Page 129 of The Playboy

I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be back long before you had to leave. I didn’t plan on staying here all night, but I’m still putting out fires. I fucking hate that I missed our whole evening together.

I hope you ordered room service and slept well.

I’ll make it up to you.

Brooklyn

Nooo, you don’t have to. You’re down to the wire, fires are bound to happen. You know I understand.

Me

Another reason why I’m wild about you.

I’m hesitant to make plans with you tonight. I don’t want to do the same thing I did to you last night.

I’ll call when I get back. Even if it’s only for a few hours, I hope to hell we’ll be able to meet up.

Brooklyn

I would love that.

Get some sleep—that’s an order. <3

* * *

The only thing I wanted was a shower.

So, the second I got back to my suite, I stripped my clothes off in the bathroom and turned on the water to a temperature I knew would scald my skin. I didn’t give a shit if it burned me. I needed all the heat and massage and relaxation to work its fucking magic by shutting my brain off, enabling me to get at least a few hours of sleep once I got out and crawled into bed.

While I waited for it to warm, I stood at the sink and brushed my teeth, wondering how Brooklyn had looked in this exact spot earlier this morning.

I’d smelled her in the air when I got back to my room.

Those salty beach and lemon scents that I’d been craving all damn night. Ones I thought about every time I wanted to put my fist through a fucking wall.

The hotel was going to open on time, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to try to kill me in the process.

I finished brushing and spit out the toothpaste, left my beard trimming and shaving for another morning when I had more patience than I did now, and I got into the shower.

The steam was already starting to build as I stood under the spray, the warmth pounding against my body and raining over my head.

It felt good as hell.

But my mind was still so busy, filled with everything I needed to do. And as I stood under the stream, soaping my body, the more I washed, the more it all circled—employees, vendors, the grand opening—and then the cycle would begin again.

God, it was so fucking much.

I was willing to do anything to shut off these thoughts.

I needed just a second where they weren’t churning.

Where I wasn’t stressed over the outcome.

Where there was freedom in my head.

And pleasure.

Fuck, I wanted all the pleasure.

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