Page 51 of Rival to the Billionaire

But now…

I swipe a hand slowly over my face, realizing that I'm going to need a cold shower before I hit the sheets.

Shoving my laptop into a drawer, I jerk my white tank off and fling it in the corner before I shimmy out of my boxers.

I make a beeline for the massive marble-lined bathroom, taking in the shiny black fixtures, the plush carpet. The room is painted in whites and greys and the lights are dimmed.

The shower has clear glass windows on either side so that I can look at the landscape of Las Vegas just beyond.

And that's exactly what I do.

I step into the shower, eyes closed. My mind is racing; thoughts tumbling over each other and making me dizzy.

I turn on the faucet and let the hot water spew forth. It's not the hot water I need. It's the cold water that will cool the flame devouring me from within.

Turning the tap to Cold, I watch the water cascade over my skin, chasing the flames, willing myself to melt the cinders. Cinders that lately only Jenny seems to kindle.

I snort, reaching for the soap and squirting a good handful into my hands and into my hair, rubbing it into my thick lashes, scrunching my eyes shut and squeezing them shut as I hear them…feel them…see them…

The images of Jenny.

So many images. All of them blazing bright in my mind.

Her. Long legs stretched out on the hotel couch.

Her. Wet tendrils of hair curling over her heart-shaped face.

Her. In those white cotton shirts and that silky black tank that hid nothing.

Not the curves of her teardrop-shaped breasts nor the outline of her nipples that drove me to the edge.

Not the swells of her hips nor the curve of her waist that bordered on the impossible.

Closing my eyes, I growl as I soap up my chest and down my abdomen. I groan as I remember that kiss we shared hours ago.

I said I wouldn't touch her until she was ready. And I won't.

But that doesn't mean I can't touch myself…

Now lathered, my hands lower until they're grazing the inside of my hips and finally wrapping around my hardening dick. My fingers curl around it, squeezing tightly as it throbs in response to the touch.

I let out a low groan, my thoughts centered on that curly mass of ruby-cinnamon hair, caramel skin and hazel irises that peered up at me in lust as I planted deepening kisses on that lush, dark-pink mouth.

My fingers flex, beginning to stroke myself as I think about our heated kiss.

As I remember the way her mouth tasted against mine.

The way her touch felt, her body resonating to mine.

My cock turns to certified steel as I recall the way she felt pliant against me.

Her petite form fitting me like a glove.

Her breath on my lips, quick. She'd been the same as I, ready to combust if touched the right way.

And I would. Touch Jenny in all the right ways.

I'd play between those toned thighs of hers, sliding my fingers in between until she was squirming under my touch. I'd stroke there, my hands taking care to travel over every inch of skin, using my fingers to explore every dip, to trace each curve and memorize every hitching breath.

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