One night stand with my daddy's best friend
139

MATTHEW

That the fuck have I done?

Back at my desk, I felt as though I had plummeted back to reality.

You were supposed to break it ofl with her, you idiot. You literally did the fucking opposite of what you walked in there to do!

I couldn't believe I'd been so weak, or so stupid. I behaved like a brainless caveman thinking with his cock.

Okay, now you have to break it ofl, I thought to myself. Except you just had the best fuck of your life with her. Dump her now and you'll look like a royal asshole.

I didn't know what to do. I prided myself on being a smart man, a good man. But since Becca had walked back into my life, I'd become a primitive being, ruled by my dick. But as much as I wanted to forget about seeing her, I knew it was impossible to get her out my head. As I sat there, balls aching from the orgasm of a lifetime, I still wanted more and had to stop myself from marching back to her o ce to fuck her again.

She's got her claws in you, I thought. She got into your head.

Into your fucking soul.

But it wasn't just her incredible looks that drove me wild, although they obviously played a part. It was the look in her

eyes when she wanted me, the way she twisted the power from her to me then back to her again. It was her ambition and intelligence and the way she reached out and grabbed what she wanted. "Fuck me," I heard her voice say in my head.

I had heard girls say it a hundred times before, but their voices were as hollow and devoid of genuine lust as the porn stars they emulated. When she said it, I could feel her need for me. Truly know that she craved my cock as much as she craved air.

"Get back to work," I told myself. "You have a business to run."

But as I looked at my computer screen, I saw nothing. My head was filled with her and nothing else.

"I'm losing my fucking mind," I said out loud. Turning off my computer, I gave up trying to concentrate on the files I was supposed to be reading.

A drink is what you need. Something stifl and strong and full of ice will clear your head.

I was sitting in a back booth of the Riley Lounge on Duke Street sipping on a scotch and listening to a single jazz clarinet player on the stage. He was blowing into the thing as though he was pouring his heart into it, his cheeks bright red like shiny apples stuck to his face. My mind still hadn't settled, but at least I wasn't just down the hall from her. As I drank, I heard a voice I instantly recognized.

"Matthew? What are you doing here?"