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I fucking suck at anything that resembles real intimacy. No wonder I only date women for a month.

This realization prompted me to come home and hit the still-stocked bar, full of half-open bottles of champagne and all manner of hard alcohol.

I barely remember how much or what I drank, but I know it was a lot and very mixed because I can barely pull myself from bed.

I’m sure I need a shower, I can smell the liquor sweating out of my pores. Instead, I pull on athletic pants and head down to my kitchen.

Throwing every protein powder I’ve got into the blender, I toss in a banana and some almond milk and then hit blend, the sound making my head throb worse.

But when it’s blended, I don’t even bother putting the mixture into a glass. I chug it straight from the carafe, draining the contents.

Then I turn to the stove to make myself some eggs.

By the time I’ve eaten and taken some ibuprofen, it’s one in the afternoon, and feeling slightly better, I head up to the shower.

I scrub myself down. But as the headache recedes, my cock starts pulsing with a need so deep that my little man can’t be ignored.

He wants Honeyeh and so do I.

And last night I fucked it up.

Even in that moment, Honeyeh was so tempting, so perfect as she asked me with the prettiest please to keep going. Begged me to touch her.

Fucking hell, that woman knows just how to hit me where I’m most raw. It’s like she was made for me.

Was she? Am I stupid for fighting this attraction between us?

But I don’t do commitment, I don’t want a woman clogging up my life. I’ve been the break wall for my family for so long. Taking my father’s shit, and now, making the tough decisions for our business.

Why would I take on more responsibility?

Besides, this is not a place a woman belongs, getting bashed against the waves with me. Then again, Honeyeh is like the tide, pulling me out with such force, I can’t seem to resist.

I get out of the shower and towel off. Maybe I should have fucked her. Gotten it out of my system.

But then I would have been my fucking father. Selfishly taking without any regard of how much I’d hurt her.

Despite what Victoria said a few days ago, I don’t lie, and I don’t make promises meant to give false hope. Victoria can handle that even if she’s a bitch about it.

But Honeyeh, she’s so vulnerable. No matter how I proceed, I could break her.

Fuck.

I pull on slacks and a dress shirt even though it’s Saturday. I think I need to call Honeyeh, but I need armor to do it.

In jeans, I might just go over to her apartment and toss her over my shoulder, like I’m not a man on the verge of making billions with everything to lose.

But after I’m dressed, I head to my office, pulling out my phone. Do I call her? Apologize? Invite her to dinner?

I know where that’s leading. I’ll end up having her for dessert.

How long can I have her in my house, tempting me without tasting the forbidden fruit?

Should I pass her off to one of my brothers to have her work in his house? At the real estate office?

The very idea of her ass on display for any of them has me tensing with irrational barely contained fury.

I go back to my plan I considered yesterday. Marry her.