I slide my keycard against the slit and, after hearing the familiar metallic clink of the lock turning, I push the door open and step inside my apartment. And when I say my apartment, I really mean my fucking apartment. Even though the D’Avington royal family has an apartment at the Time Warner Center, I privately own this one in the Dakota building. I always preferred the Upper West Side and, besides, I like my own space like I like my women—always available.

“Fuck,” I groan as I look at the time in my cellphone and, with the back of my other hand, wipe the sweat from my brow. It’s only 8 am; can you fucking believe it? Yeah, that’s right, today I woke up at six in the morning. What the fuck’s wrong with me, right? I managed to roll out of the bed before the sun had even risen, and that’s a pretty huge thing if you take into consideration that’s the time I usually get home from a night out (and, well, I go out pretty much every night).

If you’re wondering how the fuck I managed to go to bed sober and alone last night, don’t worry. I’m wondering the same. But that’s exactly what I did, and as a consequence I woke up at six in the morning. A quarter past five and I was already at the gym, clocking in 5k on the treadmill before hitting the weights. I wonder what Natalie would think if she saw me acting all responsible and shit. She might think that I’m a loser, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth. She doesn’t really know me … yet.

Speaking of Natalie, it’s almost time for our scheduled meeting. I take my shirt off and cross the living room, turning on the intercom by the door and pressing the button that connects me to the doorman.

“Yes, sir?” The voice from the almost retired doorman, Anthony, comes from the speaker, and I clear my throat before speaking.

“Anthony, I’m going to have a visitor. You can let her come up right away. Her name is Natalie, and she works for Gage Price.”

“The usual discretion, sir?” he asks me, and I can almost sense the grin in the old bastard’s face. Good ol’ Anthony, always the discrete one. Every time I come to New York, I rely on him to get women out of my fucking apartment without the whole world hearing about it. He’s saved my ass from the media quite a few times. Too bad he refuses to come work for me; he’s been working at the Dakota for almost thirty years now, and he refuses to be “disloyal to his employers,” as he puts it.

“No, there’s no need. It’s strictly business,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sir,” he says, and I press one button to end the call. I check the time one more time and head straight for the bathroom. I undress, place all my sweat-drenched clothes in the laundry basket and finally step inside the wide shower stall. I turn the faucet on and, a few seconds after the water starts running, a cloud of steam starts to rise in the air. I groan as I step under the hot water, my tense muscles relaxing from the workout.

Fuck, I really hit the weights hard today. Every fucking time I thought of Natalie it seemed as if I gained access to a hidden reservoir of strength. I don’t know what the fuck it is about her but… Okay, okay, I know what it is about her, I’m not going to lie to you.

When I first laid eyes on her, I knew I was standing in front of a woman different from all others. Her blonde hair spilled across her shoulders and, even though she was wearing a simple formal black dress, she looked fucking stunning. Let me be honest; I fucking devoured her with my eyes. I imagined what it would be like to slide my fingers up her leg, toward the hem of her dress, and then further up… I imagined the curves of her body, and the way her smooth skin would feel under my fingertips. And her lips, Jesus fucking Christ, they were ripe for kissing.

Fuck, thinking of her is getting my blood pressure up. My heart is racing and I can’t stop myself. I take one hand down my stomach and grab my twelve-inches of cock. I start moving my hand up and down my shaft, my cock hardening against my fingers until it becomes as solid as fucking concrete.

Now, I must tell you something: I think this is the first time in months that I fucking jerk off. I don’t really need to fucking do it, you know? There’s always someone willing to lend a hand… and then some. But, right now, I don’t think that any woman in the world would help to ease the fucking pressure. Unless we’re talking about Natalie, that is. Sweet Natalie… The way her name echoes inside of my head makes me close my eyes, and I let my imagination run fucking wild.

In my mind’s eye I can see her naked body, her hard nipples aching for my touch as I lean in to kiss her. I imagine how it would feel to press my body against hers, to hold her in my arms as she parts her legs and I slide one hand between her thighs…

“OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” I open my eyes as a feminine voice cuts through the fog of my imagination and snaps me back to reality. She’s standing in the middle of the bathroom, shrouded in steam, and I just look at her wordlessly. Yeah, if you’re wondering, I’m talking about Natalie.

Fuck.

I didn’t expect her to be this fucking early and, of course, I also didn’t expect her to catch me red-handed in the shower. But what the fuck, it’s only a leap from imagination to reality, and I’m more than willing to make the fucking jump.