Double fuck.
Breathing heavily, I pull out of Sarah and close my eyes briefly.
Have I completely lost my mind?
Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have just come harder than usual. And all because of Goldilocks.
My blood automatically starts to boil and I welcome it. I hate it. Hate that she makes me feel this way.
“Honey… what are you doing? I wasn’t done.” Sarah’s mewling and annoying voice reaches my ear, reminding me where I am.
“Your loss. I don’t have time. When you’re done with whatever…” I cast a patronizing glance at her wide-spread legs as I get dressed. “Just close the door behind you. The concierge knows.” Without paying any further attention to her, I grab my leather jacket and helmet and head for the door.
“Are you serious? You’re such an asshole, Nicolas,” I hear her hiss behind me, and I laugh out loud.
“Yes, and yet you let me fuck you over and over again. That says more about you than it does about me, sweetheart. I know I’m an asshole.”
With those words, I slam the door behind me and leave. Because even though I’ve just fucked the frustration from my soul, the desire is still there. And not for Sarah.
My cellphone vibrates in my pocket just as I get to the underground car park where my bike is parked. When I see my father’s name on the display, I hesitate briefly. I don’t feel like dealing with him. On the other hand, I’m now the heir to the throne.
Oh fuck, Phil, why?Why did you get so distracted?
My grieving and angry self viciously and murderously whispers a name to me. Over and over again. But at this moment, I manage to push this voice into the background.
“Father?” I pretend to be relaxed, which I definitely am not. My body is under high tension as I wait to see what my old man wants from me this time. Normally, his calls don’t mean anything good.
“Nicolas, I’m surprised that you’re even taking my call,” he says promptly and I take a deep breath without making a sound.
Don’t let him provoke me.
“Oh, even I know how to behave from time to time, and, believe it or not, I’m aware of whose footsteps I’m supposed to follow. And who I’ll never be able to hold a candle to. So save me the innuendo and get to the point.” That came out sharper than I intended, but my frustration level is excessively high today. And my father is my outlet.
Just like Sarah and a certain other woman were,my subconscious sarcastically reiterates, but I’m a pro at not listening.
“As stroppy and overbearing as ever. Very well. Please come to the castle tomorrow morning at ten, we have a lot to discuss—among other things, the conversion of your new living quarters. But above all, how we deal with the press. Also, Nicolas… be on time.” Without waiting for my answer, he hangs up. Resigned, I stare at the display and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Have a good evening too, Dad,” I mumble to myself, and put my phone back in my pocket.
The rift between my father and me has widened so much over the years that I can no longer imagine how to ever bridge it. Every conversation is a battle, another slap in the face, a punch to the gut. And now, I don’t even have my brother anymore—the one who was always my safe haven, the buffer between us.
Without really thinking about what I’m doing, I get on my bike, put on my helmet, and flip the visor down. It’s black and mirrored, because I have no interest in being the headline of yet another sensational story in theHarlington Post. Very few people know who’s hiding under this helmet, and that’s just how I like it.
Slowly, I roll out of the parking garage, staying within the speed limit as I ride down the illuminated avenue near the hotel. The events of the past few hours flash through my mind again.
Ah, fuck.
I twist the throttle and head onto the main road leading out of the city. I need room to breathe.
As soon as I pass the city limits, I rev the engine and speed up. Adrenaline floods my veins as I lean forward, feeling the wind tug at me, watching the landscape blur around me.
Freedom.
For a brief moment, I feel it again. Lightness. Freedom. Carefree. But it doesn’t last long.
This fragile feeling bursts like a bubble the moment I realize where I’m headed. Immediately, I slow down. My stomach knots. Anger and grief surge through my veins.
What happened, Phil? Why did you lose control of your car?
