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My blood rushed faster, my dick only getting harder. I skimmed my palm over the end, hissing at how good it felt. None of this would compare to a real-life encounter with Ariel, but that remained firmly in the never-going-to-happen box, so this was all I had.
With my free hand, I tugged on my balls, imagining her mouth on me. Hastily, I grabbed the hem of my shirt to pull it out of the way of my belly.
Or maybe she’d wanted Valentine.
I blinked open my eyes, jolted from my fantasy.
What the fuck? No one else had ever intruded on my alone time before.
My mind supplied an image of Ariel propositioning my long-haired housemate in the way she had me.
I sat bolt upright, my approaching orgasm fizzling out and my erection wilting. Fuck, no.
I hated the idea. Hated how he’d teased me about it, too. Even though I’d refused her and probably set her on the path to hating me.
My phone buzzed, flashing bright in my jeans on the floor. With a groan, I peered to look at the screen.
Ma,it read.
If my errant thoughts had messed up my jacking-off session, this killed it stone dead. I slumped back on the bed, letting the call go to voicemail. I didn’t want to hear whatever she had to say. There would be some demand, some chiding of me, all based on something I couldn’t forgive. My mother had made her choices, and I’d made mine.
Feeling no better than before, I unlocked the door and headed to take a shower, finishing with it on icy cold in the desperate hope that it might make me feel better. Spoiler—it didn’t.
Then back in my room, dressed to armour myself, I gave in to the inevitable.
I hit ‘play’ on my mother’s message.
“Jackson, pick up the phone,” she demanded, her little dog yapping in the background. “I want ye to come to the house. I need your help with something important. I know what you’re going to say, but stop being stubborn. My son holding me hostage. It hurts me that you’re refusing to be involved. Come this Saturday for dinner. I’ll keep calling until ye answer and accept.”
Unhappiness replaced the last of my feelgood emotions.
Refusing to be involvedmade me assume she needed me for something I’d never do. Another court case or a parole hearing. Fuck that.
How had I become the villain? I hated the life she’d made for herself, or more specifically with whom she’d made it, but what kind of son refused to see his mother? I was her only child since Lisa-Marie had died.
If I saw her, it meant a refusal of what she wanted from me, and therefore a fight. Maybe even physical if her bastard of a husband got involved.
For a moment, I desperately needed a soft body to hold. To bury myself in so I could forget the pain.
I wanted Ariel.
But I was alone, and that would never change.
Chapter 8
Ariel
The thud of the apartment door shutting broke my sleep. Daisy slumbered peacefully on the other side of my double bed.
My dreams had been plagued by a tall, dark, and handsome bodyguard. Probably the fault of alcohol, which I’d consumed more of after he’d left. In each of my dream scenarios, we were interrupted before he could touch me, which was a good thing considering I wasn’t alone in bed.
Besides, he’d said no. He’d flat out rejected me, it had inexplicably hurt, and I didn’t want the reminder, not even in my sleep.
A faint whistling told me the incomer was Raphael, home after training all night in his helicopter. A minute later, the microwave beeped. If he was reheating food instead of prepping something fresh, my brother had to be exhausted.
I climbed out of bed, stuffed my feet into slippers, grabbed my fluffy dressing gown, and quietly crossed the room.
“What time is it?” Daisy asked.
