I can’t even count how many women bow down right away when I so much as speak to them. I don’t even think anything of it anymore. It’s just the fucking norm at this point.
But not her. She’s challenging me and making me challenge her right back.
Well, Kara Gilmore…challenge fucking accepted.
Let’s be real: anything I compete in, I already know I’ll win.
It’s just the most probable fucking outcome.
But the fact that she tries anyway is satisfying. I like a woman with a little fight in her. Makes it all the more satisfying when I finally do win out and bend her to my will.
What other men might see as too intimidating just gets my blood running. That level of not-so-blind confidence and stubborn pigheadedness is what earned me my empire in the first place.
I can see myself in this woman. In many, many different ways, if you catch my drift.
Chase is eyeing Kara hard, too. He’s thinking the same thoughts I am. I can see it on his face.
He’s fucking her with his eyes right this second, and I can’t even blame him. I’ve already thought about getting her on my cock a more than few times myself and we’ve only just met.
Chase and I have similar tastes—we have from the start. It’s part of why we’re such good business partners and definitely why we’ve been friends as long as we have.
If he wants to fuck her, too, I’m game. We can just dick her down twice as hard. That would suit a woman like Kara just fine, I bet.
Someone needs show this little slice the kind of men who she’s privileged to fuck.
Chase and I have plowed plenty of women together, but I have a feeling that Kara’s hot little cunt would be an experience, even for us.
That attitude. That determination to be the best. That stubborn fucking mindset.
With a little effort, we can take her, break her, and force her to submit.
She’s fought and argued with us on every machine so far today. The rowing machine, the bench press, dumbbells, squats.
If we’ve been on it, she’s challenged it. And she’s exhausted from it. She just won’t dare admit it.
I glance out the window; the sun has already set.
Fuck.
What time is it? I pull my wrist up to my chest and check my Fitbit. While my heart rate is spectacular and my steps are up to par, I notice the battery is getting low on it. I fidget with it and see the time.
It’s seven thirty already. We’ve been here for hours, teaching Kara about this equipment. We’ve been so fixated on the way she moves her svelte little body, we actually lost track of time.
As I sit flabbergasted that this girl had our attention for this long, a loud grumble comes from my stomach. I slap my rock-hard abs and look over to Chase and Kara.
Perfect segue.
“I’m starving,” I announce to them.
“Shit, man. I am, too,” Chase returns.
There’s a gleam in his eye. He turns his face to Kara and gestures at her.
“Want to join us for a post-workout meal? There’s a private chef in the kitchen upstairs—keto, vegan, whatever you’re into, he does it.”
That sly bastard. Trying to sneak her up to our office for a post-workout workout. I couldn’t be prouder to call him my best friend.
I can see Kara considering it. Mulling it over behind those pretty blue eyes.