Page 26 of Tourist Trap

“Miles,” she whispers.

“Now we’re doing this my way,” I say and start to fuck her, hard and fast.

“Miles,” she moans, her hips lifting to meet mine. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

“I know, baby,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m going to fill you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she moans. “Please.” And who am I to not give her what she asks for so nicely?

BUZZZ!

My head shifts in the direction of my bedside table at the noise, but her hand moves up, gripping my chin and moving it to look at her once more. I dip my head, pressing my lips to hers, the pleasure building as I thrust into her. Her hair lies on the pillow like a halo around her, her lips swollen, and I feel my balls start to tighten again.

BUZZZ!

I jolt awake with my cock throbbing and my bed empty, the sun starting to peek in through the blinds. I slam my hand on my alarm before I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few long beats before I realize what just happened.

I was having a wet dream about Claire fucking Donovan.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the first time, though they seem to be getting more and more vivid, which is definitely a problem.

Grant is right: I need to get laid.

My dick throbs in agreement.

It’s her incessant flirting, her need to get under my skin, that has me reacting like this, I tell myself. That and my long-standing dry spell. That’s all.

My mind is still reeling when my phone beeps with a message, charging on the other side of the room. I mentally go through all the people it could be: Grant texting to continue to give me shit, someone canceling a surf lesson, or maybe someone needing a last-minute repair from the shop.

When I check my messages, I’m shocked to see a text from the lawyer I currently communicate with Paul through.

I attempted to contact your brother’s attorney about doubling the amount sent as a compromise but have not heard anything back as of this morning. I would suggest against sending the increased amount until we have it in writing that he agrees to increase payments to hold off on the full settlement.

I let out an irritated sigh, realizing tomorrow is the tenth, when we typically send out his payment. I’d already planned to send double the amount, but now I’ll have to log into my bank account and change that before it processes.

With a groan, I move toward the closet, glad that the frustration at the very least deflated my hard-on, and reach for a pair of running shorts, hoping a run will put me in a better mood.

Unfortunately, even after I run four miles, I’m still wavering between being annoyed at my brother and being frustrated by my subconscious thoughts of my new tenant. I’m walking on the boardwalk to cool down, my house in sight as I scroll through my emails and appointments for the day, when my day gets worse.

“Great day for a run,” a voice says, and when I look up, I see the one person with the ability to irritate me more than Paul.

“Yeah,” I grumble to Brad Baker, putting my head down as I do. I’m already in a shit mood this morning, and the last thing I need is this fucker making it worse.

“Oh, why so brusque? Can’t you greet your neighbor?” He moves into my path, and I fight the urge to do something really fucking stupid.

Brad Baker is my neighbor only in the sense that he is currently managing Surf since his daddy owns the company that bought the properties the giant building now sits on, and let his spoiled son take over when it was built. Baker Inc. has been offering to buy my house since before my grandmother passed. On the day of my grandmother’sfuneral, Brad had the balls to come to my mother’s house to ask about purchasing the home.

They bought up five consecutive properties above market value on the boardwalk directly next to my house, tearing down homes that had been there for decades to create the eyesore that is Surf. I know it really pisses off Brad they didn’t get my property so he could expand it all the way since there’s an empty lot on the opposite side of my house.

“Fuck off,” I grumble.

“You still holding tight to this place?” Brad asks, hands in his pockets.

He looks like such a pompous asshole, and I wish I could punch him in the face. Unfortunately, I am also wildly aware that if I did, he would sue me until kingdom come.

“Not selling,” I say simply, the way I have countless times before, trying to move past him, but he steps aside, blocking me again. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath because this morning is already enough to put my emotions on edge, and now I have this fucker in my way.

“Look, we’re willing to up our offer,” he says as if he’s doing me a huge favor and I should be grateful.

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