It’s for the best.
We don’t need any more complications adding to an already complicated situation. Tonight Isaak’s guys will show up, and tomorrow we can plan with clearer heads.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper furiously at my lap. “Clear heads. Which meansIdo the thinking, not you, asshole.”
No response. Apparently,little headis feeling like a teenager again, too.
I reach over to the coffee table, pick up the bottle of wine, and echo Harper’s actions, tipping the bottle up and taking several swallows of the Cabernet Sauvignon.
Then I keep a modesty pillow covering my lap as I walk uncomfortably across the living room to the primary bedroom. I tried to get Harper or her son or both of them to take the biggest room, but they refused. She looked appalled and said it was bad enough that I was paying for everything. Stubborn as always.
I leave the door cracked, though, so I can hear any noises. After ten more minutes of trying to get myself in check without much luck, I decide a shower is the only option.
I’m rough with myself as I fist my cock, a little angry at my undisciplined flesh considering the circumstances. I try not to think of Harper as I stroke myself—it feels wrong. This is merely a physical release. So I chant prime numbers instead, and let the friction of my hard strokes do the rest.
But not even my usual discipline can stop the image of her from popping into my brain at the last second—her with that wine bottle in her hand, which my twisted mind’s eye can’t help replacing with my cock, gulping me down just like she did the dry red wine.
I release with a shocked, guttural groan across the shower wall, hand slamming out against the granite.
Fuck.
I’m still breathing hard as I grab the handheld showerhead to wash the evidence away. And I’m reminded that, as much as I might feel like the naïve teenage boy I was when I first met her, I’ve become a twisted, kinky motherfucker in the past decade.
Is that something I think I can really turn off, just because she might be back in my life?
She’s clearly made something of herself, learning and mastering an entire artistic craft and raising a whole Goddamn human being who seems like a pretty damn awesome kid.
And meanwhile I’ve… done what?
Thrown away a whole helluva lot of potential and let myself waste away as the semi-successful owner of a sex dungeon?
Even that I haven’t been great at. I had to get bailed out a couple of times by rich friends that I just happened to make along the way because…
Frankly, I didn’t care. About much of anything.
After losing everyone I ever loved, sure, I’ve built a good friend group around the club over the years…
But I never let any of them too close. I never risked letting any of them know therealme.
Hell, I’m not sureIeven know the real me anymore. Except I never felt more real than when I was with Harper.
And that’s too much to put on any one person.
I should have been doing what Harper’s clearly done with the past decade. I should have been working on myself and making myself the best man I could be—so that on the merechancethat I ever ran across her again, I’d be the kind of man who might deserve her.
I count to seven and then slam the water off, annoyed at my old compulsions.
I’m even more annoyed when I flip the water on again. And off. And on. And off. And on. And off again, spraying myself ruthlessly in the face each time.
After the seventh repetition, I’m finally able to drag myself out of the shower and dry off. I glare at my phone, texting Isaak to ask for any updates.
On our way.
comes his immediate reply.
Got some intel on that name you gave us.
I immediately hit the call button as I wrap a towel around my waist. “Talk to me.”