“When you’re Ty Christianson, it is, gorgeous.” I flip her a cheeky wink and leave.
Ty Christianson is back, people.
I pull my phone out and scroll through my contacts, bypassing Pamela after the unfortunate incident the other week. Shit, I still can’t believe that happened. I call Polly instead, a cute redheaded glamour model come stripper with exceptional tits and great legs. She’s a great fuck, but has a mouth like a fucking sewer. Lucky I don’t plan on doing much talking.
“Well, fuck me,” she answers in greeting.
“I plan to. Where are you?”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Polly, sweetheart, I’m not in the mood for conversation today. Where are you?”
“Just leaving the studio.”
“Where? I’ll pick you up in an Uber.”
“Top end of Tottenham Court Road.”
“On my way.”
Polly slips into the car and gives me a coy smile. “Someone had a bad day?”
“Weeks.” I roll my eyes to myself, because I can’t actually fucking believe it’s been that long. “I’ve had a few bad weeks.” I grab the front of her blouse and pull her toward me, getting nose to nose with her. “You’re going to fix it.”
“Happy to oblige,” she whispers, grinning. “I get the feeling there will be no dinner and drinks tonight.”
I kiss her hard, plunging my tongue deeply on a growl. “You got it.” My cock twitches. Fucking, yes! I drop her mouth and order the driver to put his foot down, keen to get home and fuck like an animal. Poor Polly doesn’t know what she’s let herself in for.
Sweating. I’m fucking sweating, my eyes trained on the length of Polly’s spine as I pound into her from behind, yelling my way through it. She screams constantly, egging me on. “That good, baby?” I ask, reaching under her and cupping one of her immense tits. “You want me harder?”
“Yes!”
“Yeah, you do.” I pick up my pace, slamming into her unforgivingly, feeling the slow build of my oh-so-needed climax. “Fuck, yeah.” Releasing her breast, I take her hips again, getting more leverage to carry me to where I need to be. It’s coming. Shit, the power is going to take me out. “Come on,” I roar, closing my eyes and focusing on getting there.
I see Lainey.
“No.” I snap my eyes open and power on, looking down at the back of Polly’s head, seeing her hair swishing and swaying all over the place.
But not vibrant red hair. I see long, glossy dark blonde hair.
“Motherfucker.” I bang into her harder, beginning to panic.
You need to be gentle with it.
Hips.
Hips, hips, hips.
Not the hips I’m currently holding on to.
My cock shrinks in a second—devastating me—and I pull out of Polly’s slick pussy and fall to my back, clenching my head in my hands. This is hopeless. You’d think if I see Lainey, imagine Lainey, it would help me climax. But nooooo. It does the exact fucking opposite. Like my body refuses to settle for the next best thing.
Arghhhhhhhhhh. Twice! Twice I’ve failed to see myself to the end, and twice I’ve failed to get the woman there, too. People will start to talk. My reputation will be in question. Women will avoid me like the fucking plague. I’m a great lover. The perfect mix of selfish and selfless. Good God, I’m ruined. I jump up in a panic and jog to my bathroom, shutting myself inside.
“Hey,” Polly’s affronted yell follows me there. “I’m not done yet.”
I ignore her and lock the door, taking myself to the mirror and grabbing my semi-erect cock. I’m not leaving this room until I’ve come.
“Fuck you, Ty,” Polly yells. “I’m leaving.”
The door slams, and I start to pump, gently at first to get myself hard again, before working up into a smooth fast pace. My breathing goes shallow and the tingles of my pleasure start to engulf me. I drop my head, bracing my spare hand on the side of the sink, my body beginning to roll. “That’s it, Christianson.” I feel my muscles starting to tense under the strain. “It’s there for the taking.” My hand picks up speed, and I glance up to my reflection to find my eyes have darkened. I’m nearly there. Shit, I can feel the pressure riding up to the tip of my cock. I gasp, concentrating hard, looking up to the ceiling. Here it is. Yes. My arm locks and my eyes drop back to the mirror.
And I see her in the reflection, standing behind me, smiling knowingly.
My building climax runs and hides. “Fucking hell,” I choke, dropping my dick and staggering back, falling against the wall. My weak knees give, and I slide down to my naked arse on a bump.
I’m broken.
Ruined.
She broke me.
She fucking broke Ty Christianson.
THE NEXT MORNING, I STOMP down the corridor to my office, as tense as a wolf in a standoff with the pack fucking leader. I barely notice the groggy face of everyone I pass. My only focus is my mission to make it to my office and lock myself inside.
It only occurs to me, as I’m passing Gina’s desk, that my coffee wasn’t waiting for me when I got off the elevator. I stop, looking down at the back of a head resting on the desk, blonde hair a matted mess. I have to hand it to her, she’s here, even if she’s useless. “Hey,” I bark, prompting my assistant to shoot up in a startle of flailing arms.
“What, where, I’ll just put you through.”
“Bad head?” I reach over and pick up the phone, placing it in the cradle.
Gina groans and drags her iPad off her desk, struggling to her feet. “I have your schedule.”
“You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit.”
“Did you get laid?” I ask.
“No, I got mindlessly drunk and snogged Mac.”
I grimace, looking at my assistant in disgust. She’s way too good for him. “Go home, you loser,” I order, marching on to my office.
“No way. You’ll hold it against me forever.”
I slam my door and settle at my desk, skimming through my emails, making sure there’s nothing urgent before our meeting with the social media team. Meetings on a Friday are so fucking uncool. Especially on this particular Friday. I need today to be over pronto so I can resume fixing my worrying problem.
After tidying up my inbox, I head for the conference room, taking a call from Mum on my way. “I’m playing tennis on Sunday,” she declares. “Join me?”
“You and who?” I ask, deciding that if Ted’s name is mentioned, I’m not game.
“Ted.”
“I’m not game.”
“He’s just a friend,” she insists for the thousandth time. “And he’s a great player. I’ve learned so much since he started training me.”
“Bet he’d like to train something else,” I mutter under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’ll see you Sunday,” I say, hanging up. I can resist strangling the old fool if he so much as lays one finger on my mother. Because that kind of resistance is nothing compared to what I’ve endured these past few weeks. Besides, slugging a tennis ball across a net a few hundred times might do me good.