Knowing I’m not about to hear how she truly sounds when she comes, I lose interest and get up off the edge of my bed while grabbing my phone and turning it on. There’s no chance it’ll be fully charged by now, but there should be more than enough to get the day started.
As the screen loads, I begin rifling through boxes of clothes, trying to find something for work. By the time my phone chimes with a new email, I’m still standing in my bedroom in my birthday suit, and I scan over it before letting out a heavy sigh.
Work doesn’t wait for anybody. Looks like I’ll be heading out for a few days.
A groan rumbles through my chest, and as I glance over the details of my latest trip, the date in the top corner of the screen catches my eye. I pause.
That’s not right.
It’s saying today is the twentieth, only my date with the potential drug fiend was on the eighteenth, which means I wasn’t out cold for just a few hours. I was out for a day and a half.
What the ever-loving fuck? How do I just lose thirty-six fucking hours?
Panic grips my chest, and I hastily exit the email to check what else I’ve missed. My stomach sinks as I find a whole array of new emails.Just fucking great.
I scan over the important ones and try to wrap my head around everything that needs to be done, and with my free hand, I reach for the bag at the top of my closet that stays packed for these last-minute business trips.
It’s not ideal, but work is work, and when there’s a job that needs to be done, I’m the one they call . . . or email, in this case. And unlike many others, I actually enjoy my job, plus I’m at the top of my field. Nobody is better than getting those clients across the line. Getting to close a contract gives me a thrill, and there’s nothing that could ever convince me otherwise.
As for Kiara, I guess the game is on pause for now. She might even get a few nights of peace and quiet, assuming she doesn’t give herself a concussion with all that throwing herself against the wall bullshit she’s currently got going on. But hey, if she’s having fun, then who the hell am I to stop her?
Listening to Kiara’s third fake orgasm for the morning, I grab my wallet and keys off the counter before sliding my phone into my pocket and double-checking I have everything I need. My jet will already be ready and waiting, and with nothing else left to do, I haul ass out the door.
Making my way to the parking garage, I search for spot 305. Only as I turn the corner and raise my key fob, I glance up and come to a complete stop.
“Where the fuck is my car?”
A black Lamborghini Urus is parked diagonally across both the available spaces, and I can only assume that it belongs to Kiara St. James.
Fuck me, how is this woman always five steps ahead? Better yet, how the fuck did she pull this off? My key was on my kitchen counter, exactly where I left it. Did she come in and steal it, maybe take my RS7 for a joyride?
Unlikely. Women who drive Lamborghinis aren’t getting a thrill out of grand theft auto and going on joyrides, but I wouldn’t entirely write that off. Kiara has surprised me at every turn. Maybe stealing cars gets her worked up. Who knows? It’d certainly get my blood pumping.
Refusing to march my ass back up there and knock on her door, I madly search the parking garage, trying to figure out where the hell she stashed my car. After making my way around it four complete times, I come to the realization that it’s not down here.
Should I have anticipated this happening? Yes. But to be fair, the first time I parked directly in the center of the shared parking space, I didn’t read the sign properly. Honest mistake, but every time after that? Well, I get my thrills wherever I can. Just knowing that her sweet face would scrunch up with irritation every time she saw her spot taken brought me the greatest joy, and while I know I should be pissed that my car has vanished out of thin air, I can’t bring myself to be annoyed about it. Hell, I’m fucking thrilled that she takes the bait and plays along. Best foreplay I’ve ever had.
Realizing she most likely had it towed, I make my way out of theparking garage to the street. I can deal with the car when I get back in a few days. It’s not important enough to me, but I like that she tried.
Pulling out my phone, I open the Uber app, but my head whips up with the cry of a car alarm cutting through the street. I follow the sound, and right across the street is my Audi.
“What the fuck?”
As I make my way toward it, a thought occurs to me: what are the chances the alarm went off by itself? Almost impossible, which means my new feisty neighbor is around here somewhere, watching her little creation unfold like a daytime drama.
Glancing around, I come up with nothing on the street. When my gaze sails up the side of the apartment complex, there, standing in the open window of apartment 304, is Kiara St. James, a proud-as-fuck grin stretched across her face.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” she calls, making sure the whole street can hear her. “Did you want me to order that mega strap-on for you? I know we talked about it, but I’m concerned about what kind of impact your fragile little asshole can handle.”
Fuck me.
Pulling the key fob out of my pocket, I unlock the Audi to get the car alarm under control, and as I cross the road and glance up at the third-story window, I can’t help but grin right back at her. “Order it, Firecracker. But remember, I’m only going to let you peg me if you stop calling me by your dad’s name when I’m eight inches deep.”
“Eight? Baby, I’d hate to break it to you, but you’re only packingfive. If you could make it anywhere near eight, I’d be screaming for Jesus, not my father.”
“Just you wait ’til I get my hands on you, Firecracker. You’ll be screaming, alright, but it won’t be for Jesus.”
Something seems to sparkle in Kiara’s stunning green eyes, something dangerous and yet recklessly wild that makes my cock spring to life. “I’ll be counting down the hours.”
