Page 75 of Forgotten Prejudice

I was on the edge, both physically and emotionally, and I craved Ash like I craved a good high.

But Ash isn’t yours to crave. Not only that, but unlike drugs, I couldn’t just toss some money and buy him to satisfy my urge. He was out of my fucking reach.

Swallowing back this thought, I pumped myself faster until my balls grew tight and my dick twitched. A moment later, I sprayed my cum all over the shower floor, wishing it was Ash’s face I was creaming.

Drained and hurt, I watched the water slowly washing away my hopeless desires.

Kai

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growled at Soren as the prick fixed his position before swinging his racket in the air and striking a perfect serve.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked, pulling another tennis ball out of his shorts. Bouncing the ball a few times, he tossed it in the air before striking it, slicing the air in half with his smooth swing. Only then did he turn to look at me, his smug face taking pleasure in the moment. “Practicing my serve, of course. And I’m so glad you could join me, Kai.”

“Join you?” I hissed, my jaw twitching with rage. “They told the restaurant that some billionaire was interested in hiring us to cater his party. We were asked to meet them here to discuss the details, so the owner sent me. Now I see it was all a scam.” I looked around the empty tennis court, which was part of a private club. Clearly, Soren had set it all up just to drag me here.

“Well, I am a billionaire and indeed looking for a caterer for a rather big party I’m hosting. But my assistant probably made a foolish mistake contacting your little restaurant. As if I’d ever hire someone like you.” He couldn’t have sounded more full of himself. “But oh well, let’s look at the bright side. Shall we?” Pulling out another racket from his bag, he offered it to me.

“I don’t know how to play tennis.” I flashed him a fake smile while pushing the racket away from my face.

Bouncing the racket in his hand, he chuckled. “Well, that’s an unfortunate lie.” He held my stare. “Because my sources told me you were quite the player, and here I was, getting my hopes up to have a proper match.”

I was a damn good player, and not by choice. My stupid father forced me to play. It was just one out of many other things he pushed me to do while trying to shape me into being more like him.

“Fine.” I snatched the racket from his grip. “Ten-points tiebreaker,” I said, not intending to stick around for a full game.

Soren smirked, his eyes checking me out slowly. “Don’t you want to change into something more comfortable? I have some of Ashton’s shorts in my car. Last time we finished a game, he couldn’t keep them on, if you know what I mean.” He grinned. “I bet I could also find a shirt.”

His words rubbed me the wrong way, but choosing to ignore him, I walked to the other side of the court. “I’d beat your ass just fine wearing whatever.”

Once again, Soren let out that low chuckle that dared me not to punch him in the face.

“You can serve first,” he said, hitting two balls my way.

He probably hoped to hit me with one of them, but I caught both.

“I appreciate your generosity.”

“Please, it’s the least I could do.”

“The least you could do is shut the fuck up.”

“That’s unnecessarily rude,” he sneered, and fuckkkk.

I wanted to kill him.

“Would you be quiet? I’m trying to concentrate.” I bounced the ball on the hard court.

“Please, take all the time you need. I heard you’re rather slow.”

Biting my lip hard, I shook my head and forced myself to focus on my serve instead of going over there and pounding his head open with the racket. With my foot pointing in the direction of the net, I fixed my grip on the handle, tossed the ball in the air, jumped, and swung my racket. Like a stretched spring, I released all my strength on the ball, hitting a perfect serve that started the game.

Without noticing, I got into it and fought harder than I should have to return each ball Soren hit my way. Sweat soaked my clothes, and the afternoon sun fried my brain as we played the ball back and forth until one game turned into four.

Now, in the fourth game, it was Soren’s turn to serve. Having the advantage point, all he needed was to score this one to win the game.

Already familiar with his shots, I positioned myself further back to the baseline and bent my knees, ready to take his serve. The ball went up at the same time he swung his racket back and—

“Out,” I yelled after his serve missed the line by a mere inch.