Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

deeper part is the reason I am thinking about this tempting goddess almost every minute of my day.

I finally look at Steven, still waiting for me to tell him what the fuck has been wrong with me lately.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I start to deny.

“Bullshit. You used to be an asshole all the time.”

“You want me to go back to being an asshole all the time, Steven?”

“I want consistency, man. Because this level of assholery feels a lot like the old you, and I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I tell him quickly.

“Are you still…clean?”

I blink hard, annoyed. “I’m fucking clean, Steven.”

He’s exasperated. “Then what is it?”

A few seconds pass by. He stares at me, waiting. I look back, searching for words.

“I want to sell the company,” I find myself saying.

“What? Why?” he asks, bewildered. He has no itch. He’s happy to stay. They’re always so fucking happy to stay. “We’re still climbing, Aidan.”

“We’ve done everything we needed to do, Steven. I want to do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. I need to figure that out.”

He nods, looking like he finally understands, until he says, “I think you’re going through a crisis. This is an episode. It isn’t real, Aidan. Whatever’s been happening to you, you’ll get over it. It’s just a phase.”

I shake my head, annoyed. “Steven, the company went public a year ago. We lost all our control. What’s the point of sitting on a board if you can’t have a say? The shareholders get to run the show. I’m tired of that. I’m not looking at dollars and cents. We have an opportunity to sell and move on to greater things.”

“That’s why you keep skipping out, isn’t it? All those trips you keep taking. You’re looking at other ventures.” When I don’t answer, he sighs. “So, that’s it then? You’re going to leave me here to do this alone?”

“Do it with me.”

“No, I can’t do that. I found something stable, Aidan. And Jenna needs stability. We want to start a family.”

“Cash out and you’ll have all the time in the world for that.”

Steven’s quiet. He’s thinking about it, I can tell. But he’s at war with the unknown. After all, we worked years for this success, and now that we have it, he isn’t letting it go.

“We only made it big because our platform is different than all the others and we struck at this before everyone else beat us to it,” he says, quietly, looking at me sadly. “It was luck. How do we do that again? We’ll fail.”

“Fail and fail and fail,” I acknowledge, wholeheartedly. “That’s the beauty of it, Steven. We get to take risks and hope they pay off.”

“That’s playing with our own money, and I want to leave something big behind for my family when I’m not here. How many successful entrepreneurs have we seen lose everything opening businesses or investing in garbage run-of-the-mill ventures? One second they’re hot, the next they’re plummeting because most of it is junk flavors of the week. These companies burn out. Hot one second, cold the next.” He shakes his head, frustrated. “Aidan, I’m not like you. I don’t treat life like it’s this fleeting adventure. I can’t be cruel to a person or fuck a girl like it means nothing. What you keep chasing is short lasting. I’m in for the long haul. I don’t think you have the capacity to understand that, not until…”

I stare at his wistful face, demanding, “Until what?”

He looks at me, his eyes hardening. “Until you have something to lose.”

Ah, there it is.

I don’t respond to that.

I turn my back to him and pretend to look at my watch.

“Aidan…” he says, calmly, “you need to find something you’re passionate about in this life that isn’t work.”

I’m done listening to this.

“Don’t be impulsive.”

“I don’t need your fucking advice,” I retort. “Enough of it.”

“Fine.” He sounds frustrated. I’m back to being…me. A cunt. Closed up, walls up, buried in myself. I know what the world sees. Steven sees it, too. I won’t even fight it today.

Steeling myself, my authoritative voice returns when I say, “Let’s move this day along then, shall we?”

*

I’m spending too much of my days staring at her picture. It’s mortifying that I prop my phone up with her picture staring at me. I stare at it while I work in my office, while I eat, while I loosen my tie and start preparing for bed in my quiet apartment. She’s perfect. Everything about her is…perfection.

I pace, thinking about her.

I shower, hand wrapped around my cock, thinking of her as I come, wishing I was coming inside her. What would her pussy feel like around my cock? What sounds would I be able to draw out of that sinful mouth?

Mostly, I’m alone. The only company I have are thoughts of her.

I imagine her writhing beneath me, begging me with her vulgar little mouth to, “fuck me, sir. Please.”

I wonder what she tastes like.

I wonder what her lips feel like.

I wonder if she’d let me hold her all night.

If I’m being brutally honest, I pace because I don’t know what she’s doing right now. I don’t know if she is being fucked, kissed, held. It’s infuriating. It maddens me. It makes me want to rip this heart out of my chest – it’s the culprit to these feelings, is it not? – and obliterate it.

I’ve already crumbled to temptation. Such a strange emotion. It feels like such a bizarre pressure that builds within me. I sought out information about her. I just needed to know…to know more about her. There’s a file on my desk with her name on it. I haven’t read it. I only know where she works and how long she’s been in that apartment. Everything else – all the intimate details – are locked away. It’s there for the future. For a time I’ll be desperate for a fix. It’s so fucking incredible I already know that time will come.

Have I