Pounding my fist against the punching bag, I can’t get the woman I shared a cab with out of my mind. Her snarky attitude had me wanting to shove my cock in her mouth. I should have known by her designer handbag and three-inch heels she’d be a snob who thinks she’s hot shit. Who knows? No strings attached rough sex might’ve gotten that stick out of her ass. I could’ve replaced it with something much better.

I smile at my thoughts.

I admit taking her cab was a dick move, but my driver was stuck in traffic, and I had a late dinner meeting. It wasn’t personal. But, my mother did raise me to be a gentleman and this is the south, so I shared the cab and paid for her ride home.

Getting pussy has never been a problem. Hell, I could’ve fucked my client’s wife before I flew back home yesterday. I could’ve handled our meeting by video conference, but Mr. Pike insisted the meeting take place in person. He couldn’t be bothered to fly back to Texas while vacationing.

Fucking clients.

I shouldn’t complain really. He brings in a shit ton of billable hours for the firm. The only problem with a man like Mr. Pike is he has too much money to burn. Thinks he owns everyone and doesn’t let you forget that you need him. Expects me to drop my life to tackle any legal problem that falls in his lap because he’s been with my firm, The Hunter Group, since the beginning.

And he needs attention all the time because he’s an asshole who can’t keep his cock to himself. Neither can his wife by the count of how many times her hands found their way to my ass during my visit. Somehow, I’ve managed to settle every sexual harassment case against him outside the courtroom. You’d think the bastard would learn by now with the millions he’s shelled out for my services and for the silence of his accusers.

He hasn’t though, and it’s rich pieces of shit like Pike that keep the world turning.

He’s an associate of my father. A real power player who has his hands in a bit of everything. The man has gone through more assistants than I have, and that’s saying something because I’m hard to work for.

I throw a few more punches before hitting the shower. It’s New Year’s Eve and I intend to go out, get drunk, and get laid. Three things that should be simple to accomplish.

I need to fuck that sexy woman from the airport out of my mind. If only I could stop thinking about her long legs wrapping around me and her heels digging into my ass while I go balls-deep into her sweet little pussy. She had blue eyes with flecks of green in them and I’m pretty sure she’s a closet screamer. I can just tell.

That’s how I imagined last night playing out in my mind, had she accepted my courteous invitation. I would’ve canceled my dinner meeting for her. Would’ve gladly had her as a meal.

I shrug. Her loss.

Yet, I still can’t shake her from my mind. The chick is everywhere.

Visions of her plump pink lips wrapping around the head of my cock have me fucking my hand as the warm water cascades over me. My fist tightening in her strawberry blonde hair as I work in and out of her smart mouth.

Fuck me. I stroke myself harder.

I watch her blue eyes staring up at me. She’s a hard little worker, making sure she tongues my shaft just right, trying to please me.

I should’ve asked for her number before hopping out of the cab. I bet she would have had another sassy remark. I can imagine her pink tongue flattening against my shaft taking me to the back of her throat.

It doesn’t take much imagination to get me off when I have good material to fantasize about.

As I step out of the shower my phone pings with a text from my little brother.

Brodie: Coming out tonight? Jaxson reserved the VIP room at that new club.

Weston: I’ll be there.

Tossing my phone on my bed, I finish toweling off and put some deodorant on.

Once I get dressed I head into the kitchen to heat up one of the meals Karen, my housekeeper, left before taking the weekend off. I fucking hate when New Year’s Eve falls on a Sunday. It means everything shuts down Monday for the holiday and it assfucks my whole week.

Digging into my chicken and vegetables, I look at the empty chairs around my table.

Being thirty-four, most people expect me to be married—settled down in the suburbs with kids. Fuck that. I’m in my prime and love single life in the city.

Sure, I’ve had my share of flings, but I don’t do girlfriends. I don’t do love. I like to fuck, and I like them to leave. It’s efficient and drama-free, usually. The arrangements work perfectly for me. I rent a room and get my rocks off. There’s no talking about how our day went or sitting through shitty movies to get to the prize.

I don’t have time for mundane shit, nor do I feel like doing anything I don’t want to do. I don’t need to know that a woman’s cat has allergies or that her hairstylist is a gossip.

Unlike Pike, I know how to separate my dick from my work. Which is another reason most of my assistants hate me. They see me, a young attractive man with a stable career who is unattached, and they think they can trap me. They think working in close-quarters means maybe I’ll fall in love if I just get to know them.

There’s only one problem with their theory. I don’t want to get to know them. All I need them to do is fetch my coffee and run my errands. Occasionally pick up my dry cleaning. It’s simple.

Finishing my meal, I toss out the leftovers and rinse my plate before sticking it in the dishwasher.

Glancing at the clock, I go back to my room and fire off a text to Rick, my driver, to bring the car around front.

When I exit the building, he’s waiting. Like I said, efficiency.