Page 6 of Finding Storm

I guess I could go home and sleep. I do have an interview first thing tomorrow morning.

I almost laugh out loud.

Go home and sleep.

Some fucking rock star I am.

I bet Jonny wouldn’t have ever turned down the chance to fuck a hot chick.

And now, I’m comparing my libido with my dead father’s.

That’s some Freudian shit right there. My shrink would have a fucking field day with it.

I flick the building ash from my cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

“Can I have one?” She gestures to the smoke in my hand.

Pulling the packet from my pocket, I get one out and hold it out to her.

She crosses the room, letting the door close behind her. Her heels click loudly on the wooden floor.

She takes the cigarette from me, purposely running her nails over my hand.

I feel absolutely nothing.

Not even a flicker of interest.

But that’s nothing new. Not as of late anyway.

She puts the cigarette between her lips. I hold the lighter out. She steps closer, and I light it for her.

She doesn’t move away. She’s so close, I can smell her perfume.

And see right down her top.

And still, I feel nothing.

I watch the smoke slip out of her mouth with her next words. “I’ve heard things about you … good things. My friend Mel said you have a magical tongue.”

That does make me laugh.

So, I’ve banged her friend. Not surprising. I’ve screwed a lot of women.

She smiles, looking pleased.

“I have a magical tongue too,” she tells me.

“That so?” I wonder if I sound as bored as I feel.

“Yep.” She reaches out and trails her finger down my chest, my stomach, stopping at the button of my jeans. “I can show you oblivion, baby.”

I stifle a laugh this time.

As lines go, that was pretty fucking cheesy.

But, honestly, oblivion does sound better than anything I’m feeling—or not feeling—right now.

Her hand moves down, and she cups my dick through my jeans and squeezes.