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Widow Mayfield got the fuck of her life, coming around my cock four times while sweat dripped off my body. Preoccupation with the mess in my head had shut my balls down, but imagining my perfect woman, a demure outside the bedroom librarian-type creaming all over my cock, finally tipped the scales. I filled the condom, my fingertips bruising the widow’s reddened ass cheeks.
She moaned beneath me, her pussy still trying to milk more cum from me, but I was so spent I wanted to topple over and sleep. I pulled out, and she whimpered. Smoothing a hand over her ass, I glanced up at her flushed face. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks. Perspiration dotted her brow.
“Be right back,” I murmured, swiping the sweat from my own forehead.
My legs shook as I shuffled to the bathroom, and for the first time ever, I cursed my stamina and unrelenting brain. A quick cleanup and I wet a washcloth for the widow.
Aftercare was a must for all Elites regardless of how they pleasured clients, but it wasn’t something Widow Mayfield had ever allowed. Independent and refusing to need a man ever again, she always insisted on looking after herself.
There were no soothing words or cuddling as she came down either.
It physically hurt for me to abstain from making sure she was okay. I handed her the towel, and she murmured her thanks, pushing up from where she’d sprawled over the antique oak desk.
“Feeling alright?” I asked, my hands fisted at my sides to keep from reaching for her.
“Mmm.” She refused to look me in the eye, and I gathered my clothes. Less than two minutes later, I grabbed my keys off the file cabinet holding her late husband’s sex toys.
“Thank you,” she said, tugging on her red silk robe.
“My pleasure. Thankyou.” My fake-ass grin bothered the shit out of me, but I turned and left without another word—same as always.
It wasn’t even ten, and I headed to my empty lair, cursing my life. Money, a huge fucking house in Weston, a sweet, cherry-red ’60 Ferrari...
I should have been happy as a pig in its own shit. Should still be riding the high from pleasing a client and finding my own release.
Instead, emptiness like a black void ate at my mind, but I didn’t have tolerance for depression. I refused to let it devour me like it had my father. He’d turned to liquor and had been battling liver issues for months because of his choice to wallow in the “woe is me.”
I started my focus redirection by counting my blessings while exiting the highway. Thinking about all of my accomplishments—supporting my parents and paying Dad’s medical bills. My sharp business mind and health. Youth. The mistakes I’d made that had instilled ethical values deep in my soul. The fact I didn’t waste away behind bars for being an accomplice in assaulting that poor woman all those years ago.
“You’ve got it made, Fox,” I muttered to myself while pulling into my long driveway, my headlights flashing through the trees and over the manicured lawn I paid big bucks to have installed and maintained.
But those things didn’t erase the loneliness in my heart as my dark, silent home welcomed me without open arms.
Maybe finding a submissive woman to share it all with would fill the hollow feelings I couldn’t seem to escape.
Chapter2
Jasmine
Hands clenched on my lap, I peered out the windshield as Dina pulled into Micah Fox’s driveway. “Holy shit, that’s one hell of a house.”
“Told you. Mr. Grumpy Pants has more money than that jerk-off sitting in the Oval Office.”
A snort huffed from my lungs. “I doubt that.”
“Seriously, though.” Dina pulled to a stop and smiled. “He’s a great guy. There’s no need to be afraid.”
I unclenched my hands and unclicked my seatbelt. “I’m not scared.”
“Bullshit.” She climbed out.
Grabbing my purse from between my feet, I followed suit, eyeing the stone monstrosity and all its windows in front of me.
“You’ll have to shake his hand at least,” Dina said while opening her car’s back door and grabbing her bag, “but after that, you’ll be all set.”
“Did you tell him about…you know?” I asked, pulling my purse strap over my shoulder and smoothing a hand over the clingy material of my skirt.
Dina peered at me over the hood of her Saab as she slammed the door. “No, but I will if you want me to.”
