The CEO's Playboy Son

Henry

Everyone says eventually you'll hit a block, they say there's a turning point for everything, that no one is able to continue a winning streak of luck for very long.

Well, whoever said that never met Henry Cooper, heir to the biggest fortune in Miami.

As I was lying in bed that morning, smirking and reliving the adventures of the night before, an annoying whine whispered into my ear. Frowning, I rolled over and opened my eyes.

"Hey sexy," a naked blonde whispered. She had my thousand dollar duvet pulled high over her obviously fake but still perfect breasts, and she was grinning, biting her lower lip and fluttering her lashes at me. It was immediately apparent that she thought this made her special – that something about her was so good that she stuck out from the rest of my conquests in a blaze of sex and golden light. But I was about to burst her bubble.

"What are you still doing here?" I groaned, rolling over and trying to climb out of bed.

The blonde whined again, something too quiet for me to hear.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around and glared at her. "I asked you a question," I said in a pointed voice. "You feel like answering me or not?"

The blonde frowned. She bit her lip – she wasn't pouting this time, and the disappointment on her face was obvious.

"Why?" She pushed her hair away from her forehead. "You were fine when I said I was gonna sleep over last night." Before I could reply, she was crawling towards me. The sheet fell away from her body, exposing magnificent breasts capped with pink nipples. My sore cock twitched between my legs, but I knew all too well that getting involved with a creature like this was dangerous.

"Well, I was obviously drunk last night, sweetheart," I said sarcastically, climbing out of bed and pulling on a pair of shorts. "Now you gotta go – get a move on."

The blonde pouted. She flopped back against the pillows, arranging her blonde mane of tangled curls.

"You're so mean," she said. "You live in a very big Condo – you won't even know I'm here. Hey, do you want to get breakfast?"

"No," I said icily. "I've told you – I want you to leave. I'm getting in the shower, and I want you gone by the time I get back."

The blonde made a noise of frustration, then yanked the sheet over her head and pretended to hide as I crossed the room. The plush wall-to-wall carpeting felt amazing on my feet, but at this point in my life i had gone past appreciation the luxurious splendour of my Condo.

In the bathroom, I pissed in the sink, then grabbed a toothbrush and started wearily working its way through my mouth. My whole body hurt – I'd drunk so much tequila last night that I wasn't at all surprised I'd let my conquest sleep over. Most of the time, I had a rule: no woman was allowed to sleep over, even if she was passed out drunk.

Last night, last night, I thought as I furiously scrubbed the taste of booze and limes and salt off my teeth. What did I do last night?

I had a vague memory of meeting my buddy Coady for drinks, then going out to the Club. But after that, everything got foggy. With an aggravated sigh, I reached into my deluxe standing shower and turned the water on to the hottest possible temperature. Instantly, a steamy spray of hot moisture gushed from the three rainforest shower heads I'd had installed just a couple of months ago. I grinned at my naked reflection in the mirror – even hungover, Henry Cooper was one sexy motherfucker.

Rinsing my teeth, I

tossed my toothbrush aside and waded under the hot spray. The water soaked through my hair and over my skin, almost like a baptism, a renewal. Closing my eyes, I groaned as I rubbed my hands through my dark hair. It was stiff at the roots with grease and sweat, and I could practically smell the leftover tequila steaming out of my pores. It felt good– the water did.

A knock on the glass made me open my eyes and cry out in surprise. The blonde was standing on the other side of the shower, naked, and pouting at me. Her lips were chapped and her skin was dry – she was obviously just as hungover as I was. Still, I could tell she was dying to impress me.

"Henry," the blonde cooed, pressing her naked body against the door. Her large breasts pressed against the glass wall of the shower and I couldn't help but stare.

"Leave me alone," I grunted. "I told you, you're supposed to leave."

The blonde frowned. "Henry, come on, can't I get in the shower with you?" She made a suggestive face – opening her mouth and running the tip of a pink tongue over her lips.

"No," I said. I shook my head. "Go home. If you need money for a cab, there's a twenty on the dresser."

The blonde pouted. "Come on," she said in a coy voice. "I'm so dirty, Henry. I need to rinse off – please?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fuck off," I mumbled. "You're not getting in here."

To my surprise, the blonde yanked open the shower door. As soon as she tried stepping inside, I put both of my hands on her shoulders and pushed her firmly away. She cried out in surprise before slipping on the wet floor and falling down with her legs splayed.

"I told you," I hissed. "I want you gone. I don't fuck women more than once, you got that? You need to leave, or I'm coming out of the shower and calling the cops."

The woman stared back at me with hurt, anger, and disappointment glowing in her brown eyes. For a moment, we held each other's gaze. Then she made a sound under breath and stalked out of the bathroom, wearing one of my expensive Cotton towels as a shawl.

Women, I thought, dipping my head back under the water and rubbing a thick handful of shampoo into my hair. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.