Forbidden Lust

7

Barrett

Control. Control it, Barrett.

Waking up, I had the best hard-on known to man. With my dick between my hands and Lourde’s creamy thighs on my mind, I came with a thundering release.

After answering all my emails, I went for a long run to clear my head. When I’d left, her door was closed. Presumably, she was still asleep. Connor’s words played in my memory like a rerun as I pounded the sand. “Take care of my sister,” he'd said on the phone.

Exactly, Barrett, listen to someone for once. Connor was the guy who got me into the position I was in today. He was the only guy willing to give a young upstart a go when he’d convinced his parents to work with a new property developer. Their connections sold out your first development. I owed him. Don’t fuck up the relationship with Connor just because you want a taste of the forbidden fruit that lay between Lourde’s legs.

I slapped my thigh, trying to breathe life back into my legs. They burned from sprinting miles along the sand. I pushed harder on the way back. Punishing myself was essential. Choosing the more strenuous workout and punishing myself had become a daily habit. Grueling and daily workouts were key to doing just that.

The sun dawned its new day. The ocean crashed against the shore, taking and sucking back the whitest sand with it. I focused on my meeting today and the site in East Hampton, a potential redevelopment that no one knew about but me with my connections. I didn’t say they were all legitimate. But I wasn’t afraid of a little dog fight, especially when money was involved. A whisper of an existing hotel going broke had me swooping in. Well, that was just good business. Too bad if others didn’t see it that way. Today marked the beginning of finalizing that deal.

As much as my mind wanted to focus on the meetings today, they kept replaying the vision of her lying down on the bed. Legs pulled into her chest, my t-shirt skimming across her creamy thighs—she’d never looked so fuckable.

Those legs, I wanted to bite and kiss. Then when she’d moved and the hem of my t-shirt pulled up against her black-lace panties, I had to stand up and get the fuck out of there. She was a precious doll concealed in a devil's body. And I was Prometheus, wanting to steal her fire.

But I was no fucking good for anyone, most of all Lourde. She deserved better than a monster like me, a monster who didn’t realize what was going on in his own family before it was too late.

I ran past the reeds and up the wooden pathway from the ocean to my home. The wind swirled, cooling the beads of sweat that clung to my chest.

Punching in the code, I pushed the gate open onto the front patio. Any other morning, I’d have dipped into the infinity pool and done some laps. Opening the slider, I shook off my sneakers, placed them on the shoe rack, and walked into the living room. Curved furniture pieces and my armchair upholstered from the comfiest fabric were where I spent a lot of my time. Most people just passed off designs on their interior decorators, and I won’t lie, she did help me. But this house was my baby, and I hand-picked every piece of furniture, unlike my apartment in Manhattan. But that was more of a bachelor pad. This was a home where, if something was out of place, it didn’t matter. I felt more relaxed here than in my home on the Upper West Side.

I walked past the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf separating the living room space from the kitchen.

A mouthwatering smell was coming from the kitchen. I don’t remember booking my chef, but maybe my assistant, Aimee, did.

I rounded the corner. Lourde danced to the faint music. Her hips swayed, pulling the hem of my t-shirt daringly close to revealing the curves of her ass.

Fuck.

She hovered over the induction cooktop with her back to me, and I stopped, mesmerized by the beauty with wavy light brown hair moving like an angel of sin in my kitchen.

“Morning,” I announced.

She spun around, and the motion whipped her t-shirt upward. My gaze fell to her thighs. Redness bloomed in her cheeks. “Barrett, you scared me!”

“I’m a scary guy,” I said evenly.

She stalled, taking in my drenched shirt, then met me squarely in the eye.

“What's all this?” I looked past her to the sizzle on the hot plates.

“I raided your fridge. I, thought I’d make you breakfast.”

She smiled before turning around, permitting me to stalk her ass.

Her toned legs beckoned me to run my hand up and down them. All I wanted to do was rip her black panties to the side and delve my fingers into her. I pushed my stool underneath the counter bar, hiding the thickness that formed in my Hugo Boss swim trunks.

She’d just be a fuck like the rest of them. Worse yet, she came with baggage. Not. Worth. It.

Sausages, poached eggs, and tomatoes with maple bacon colored the plates she placed in front of me.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I questioned her. Her shoulders rounded lower. “I’m kidding, Lourde. Thanks,” I said, and a slight smile appeared on her lips.

Flecks of jade turned her eyes more green than hazel from the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Her small pointy nose and full bowed lips were naturally beautiful. It was here I took her in. Light freckles dotted the upper part of her porcelain cheeks. Her warm, golden, and naturally wavy hair, tumbled down to her mid-back.

“You're staring,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” I snapped back. “You have something on your face.” I lied.

“Oh, do I?” She took her hand to her face and wiped off the imaginary fleck, embarrassed.

I may have chuckled. Yes, I was an asshole. “No, here.” I reached for her hair and pretended to flick it away before she could see there was nothing in my hand. “All gone.”

“Thanks.” She held my gaze before I changed the topic.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I’m famished.”