I was getting hard

Apollo

I frowned down at the woman sprawled across my bed, wearing nothing but her lingerie.

Why the hell does this keep happening to me?

Last week, I caught a new intern naked in my office, legs spread on the desk like a cheap offering. Two days after that, I was in a meeting with a potential business partner when his barely-legal daughter started sliding her foot up my leg under the table, aiming right for my cock, giving me seductive little glances like she had any clue what she was doing.

It made me wonder what the hell they were feeding young women these days, what made them so damn desperate to crawl into my bed.

Well, it’s not like I really needed to wonder. I already knew the answer.

My so-called father.

The old man had been trying to set me up for years, ever since my wife died.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I was still mourning. That part of my life was over. It had been over for a long time. That wasn’t why I never remarried.

The truth was simpler, I just wasn’t interested. I wasn't interested in the messy, fake relationships my father wanted for me, or the endless parade of women thrown at my feet.

Do I have sex? Sure. I wasn’t a monk. I was human. Every now and then, when my body demanded it, I would find a woman, one who understood the rules, and we would satisfy each other’s needs. It was clean and simple. There was no attachments, it was always safe, and it was always a one time thing. No one would carry a child I never wanted, but my father didn’t approve of my methods. He wanted something else.

“Other sons are giving their fathers grandchildren,” he’d complained a few weeks ago. “I’m the only one without. Do you know how jealous I get when I see my friends playing with their grandkids? They tease me sometimes because of you. You're already forty, Apollo. I need a grandchild!”

I told him, very clearly, that I wasn’t interested in the women he was shoving at me. Apparently, the old bastard misunderstood. He thought I meant older women, so he switched strategies. Now he was sending younger ones, thinking maybe a fresher body would tempt me into giving him what he wanted.

And this woman, sprawled out on my bed was clearly one of his recruits.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared down at her, the muscle in my jaw ticking.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me. Her gaze trailed down my body, like she was inspecting a cut of meat to see if it was medium-rare. The way her eyes lingered made something hot crawl under my skin.

Seriously? Had my father picked a crazy one this time? Wasn't I supposed to be the one judging if she met my standards, not the other way around? Still, I had to give the old man some credit. He'd done his homework, it seemed.

The woman had the kind of body that could drive a man insane. A slim waist, long legs, perky breasts barely contained by delicate black lace. Her gray eyes sparkled, and her full, soft lips were slightly parted. The lingerie clung to every curve perfectly.

Damn it.

I caught myself checking her out before I realized it.

"Am I... having a wet dream?" she mumbled, her lips curling into a smile.

I raised an eyebrow at her. Did she hit her head when she barged in here? She was the one naked in my bed, trying to seduce me, and she was the one acting like this was some fantasy?

I ran a hand roughly through my hair and muttered under my breath, “Damn, I don’t have the patience for this tonight.”

I turned, about to walk toward the counter where I kept my phone.

This was a mistake. Another mess I didn't want to be dragged into.

I was seconds from calling my secretary, telling him to come clean up this mess, and throw her out, he could settle whatever payment my father probably promised her, but before I could reach the phone, I felt her arms wrap around my waist. I froze at the sudden contact.

“No, please don’t go,” she whispered. “Please… don’t leave me too. This is just a dream, right? It’s just a dream. You don’t know how useless I’d feel if even the man in my dream didn’t want anything to do with me.”

I looked down at her indifferently. She was kneeling on the bed, her cheek pressed against my abdomen, her arms tight around my waist. From this angle, her face was level with my hips, dangerously close to where the towel barely clung to my body.

Her hot breath brushed against my skin, sending an unexpected jolt through me.

"Am I not attractive enough?" She pulled back just slightly, enough that I could see her face. Her gray eyes were glassy, half-lidded as she spoke. "Why can't anyone pleasure me the right way? I’m twenty-three..." she murmured, almost as if ashamed. "And I’ve never... never had a man satisfy me. I’ve never even... come before. That asshole was my first, but he never once satisfied me."

She bit her lips and her fingers reached for the towel around my hips. She tugged it down slowly, exposing more of me. "Even if this is just a dream," she whispered, voice thick with need, "I’ll take it. I need to know what pleasure feels like."

My gaze darkened. I didn’t know what was more surprising, her words or the fact that despite all my frustration, despite every logical part of my mind screaming at me to stop, I was getting hard.

Fuck.