I can’t focus. My fingers drum an unsteady beat on my desk as I listen to Oliver rattle off our executive task list for this quarter. One task requires me to go to a dinner with this potential investor of ours tonight.
IIf I’m being frank, I couldn’t care less about impressing this man today. The only thing that’s leaving any impression on me is my zipper on my permanent hard-on. All week, I’ve been at the end of my goddamn rope. Seeing Presley’s tight little body, smelling her vanilla shampoo, hearing her warm-honey voice, watching her knock every assignment out of the ballpark. . .
It’s been insanely distracting, and I’m not proud of myself for it. All I need right now is a good hard f**k to flush out all of these unneeded impulses.
“. . . and after we build the spaceship and fly it a
