Jagger
“Are you fucking serious?”
The pissed-off words hit me like a slap of cold air, yanking me out of the black hole I’d apparently fallen into.
My eyes snapped open. The ceiling of the penthouse suite spun for a second before it steadied, and there she was, scrambling backward as she shoved at my chest like she wanted to launch herself into the next room.
Her red hair was wild around her face, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were blazing with pure murder.
My dick was still half-hard and heavy against my thigh, and my briefs were shoved down just enough to let the monster out. I hadn’t even lasted long enough to finish before I’d passed out. She must have been really bad in bed. Usually I at least finished.
I yawned as I slipped off the unused condom. The yawn was loud, the kind that cracked my jaw and made my eyes water, and I stretched my arms over my head, my glorious silk sheets sliding down my hips while she stared at me like I’d just kicked her puppy and laughed about it.
“You fell asleep,” she hissed in a rather lethal voice. “Mid-fuck. You actually fucking fell asleep.”
I blinked up at her, trying to give her an innocent-looking grin. “In my defense, it was a late night. Sometimes these things can’t be helped. I may look like a god, but I am in fact, merely a mortal.”
Her mouth dropped open, snapped shut, and then opened again like a fish that had been dragged up too fast. “You’re unbelievable!”
“You know, you’re actually not the first one to tell me that,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “You should think of it as a compliment, though. You had me so relaxed I passed out…baby.”
She made an incredulous scoff-laugh sound as she leapt off the bed and began hunting for her clothes. “Baby? You don’t even know my fucking name, do you?”
Bending to grab one heel, she tipped forward, ass in the air, and yeah—my cock twitched because I wasn’t dead. But I reminded the big guy that she must have had the bedroom skills of someone who was dead if I fell asleep mid-fuck, so it didn’t need to pay attention.
“Of course I know your name…Lacy.” Or Susy. Was her name Susy? I knew it ended with a y.
Or at least I thought I knew.
“Lacy?” she growled as her face turned a really unattractive purple color. “My name is Cleyo. Pronounced like yoyo.”
Alright, so not a y then. But also…who spelled their name Cleyo? Was she from Utah? Parents tended to give weird names there.
“Danny will call a car for you, Chloe,” I said, assuming I’d misheard her as I nodded toward the elevator.
She froze, straightened, and turned slowly, her eyes narrowed to slits. “I literally just told you my name.”
Okay, so I hadn’t misheard her. This was getting more awkward by the second.
“As I was saying, Danny downstairs will take care of you. Tell him you’re hungry, and he’ll make sure your driver stops by a Starbucks or something. I assume you like Starbucks?”
I wasn’t sure if girls named Cleyo liked Starbucks, but I didn’t want my driver to have to entertain this girl for hours, so it would have to do.
“You’re not even going to beg me to stay?” she asked, suddenly looking like she was going to cry.
Fucking hell.
A guy falls asleep once, and this is what he gets. At least I hadn’t answered a call while I was fucking her. I bet she would have freaked out even more about that.
I shrugged one shoulder. “Chloe—Cleyo I mean, look, you’re hot…you’re fun. But...it’s time to go. If you were looking for a guy who was going to beg you to stay, you picked the wrong penthouse.”
Her cheeks flushed darker, and I sat up, just in case she tried to stab me or something.
It had happened before.
She stepped closer and jabbed a finger at me. “You’re an arrogant prick.”
That was almost…nice compared to some other names that had been thrown my way.
“I am, you’re completely right,” I told her. “And you deserve better, Chloe. You deserve a prince charming who’s going to give you your happily ever after.”
The purple hue of her face went even darker, and I side-eyed my phone in case she passed out and I needed to call for a doctor.
That had also happened.
“Fuck you, Clyde Snow,” she growled before stomping toward the elevator and pounding on the bottom.
Clyde Snow. I’d forgotten I’d given her a fake name. I was beginning to wonder what I did remember from last night at this point.
“Have a good day!” I called as she stalked into the elevator.
All I got was an answering scream. Hopefully she didn’t go for the mirrors on the way down. Those were a bitch to get replaced. They were always back-ordered.
The elevator doors finally closed, and I settled back into my silk sheets. Well, that went well.
But at least on the plus side, my dick was now fully down.
The mattress dipped when I finally swung my legs over the side, silk sheets sliding off me like they were disappointed in my life choices right now.
