I stare dumbly at my open laptop, smelling the familiar scent of freshly ground French roast as I brew my fuel for the next few hours.

I can't do it right now, though. This is the first time I can remember that the site of an open Thebadboys.net chat window is all the motivation I need to focus. Focus on what, you ask? On the world of continuing to build one of the most successful sites in the game and honing it to a fucking tee to ensure I only put the very best out into the world.

The aroma of my upcoming caffeine fix, clear and present in my kitchen, is struggling to compete with the memories of Chloe, the blend of scents that made up her astonishing pussy, sweet fragrances that mixed with the earthiness of her pure, animal appeal.

An appeal that I cannot stop fucking thinking about. An appeal that’s been distracting me the way nothing has ever before.

I just want her so fucking bad. Every fucking second. From the time I saw her in that bar, to the time we were sprawling, intertwined on that epically colossal bed, my mind was relentlessly yet refreshingly on a one-track mission of desire.

Yes, even after we both gave all we could to that monumental spell of passion, enveloped by the extravagance of the best suite at Palace One, feeling refreshed, relaxed and even blissful―but not content.

Getting to know Chloe the way I got to know her in the elevator and in that suite, I feel like ‘content’ is out of my vocabulary―as long as those memories are fresh, at least. And I’m okay with that, I think, because my want for her overshadows any of those concerns.

And it feels fucking awesome.

So, that’s happening now, and hopefully, I’ll get the chance to explore that more with Chloe, and we can have some great fun doing so.

But right now, my work is calling to me from that patiently waiting laptop, and whether my mind’s completely on it or not, I need to keep doing what I’ve been doing to build on what I have so far and stay as keenly in the game as I’ve been up until now.

For the sake of everything I’ve built and taken pride in, I sure as fuck can’t let myself falter in the face of my responsibilities for even one goddamn second, and right now, my responsibility is to stay on the ball with the mysterious Mr. BadBoy.

Even after standing him up, if I fall out of contact with him, I could lose touch with the elusive, evolving culture and user experience of my own website.

The chat window’s already open, and I can see the green light next to Mr. BadBoy’s screen name, meaning that he’s currently logged into the site and doing who fucking knows what.

Knowing that he could just decide to ignore me at this point, I start with an inauspicious first message:

Hey there.

I hit Send, delivering the greeting into the empty chat window, hoping it doesn’t just linger there on its own. If it that stays like that, it means that this lead has gone cold. Trying to keep my attention on this is hard enough today; the last thing I want is to have to start all the way fucking over.

Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about this as long as my laptop plays the short sound of an incoming message as the bad boy himself replies.

Now here’s someone I like to hear from.

That didn’t take long, and he may not be thinking about this bullshit at all right now. He might not even be keeping track of who’s sending him which messages and connecting it with whatever’s happening when he meets these women.

I clarify with my next message:

I’m feeling seriously guilty about being a no-show last night. I had a family thing come up, and I had to run. I mean, knowing you, I don’t think your feelings were hurt or anything, ha ha. Still feel bad, though.

I look over the message after I send it, seeing if it looks fishy even though it’s already out there and there’s nothing I can do about it. Again, Mr. BadBoy replies before I get a chance to think about it too much.

You should know better than to worry about that by now. I found someone else to have fun with in about two seconds. Great fucking night.

I don’t think he just met some random person in the restaurant or the hotel.

Thebadboys.net is how he rolls, and it seems like he has no lack of success with it, no matter what the circumstances, even at the last minute when he’s already out.

Oh great, I’m glad it worked out. You’re right, I should know you better than that!

Then he just keeps it right on fucking coming.

It worked out very nicely. I forgot all about why I was even out in the first place, so don’t worry yourself for another second. Unless you want to, I can’t stop that.

This guy’s the real deal, from what I can see. Total player. The good news is that he’s leaving the door open for me, though. I can’t speculate about what that means or if that’s part of what he does. Not yet. Now’s the time to keep him engaged; I can speculate all I want later.

Don’t sell yourself short. I bet you could stop me from worrying anytime you want without breaking a sweat. Isn’t that right, Mr. BadBoy?

His reply comes fast.

You really don’t know me at all if you think I would ever sell myself short. I know what I’ve got to offer, and I’ve got no reasons for exaggeration or modesty.

I seriously want to roll my eyes here. He’s being talkative today, and I should be getting some of these lines down, at least taking a screenshot, but I don’t feel like bothering. The coffee’s beyond finished brewing now, but I can’t find it within me to give a shit about that, either.

The chat with this BadBoy figure is barely interesting enough for me to stay with. I’ll have to accept a baseline level of work from myself today.

So true! What was I thinking? I should know better coming from you. ;)

No problem. You’ll be happy to know that my heart is quite large. I’m very fortunate in that way.

A new phase is starting in the conversation, and he’s expecting me to match his banter. He looks to be having fun, but I’m having problems detaching and immersing myself in the Ms. Winters character.

Up until now, this was just work, placed in a separate compartment that had nothing to do with me personally. But talking to BadBoy today is different, and I know the reason why. It’s a simple reason, and it might seem ridiculous, but it’s so fucking strong I can’t deny it:

I wish I was having a conversation like this with Chloe.

A wave of heat surges through me just thinking about that idea. I developed this site, I should know every reason that people enjoy this chatting format inside and out.

Yet thinking about a light, teasing back and forth with Chloe, a few words that only hint at the experience we’ve had, working each other up at the possibility of having it again—damn, no wonder some clients like the chat feature so much.

The issue now is that I’m not talking to Chloe, I’m just talking to some random guy, and I need to get back to him.

If that’s the case, wouldn’t you need some help finding the forgiveness over an area that vast?

I don’t need help finding that, but if you want to come explore the vastness with me some time, I think you’ll find some things you didn’t even know you were looking for.

I give him a half-assed response:

That sounds like quite the expedition!

It’s an expedition you’ll remember for quite some time, I assure you.

Holy Christ, this is insane and kind of hilarious. I’m having this conversation with some dude, which is crazy enough in itself, and he has no idea who he’s really talking to. For all I know, he’s getting hot right now.

I’m totally laughing now, but I don’t think I can continue this pretense—not today. If I’m going to have this type of chat with someone right now, there’s only one person I’d be interested in, and it’s not this Mr. BadBoy guy. Time to say my goodbyes.

I’ve got to run again. There’s so much going on these days. Talk later?

I might be around.

I take that as the last word and exit the chat, closing the browser window for good measure. I’m fucking done with that, and I wasn’t going to be very productive if I continued.

Now if I were talking with Chloe, discussing plans for future fun in flimsy metaphors, lightly toying with each other back and forth, trying to keep it up for as long as we could before yielding to the urge to tear away the façade and talk about how fucking hot that was at Palace One last night...

That feverish wave of tingling heat is making a comeback, not dissipating like last time, but staying with me as my mouth grows dry thinking about Chloe’s lips, her tongue, her dexterous fingers, and the elevator ride of a lifetime.

The heaviness I’m feeling around my cock is evolving rapidly. I picture Chloe’s faultless body, and that show she put on last night, the way her tits bounced around wildly as she exuded pure sassiness.

My cock is at full mast now, throbbing under the zipper of my jeans. In a horny daze, I unbutton my fly and nearly throw my jeans and boxer briefs down past my knees as my cock springs out, pointing straight upwards and demanding attention.

Knowing that this won’t last long, I run through a quick montage in my mind of everything that happened at Palace One, trying to remember every detail at once, but settling on Chloe’s astounding body as I grab my cock and instantly, fervently come all over the fucking place.

This girl. Fuck. She’s driving me out of my mind.