Mr. President

Understand before you get fucking pissed at me that I have zero attraction to Lorna Lowell—I refuse to even think of her with my last name. I fucking hate what she's done to the people around her—her father, her daughter, you name it. There is no way I want to fuck her in this lifetime.

In fact I came in here fully expecting to end this shit.

But she was ready. She was waiting for me to do that. And she pounced.

Try telling someone you’re trying to end the marriage and be nice about it, okay Gorgeous? Especially when they’re the single largest shareholder in your company after you.

It’s not easy.

But my cock doesn't know that. It feels a pair of hands squeezing and massaging it and it's an instinctual response.

Lorna rubs her open palm on the head of my cock as her eyes open wide.

"Jesus Christ, Mason," she whispers throatily. "You're so huge."

Yes, we already fucking know this. 12 fucking inches of pussy pleasing power when the average in the United States for adult men is 5.5 inches. I'm double the man as the national average.

It has Lorna openly salivating. She's breathing heavy.

"I can't wait to see what this cock is going to do to me," she says.

Doesn't she know that her daughter is somewhere in the house?

It grates me enough that I fucking mention it.

"You don't want to close the door even, at least?" I ask, and immediately wonder if she's going to take my question as an acceptance to fuck.

But Lorna, being the selfish person that she is, only shrugs. "And tear myself away from this magnificent cock?" she asks. I sigh. "I'm just saying that as her mother..."

That's when Lorna's face snaps back to reality from whatever deluded lust game she was in.

"I'm not her mother!" she snaps at me. "Her loser of a father brought her into the marriage. He was a widower. When he went off to join his poor wife in the afterlife, it was a tax credit to claim her as my dependent," Lorna explains to me.

There's a fucking ferocity to her that momentarily stuns me.

And is it me, or did you just hear a gasp from outside the door?

Holy fucking Christ, is that Becca?

Does Becca not know about...

"Does Becca know?" I ask Lorna, flexing my abs to sit up a bit more.

Lorna shrugs. "I let her think whatever she wants," she says to me. "It usually helps me if she thinks of me as her real mother."

That's fucking it.

If there was ever any way that I had thought that this evil woman in her short skirt trying to rub herself on my body would get me to succumb—any iota in my brain that was even tempted by that body—it's gone now.

"Get the fuck off of me," I snarl at her and push myself off the chair I was sitting in.

I flex my muscles and stand up; my only thought is to get out of this house.

Lorna goes to move, but apparently she's not fast enough because by the time I'm standing she's still on me, and once I get off the chair, she's sliding, falling ungraciously in a heap on the floor.

"I'm never going to fucking touch you, woman," I spit at her, not just my mortal fucking enemy but the woman who on her own destroyed Becca's childhood. "I suggest you stop trying."

That's all I have to fucking say to her. I start walking out of the living room.