His Touch(2)

By: Melinda Minx

“I’m not worried about the internship,” Nadine says. “I’m worried about the mother-daughter stuff. She was supposed to be home an hour ago…”

I start to tune her out. I’m marrying her to help out Sencorp, not to hear her whine about her daughter.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, not really listening to her. “I’m sure it’s fine. Hey, I gotta’ go.”

“Oh,” she says. “Sorry, yeah, later.”


Dash laughs. “Damn, man, you’re crazy for doing this.”

Maybe I am, but it’s a matter of honor for me. I have my golden fucking touch, and if it wasn’t for Nadine, I’d still be scrubbing dishes or running black market deals. How can I watch her inherit a sinking ship and not fucking do something about it? I might not give a shit about her daughter or her love life, but I won’t let her career go down the shitter. Nadine’s career is the one thing she really cares about.

It has been a few years since I used my golden touch, and the last two years have been a fucking blur of tight dresses and wet panties. Not that I’d ever really get tired of fucking a new woman every night while enjoying my fortune, but saving a company from drowning gives me a certain adrenaline rush that I can’t get anywhere else. Once I turn a company around and it starts raking in the cash, I get bored. It’s why I sold my first company, and why I’m known for just “touching” a company and walking off.

I laugh. I can talk about honor all I want--about wanting to do this for Nadine--but that’s probably all it boils down to for me, if I’m being honest with myself. I want that rush. I’ve never tried to save a company that is so close to ruin as hers. I need to make every crazy gambit I can if it’s going to work. Marrying her is just the start.

Dash and I turn the corner and see a long line of people huddling up outside a bar. Waiting to get in.

I walk us right up to the front and nod to the bouncer, A.J. He recognizes me and lets us in straight away. There’s no bottle service at a shithole like this, but I tip very generously, and that gets us right in.

“Shit,” Dash says, looking around. “They just keep getting younger, huh? Or I guess we just keep getting older.”

“Thirty-six ain’t old,” I say, grinning.

“Tell that to her,” Dash says, pointing over my shoulder.

I turn around, and though the place is packed tight, she catches my eye immediately. She’s wearing a bright--and tight—blue dress. Her breasts are spilling out of the low-cut neckline, and the dress hugs her perfect ass and impossibly tiny waist just right. Her full red lips give a stunning contrast to that deep blue, and her long, silky hair spills down her shoulders. When the light hits her dark hair, it shimmers like a starry night.

As I stare, she looks over and locks eyes with me. Her eyes are bright blue—just like her dress—and they widen when she looks at me. She quickly regains her composure, trying to play it cool, but I saw the way she looked at me. My pants tighten as my cock instantly gets hard.

Still looking at me, she licks her lips, then presses them together. She looks up at me through her long lashes, and I feel the most primal of urges surging through every inch of my body--but mostly through the nine rock-hard inches in my pants.

“Fuck…” I hear myself saying, but my voice catches in my throat.

Dash cackles and elbows me. “How old do you think she is?”

Fuck. She’s holding a drink, but there’s no way she’s twenty-one. Shit, I doubt she’s even eighteen.

I summon every last ounce of my willpower to tear my gaze away from her. I look down at my shoes, and even though she’s out of my sight, the image of her is fucking burned into my mind. Every last curve of her is still there, and the urge to look up again is maddening.

I turn my body away. Dash laughs harder.

“Come on, man,” he says. “You know you want--”

“Fuck off,” I grunt. My voice is gravel.

I’m too old for this shit. Even if she is legal, what the fuck am I going to do with someone that young?

My mind races with dozens of ideas of exactly what I would do to her, and how much she would fucking like it, and how much she’d beg for more.

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