.
The kind Bruce Burr employs, apparently.
Jeeves looks closely at my ID before giving me a reluctant nod and waving me through.
Stuck-up prick.
All of them.
Worse, I know it’s just a matter of time before Ma flames out and lands herself in rehab again, sending Mr. Executive running off to his next trophy wife.
For now, he probably thinks he hit the jackpot with a fallen starlet. Her looks are the only thing that haven’t faded yet with the ocean of alcohol she’s thrown at her liver.
I’m sure her husband sees her as something special. The eyes of a newlywed are always blind to flapping red flags.
Whatever.