Maybe they should be disappointed, once again I’d gotten home around five in the morning and woken up in the evening to start another day.
I was like a fucking vampire at this point.
I scrubbed a hand down my face and stood, my bones popping as I stretched, and I considered pants for half a second before dismissing the idea entirely. This was my place. Anyone who showed up unannounced got what they got.
The penthouse was quiet for exactly three seconds, and then the elevator dinged. I didn’t bother turning around or reaching for clothes. I already knew who it was.
The doors slid open, and Maddox strolled in like he owned the place, a foil-wrapped burrito in one hand and his phone in the other, chewing like he’d just won a small but meaningful victory.
He was, as always, in a suit. A perfectly tailored charcoal one that likely cost more than most people’s rent, a crisp white shirt beneath it, and a tie knotted with exacting precision even though it wasn’t even nine in the morning.
Maddox treated suits like a personal brand, the way some men treated cologne or watches.
Maddox’s hair was a deep, inky black, cut clean at the sides and swept back on top with the kind of precision that looked effortless but definitely wasn’t.
His eyes were a deep blue, sharp and watchful, always seeming two steps ahead of whatever room he walked into.
They missed nothing, and women strangely obsessed over them.
Maddox chewed, swallowed, and then glanced around my penthouse with lazy disinterest, completely unfazed by the chaos, the silk sheets, or the fact that I was still naked.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said around a mouthful of eggs, as if this were the most normal scene in the world. “You look like shit.”
“You ever heard of calling before a visit?”
He snorted. “You ever heard of answering your phone when I do call? Well, I guess I didn’t call. But I did text. Twice. Which is basically the same thing. And then I got hungry.”
Maddox took another bite, his eyes sweeping the room, pausing briefly on the abandoned condom wrapper on the nightstand. The woman’s citrus perfume was still hanging in the air, and I’m sure he’d just noticed that as well.
“Fun night?” he asked, smirking.
“I fell asleep mid-sex,” I said flatly. “So I’m not sure my night can be qualified as fun.”
He stopped chewing and then lost it completely. And it wasn’t like he just politely chuckled. He was laughing so hard that he fell forward, one hand braced on his knee, the burrito in his other hand waving dangerously close to the white rug that cost way too much to endure cheap salsa.
Maddox finally straightened, and I contemplated shooting him before deciding that would be more trouble than it was worth.
He took another bite of his burrito. “I guess that’s why you look cranky.”
I stared at him. Then I looked down at myself. Then back at him.
“Seriously?” I snapped. “Nothing?”
He squinted at me like he was trying to figure out what I meant, then followed my line of sight and shrugged. “Oh. That.”
That.
My jaw tightened. “You’ve seen my dick so many times it doesn’t even register anymore?”
He hummed thoughtfully, chewing. “I mean. At this point it’s basically furniture.”
“This happens too much,” I said flatly. “If my dick doesn’t even get a reaction out of you, something in my life has gone deeply wrong. Or your life. You’re seeing too many dicks. Although my dick is so impressive, even that shouldn’t change your reaction.”
Maddox smirked. “Relax. It’s not personal. You could be naked or in a tux. It would have the same effect.”
“Zero?” I pressed.
“Negative, actually,” he said. “I’m actively annoyed.”
I grabbed a pair of pants off the chair and shoved my legs into them, yanking them up with more force than necessary. “You’re supposed to be impressed. Or uncomfortable. Or at least pretend you’ve never seen it before. That’s how a normal person would react to my dick.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he called after me, the words muffled and misshapen around a mouthful of burrito. Bits of tortilla and egg were no doubt threatening to make a break for it as he chewed like he’d never learned basic manners.
I stalked into my kitchen, the one I’d paid an absurd amount of money to have designed exactly the way I wanted it, stainless steel and marble everywhere.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one wall, the city laid out beneath them, and the counters ran wide and uninterrupted, big enough to host something impressive even if I rarely had anyone over to see it.
The fridge was stocked with meals that had been prepared for me because I’d learned a long time ago to focus on what I was good at. Cooking wasn’t one of those things.
I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and downed half of it in one go.
My stomach chose that moment to betray me with a low, unmistakable growl. I paused and scowled at the countertop like it had something to do with this. Then I glanced back over my shoulder because I had just realized whose burrito Maddox was eating.