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Hudson’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Good God. Now I have to deal with another one of you assholes acting like a pussy-whipped moron.”

I don’t have the time or patience to deal with these assholes. “Fuck off.”

Silas howls loud enough to rattle the speakers. “So touchy, Tannie Poo.”

Hudson’s lips flatten, his gaze sharpening like a blade honed on irritation. “Pull your shit together and focus on this call,” he snaps, every word a controlled detonation. “Then you can do whatever you want on your own time.”

I bite back a curse, my voice coming out low and rough, all frayed edges. “Fine,” I grind out. “Let’s get this shit done. I have things to do.” My words vibrate with impatience, every syllable tight with the urge to bolt, to be anywhere but here.

I grit my teeth and power through, but it’s agony. Every time Silas opens his mouth, I want to throttle him. The minutes crawl by, but I manage to keep my shit together.

Hudson’s voice is a wall of command. “We need your final answer on the vendor layout by Tuesday.” He’s relentless, and I am so fucking done.

“Fine. You’ll have it.” My body is locked so tight I might snap something.

Silas launches into a spiel on all the last-minute shit we need to get done. I tune him out, stare at the clock, and fantasize about Star’s hands, Star’s mouth, Star’s body moving on top of mine. I’m hard as a damn rock just thinking about her, and I have to shift in my seat so my sweatpants don’t cut off blood supply to my goddamn cock.

Twenty excruciating minutes later, the meeting comes to an end, and I hang up without saying goodbye.

Freedom.

I practically sprint to the bathroom. I need to shower and get ready for my date.

The master bath is easily the nicest room in my house, and also the one I use the most. White marble stretches from the floor to the counters and halfway up the walls, broken only by navy blue cabinets and the heavy, gleaming fixtures my sister insisted on during the remodel. The glass-walled shower is big enough for a football team, and there’s a rain head, side jets, and a shelf stocked with body wash and shampoo.

I flip the water on and wait for it to hit optimal scald. My shirt and jeans hit the floor, along with my boxers.

The second the hot water hits my back, I let out a groan that echoes around the marble and glass. My muscles loosen in increments, a millimeter at a time. I roll my neck, tilt my face into the spray, and just let the water pound the tension out.

I close my eyes and she’s there. Her voice, soft but wicked, saying, “You can do whatever you want. I’m all yours.” The memory of her hands on my body is so fresh it might as well be happening right now. Her light touch on my back, a brush of fingers on my thigh, her mouth inches from my ear as she corrected my form. Jesus Christ. My fucking brain is turning a yoga session into foreplay.

My cock is hard before I even finish lathering, straining up at me, ready for whatever’s next.

I try to focus on something else. Anything else. Vendor lists. Bull insurance. Even Hudson’s spreadsheet of doom. But every thought boomerangs back to her—her bare feet, her green eyes, the way her yoga pants clung to her stunning curves.

I brace one hand against the slick glass, eyes closed, water streaming down my neck and over my shoulders. My other hand wraps around my cock, and for a second, I’m embarrassed at how desperate I am. But I can’t stop. All I can see is Star—kneeling behind me in yoga, guiding me into place, her hair brushing my arm, her mouth parted just so.

I stroke myself, slow at first, then faster, every jerk sending another jolt of heat down my spine. I imagine her there, on her knees in front of me, eyes locked on mine, her voice a whisper: “You want this, Tanner?” My breath hitches, and I answer aloud, “Fuck yes, Star. I want you.”

Steam fogs up the entire enclosure, blurring the edges of everything, and I let my head fall back, groaning her name under my breath. I picture her straddling me, hands in my hair, nails down my back, her body grinding against mine until neither of us can hold it together. My hips buck, and I’m a split-second from losing it when I picture her coming apart in my arms, her voice saying my name like it’s a prayer and a curse.

I come so goddamn hard my knees nearly buckle. The sound that rips out of my chest booms through the large bathroom. My entire body goes loose, jelly-like, and for a long minute, I just stand there, forehead pressed to the glass, water pelting my shoulders, breathing hard.

Eventually, I rinse myself and shut off the water. The marble is slick under my feet as I step out, reaching for a towel—the biggest one, soft as clouds, monogrammed with my initials. I rub myself dry, every nerve ending singing. Fuck. My cock is still hard as a rock.

I drape the towel over my hips and lean against the counter, letting the cool stone bleed some of the heat out of me. I check the time and see it’s only forty-five minutes until I see her again. About fucking time.