Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Mr. Lennox
The woman of my dreams is ten feet away from me, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.
I feel like an asshole just sticking her in that room, but I had to get out of there.
It would have killed me to spend one second longer.
I already want to fast-track our time together and skip to the part where I tell her I want her not on the other side of a wall, not through a stupid phone, but with me.
In the meantime, I’m just glad she isn't going back to that place again.
I was wound up so tight last night that I didn’t sleep at all. I just tossed and turned. My bedroom has black-out shades, it’s calibrated to the perfect temperature, and I’ve spent a fortune to make sure I have a perfect night’s sleep every night. Then she came into my life and destroyed all of it.
My cock has been on the verge of exploding since the second I saw her. And then, bringing her to my hotel and having her sleep in a bed I selected myself, on sheets that I chose…I was going out of my mind.
I still am.
And I won’t have my head on straight until she’s here with me in my office. In my home. In my bed.
But she needs to know my true intentions first. She needs to know why I want her.
It's not for some cheap phone call late at night. It isn't for my own selfish needs. I want to make her happy. I want to take care of her. She belongs in a sexy little convertible, her hair blowing in the wind, with me right there beside her.
Am I really so different from the other men who call that place? I'm lonely. I have no one to talk to at night. I have no partner, no woman to come home to, nothing to make my life feel complete.
But I am different from those men. I am so fucking different.
I'll be the only man who speaks to her. The only man who gets to hear her sweet voice. The only man who gets to hold her.
She will never be someone I call in the middle of the night because I'm lonely. I want her to be the reason I'm never lonely again.
I slam my fist on my desk as I unzip my pants and pull out my bulging, aching cock, imagining it’s her soft, wet pussy instead.
I grind my fist up and down my bulging, aching length, smearing the leaking precum from the tip down to the base, and I cum after only a few strokes.
I fall back and sink deeper into my chair, but I’m not satisfied. This release has been meaningless.
This isn't what I want. I need more. I need her. All of her.
Talk isn’t cheap. It’s expensive. And when it comes to Opal, it is priceless.
I get myself cleaned up and head to the windows overlooking the city.
My empire. My lifeless empire.
It may as well all be a sandcastle or an entire city made of playing cards. That’s how tiny all of this feels, as though what I’ve constructed was just artifice all along, something disposable and not worthy of another thought.
I pour myself a drink and try to drown out my thoughts, but it only seems to make me more restless.
The amber liquid burns a path down my throat, warming my chest but doing nothing to ease the ache inside me.
I swirl the crystal tumbler, watching how the rays of sunset catch in the glass, fracturing into tiny prisms across my skin.
The alcohol buzzes through my veins but fails to numb my desire. If anything, it peels back another layer of restraint. My phone sits on my desk, taunting me.
I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I’m at a loss for words when it comes to her.
I plow a hand through my hair and take a final sip of my drink.
I’d better think of something.