What we have is far better than most marriages anyway. That alone is enough logic to make this thing easier today.
So why am I restless?
Could be the fact that my dick hasn’t been touched by anyone in three weeks, which is a really fucking long time for me. I can’t even remember the last time I went more than two without sex. Christ, I usually have it two to three times a week. I’ve got an insane amount of women in my contacts, ones just as horny as I am and always down.
I never thought I’d be masturbating like a teenager again, eager to get home so I can take a shower and rub one out.
It’s not something I normally even do. I haven’t needed to. Not in a long time.
I used to save all that built-up frustration and take it out on the weekends.
Looks like those days are long gone.
Five months.
What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to that?
But Jordan wouldn’t have agreed if I hadn’t, and Cole?—
A knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Mr. Grayson?”
“Come in,” I call.
Harper pushes the door open.
I can do anything for five months. I’m Matthew Grayson for Christ’s sake. This is nothing compared to what I’ve already done.
“Sir?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. What?”
“These are the documents that need signing,” she says, holding up a slim folder. “The ones for the Lynch deal.”
Documents.
“Uh…” I wave a hand, distracted. “Just set them on my desk.”
Her brows pinch together. “Um… the Lynch team’s assistant is here. She’s waiting to take them back.”
“Oh. Right.” I snap out of it, leaning forward as she sets them in front of me.
I sign my name. Easy enough.
She flips the page. I sign again. Flip. Sign. Flip. Sign. Over and over until my signature stops meaning anything at all.
“Is, uh… is everything okay, sir?” Harper asks.
I glance up, just briefly enough to register that whatever she’s wearing is wildly inappropriate.
Tits. That’s all I see.
It’s been three goddamn weeks.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
Flip. Sign.
