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ChapterThree
Eden
When I finally got home, I dropped my things right at the front door and stretched my arms over my head, a futile attempt to reduce the ache embedded in my shoulders.
It never worked.
My furnished condo overlooked the ocean, and the view always pulled me to the balcony. I unlocked the slider and stepped outside. A breeze off the water kicked up, brushing my hair away from my shoulders and caressing my face. I plopped down on the lounger next to me and kicked off my five-inch stiletto heels. As I sat back, a small sliver of relaxation buried itself into the marrow of my bones.
This condo was one of the few splurges I awarded myself. Well, that and my ridiculously expensive shoe collection. With the stress of my job, an evening escape was a luxury I couldn’t forgo—and nothing brought me as much peace as the ocean. Just as I closed my eyes, my phone dinged several times from the entry table by the door and I groaned.
Whether I liked it or not, I was a slave to my cell phone. Not because I enjoyed it, but because there was always something or someone that needed my immediate attention. I sighed and abandoned my short-lived escape, walking to where the incessant beeping continued.
I picked it up to see a text from my sister along with a link to an article:
You’ve got to admit, he’s hot as fuck. Enjoy!‘BILLIONAIRE DOMINIK DRAKE DOESN’T CARE IF YOU LIKE HIM…’
I wasn’t really in the mood, but I clicked out of genuine curiosity. Em knows I can never say no once my interest is peaked, and as much as I didn’t care for the man, I couldn’t help but see just exactly who my sister will be pinning her hopes and dreams on.
A GQ article appeared, and at first glance of the cover, I could already tell he’s not my type. He’s sitting at a large, expensive desk with his arms crossed, ever the brooding billionaire we’d all expect. His muscles were bunched and flexed through the photo and even though his dark hair and blue eyes were captivating, I could feel his dominance and arrogance creep through the sentences.
I automatically wanted to slap him, but I read on.
As I scrolled down, more photos of him popped up. One is at a charity event. He’s wearing a three-piece suit that’s probably double my rent and his hair is slicked back in a way that makes his blue eyes pop. He’s intriguing, I’ll say. His looks are at least. His eyes pull me in, and for a second, I imagine there might be something hidden behind his predatory stare, but then I realized that’s just good editing and keep browsing.
I scrolled down further and froze when I saw a shirtless photo of him. He was sitting on a stool in front of a simple, gray backdrop and his muscular arm was propped on his thigh, seeming casual, but appearing cocky. I stared at the corded and smooth planes of his muscular chest. The man was ripped beyond belief and even though the gym rat look wasn’t really my thing, I couldn’t help but admit that yes, he was definitely hot.
Actually, hot wasn’t the right word. In fact, I wasn’t sure there was a word to embody the way he made me feel at that moment. Achy? Needy? Angry?
You’re a fucking hypocrite, Eden. I told myself.
In my book, desiring a man like Dominik Drake was the moral equivalent to ‘selling out’. Men with money, arrogance, and a disregard for others were far too common in this world. The last thing they needed was more women falling at their feet. Yet here I was, still staring at his shirtless image, unwilling to scroll away just yet.
I once read that there’s a fine line between hate and desire. Maybe that’s what this momentary attraction was. An angry passion that was instigated by the fact that it had been way too long since I’d had good sex. Or even good solo sex. Work always had a way of killing my libido.
I gazed down at his electric blue eyes again and I have to pull my legs together in response. He’s staring at the camera like he’s looking into the reader's soul, my soul that is. I can’t pull myself from this man or from the way all of his muscles are flexed on that small stool. He looks like the devil—and I bet he fucks like him too.
The thought has me carrying my phone with me to bed and laying down with it in my hand, the devilish blue-eyed man gazing at me as my small hand wanders to my pussy.
Just as I begin my journey to self-exploration, I read a line that makes me scoff.
“I’m a dominant man, not just in the PR world, but in the many worlds of women too. Let’s just say, I get what I want and I know exactly how to press the right…button to make what I want happen.”
Fucking prick.
But by the looks of him, I bet he does get what he wants. I bet he knows right where to find that button and just how hard he should press it.
I laid back on my bed, gazing over at the picture next to my pillow. My manicured fingers inch towards my tight skirt and lift it up, my hips wiggling until it’s bunched around my waist. I slid my damp, lace panties to the side and find my clit, surprised by how wet I am. I don’t even get like this when I’m having actual sex.
I closed my eyes and moaned when I found a rhythm, my fingers circling my small bud over and over again until my hips arch from my bed, his eyes looking at me from behind my closed lids. I imagined my fingers were his, which I’m sure his feel much rougher, much more manly. I slip two fingers into my wet channel and gasp, wishing they were his cock, picking up the speed and thrusting deep as I know he would.
I bet he fucks like a God. I bet he fucks like he plays, hard and determined.
My clit throbbed and I swore I was about to see stars. All I could think about is how large he must be, how well he would fit in between my silken thighs. How deep his groans must sound when he comes, when he pushes his cock deep within a woman and fucks her into complete submission. I thrust harder and my room is filled with the sounds of my fingers stretching into my wetness, making me twist and gasp on my cheap bed sheets.
I imagined his cock thrusting all the way in, kissing my core and making me scream. I imagined his strong forearms pinning me to my bed as his hips slam against mine, my name on his perfectly full lips. I imagined that the way he says my name sounds all husky and low as his eyes travel up and down my body. That thought alone had me coming. I twisted my sheets in my fingers, hips arched and back pressed, and I let out a long wail that echoes off my walls. A wail that comes in the form of his name and leaves a giant wet spot on my bed.
I’ve never come that hard in my entire life and it’s all thanks to the CEO asshole staring back at me from my cell phone.
