Preston
I woke up and stretched to find that beautiful woman. I wanted to roll over and thrust my cock into her again. I wanted to wake her up with my name dripping from her lips. I could still smell her in the air as I turned over to find her.
But when I went to smile at her, I was met with an empty bed.
“Delilah?”
I slid out of bed and went to go find her. Maybe she was in the bathroom or something. I peeked my head in and walked around my penthouse apartment. But when I didn’t see her clothes anywhere, I ran my hand through my hair.
That woman left me in the middle of the night.
No one left Preston Walker. That shit didn’t happen. I was always courteous to the women I allowed to stay over. She was a good one, too. I didn’t let just anyone stay over with me. Only the ones I wanted to taste again in the morning. I’d cook them breakfast, maybe take them one last time on the kitchen counter, then I’d send them off with a gift. A necklace or a bracelet I had in my stash of gifts I kept in my closet.
It was a nice little peace offering so there were no hard feelings.
I spent the entire weekend trying to figure out why the fuck she left. That night between us had been magical. I hadn’t cum that hard inside a woman’s pussy in years. And I knew she had a good time because she was practically clawing at my body. I still had fucking scratch marks on my chest from where she dug herself in. Holy fuck, I got hard every time I thought about it.
There was no way she left because she had a shitty time.
I tried calling her over the weekend, but she didn’t pick up her phone. I expected her to at least drop by my office on Monday, but she was a no-show. Her light was on underneath her door, but she wasn’t emerging. Not when I requested her to come see me, not when I knocked on her door, and not after I ordered her lunch.
What the hell was wrong with this woman?
I didn’t get it. I knew we had a good time and I knew I made her enjoy herself. There wasn’t a woman I had ever laid with that wasn’t begging me for seconds eventually. Usually, I was the one that had to cut ties. I was the one that had to tell them to stop calling or some shit like that. But now, I was the one tracking her down.
And there could only be one reason for that.
I needed to shower her with something different. Most women were okay with a diamond bracelet or a fancy dinner, but maybe Delilah wasn’t that kind of girl. She was weird. Artsy. Feisty, but in a different way. I ordered lunches and flowers and gave presents to all the other girls and they showered me with their attention.
So if Delilah wasn’t doing that yet, then I hadn’t found the right gift for her.
I walked over to my file cabinet and searched through the ‘K’’s. I pulled her file and started reading through it, trying to see if anything would jump out at me. Her resume was pretty basic. Her psychological profile was normal. There was nothing in her folder that jumped out at me as something I could use to really swing her attention back towards me.
Until my eyes grazed over her vacation days.
Holy hell, this woman had only taken two fucking vacations in all the years she had worked here.
No wonder Delilah had been so desperate for my cock. She wasn’t even allowing herself paid vacation time to recuperate. She was just letting her four weeks fall to the wayside every damn year. That was the kind of shit that could get this company in trouble. If we were to be audited and it showed that employees of my company weren’t taking vacation, then it could blow back on me.
So now, I knew how to fix two issues with one gesture.
I sat down at my computer and started my research. I looked for retreats I could send this woman on. A nice three-week spa retreat or a getaway in the mountains somewhere. The woman wore fucking cardigans and long ass skirts. There was no way in hell she owned a bikini. But as I was scrolling through retreats I could buy her, there was one that caught my eye.
A three-week art retreat in the Pocono Mountains.
I bought it without batting an eye and sent the confirmation slip to Delilah. I rented her a luxury vehicle she could drive so she wouldn’t have to put any miles on her car, then I sent her that confirmation as well.
And just as I suspected, I watched as she emerged from her office.
She padded down the hallway, her body making its way towards my office. I watched the doorknob turn on my door as it flew open. There she was, in all of her curvy glo
ry, standing there in front of me with her eyes widened.
“Miss Kent,” I said.
“An art retreat?” she asked.
“What about it?”