When I reach her, she puts her phone down and backs herself against the kitchen island before I slide my arms around her waist and press my body into her. Aleck’s Winter is eager for me. Her guard is down, and when her guard is down, she’s irresistible.

My mouth immediately opens over her neck, sucking her sensitive skin into my mouth. I’ve had her twice already today, and that’s not enough. It’s never enough. Taking her in the shower was my favorite. I watched her through the shower glass in the mirror while I stood behind her, giving it to her hard. Her mouth was wide open as she gasped for air between moans. Her tits and face pushed against the glass…

My cock is swelling just thinking about it. I slide my hand under the hem of the little dress she’s wearing and—

“Aleck…” Winter’s sultry tone brings me back to reality. “We have to meet the gang downstairs for brunch. It’s bad enough we bailed on them last night.”

I take one last lick of her neck, stopping at her ear. “Tonight, I’m fucking you on the balcony in front of the fire.”

I graze my fingertips up her arm, feeling the goosebumps that have peppered her skin.

“Okay, but right now we have to go,” is what she says, but her body is slack against mine and she moans, making it so fucking hard for me to back away from her. “I don’t want to make this weekend the Aleck-Winter Show, you know?”

I lift my face to hers. “Oh, but, baby…” I kiss her lips softly. “It is.”

And she swoons. Baby Bulldog, Sister Winter in all their prudish glory, those women are gone, six-feet-fucking-under. Aleck’s Winter is all that remains in their rubble and she’s here to stay.

I slide my key card into my wallet and pocket it, along with my phone while Winter slips her bare feet into her already laced up Chuck Taylor’s. We leave the suite and head for the elevator when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing my father’s name on the screen.

“I’m going to take this…” I say, holding my phone up.

“Go for it.”

The elevator door dings and slides open, allowing us to step inside.

Tapping my phone screen, I answer the call. “Pops…”

“Son,” he answers.

My dad always comes off cold to others. He has a very steeped-in-wealth demeanor, and that throws some off. In his true form, though, he’s one of the kindest, most giving men I’ve ever known. His tone is often clipped, like he’s perpetually late to a meeting, but he’s warm and all ears when you need him. I just wish I trusted him with some of my truths. He’s always asked about the extent of what I’ve gone through. But the thought of seeing the look on my father’s face when I tell him that when I was young, my mom would occasionally lock me in her bathroom with one or another of her drug friends while I was made to watch them jerk-off as payment for hits of heroine isn’t high on my list of things to suffer through. So, like everything else, I keep it inside. I run it off in the morning, and I drink or fuck it off at night.