That's why I valued Katherine. She knew boundaries—didn't look where she shouldn't, didn't ask what she shouldn't. Smart women like her were ideal: quiet, efficient, no extra hassle.
Chloe Bennett was the opposite. Loud, reckless, crude—the type I usually steered clear of.
But hell, today she'd piqued my interest, almost making me forget Julian's mess that needed handling.
I sipped the coffee, flipped open the folder.
Julian, my half-brother, my rival, my biggest headache right now. Last week, he'd leaked negative stories to three major outlets, accusing our South African mines of labor issues. All fabricated, but PR still burned time and cash. That was his goal—distract me while he schemed in the shadows.
I spent two hours wrapping it up, three calls with lawyers, and finalized my edited version.
Closing the file, I rubbed my temples and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. New York's night sprawled from the 47th floor, lights blazing like an ignited sea of stars.
The wall clock hit ten. Way past quitting time.
Working late was routine for me. My schedule was packed with tasks; I'd adapted to the grind.
But sometimes, it felt dull.
Maybe that's why that loud, vulgar woman had caught my eye.
The next morning at six, I woke before the alarm.
More like my body woke me.
I'd had a filthy wet dream, set in that damn elevator.
Chloe stood there, hands crossed on her shirt hem, yanking it up. Those big, soft tits bounced out, heavy and swaying, pink nipples already stiff. She cupped them, squeezed hard, flesh spilling through her fingers, looking up at me with a slutty gaze, lips curved in a teasing smile.
Then she hiked her skirt to her waist, exposing her bare pussy. Legs spread wide, one hooked around my waist, totally open, offering that pink, wet slit right up. Her lips were swollen, shiny, juices trickling down her thighs.
She was aggressive as fuck. I grabbed her and slammed in. The elevator echoed with her slutty moans as we fucked hard and fast. She hung on me, tits bouncing against my chest, me kissing and licking.
The dream felt too real. I woke with my heart pounding, groin warm and sticky, cooling from hot to tacky cum.
I looked down. My boxers were soaked.
Fuck.
I threw off the covers, yanked off the ruined boxers, and tossed them in the bathroom hamper. Under the shower, hot water pouring, my mind replayed Chloe lifting her skirt, pressing against me. Couldn't shake it.
I gripped my still-aching, veined cock, stroking firm and steady. Eyes closed, all I saw was Chloe's innocent-yet-horny face in climax.
Breaths got heavier, hand speeding up, jerking fast and rough.
When I came, I cursed low, thick spurts hitting the shower wall.
I leaned against the tile, catching my breath, mind blank.
Damn... when had I sunk to needing fantasies of a woman to get off?
I dried my hair and tied my tie in the mirror. The reflection was cool, alert, just with a worse scowl than usual.
Probably pushing myself too hard lately. Julian's shit, Vito's issues, family cracks popping up one after another, three weeks of under-four-hour sleeps. Body protesting its way.
Time for some fun, and right now, there was a prime candidate.
I dialed Luca.
