[Warning: This chapter contains Explicit Mature Content]
After being pushed out of the elevator so coldly by none other than his birdie, after having claimed her lips for the entire ride, Karl Hanski returned to his flat with a very prominent bulge straining painfully between his legs.
Grumpy and thoroughly frustrated, the moment he slammed the door shut behind him, he stripped off the designer turquoise jacket and flung it over a chair like he hadn't spent half the day choosing it just so she'd notice.
Then he threw himself onto the black leather couch, unzipped the stiff fabric straining against his hardness, shoved it down to his knees, and pulled free the aching, burning length trapped beneath the tight spandex of his boxers.
He'd already been hard earlier that night thanks to her, but there hadn't been much he could do about it then, given the bad timing.
But now? There was no freaking way he was going to sleep without dealing with this blood-boiling ache himself.
