Page 6 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

LORENZO

I contain my actions and movements over the next week, I plan and catch my breath. My legal team, and I talk to NY entertainment bankers, and we arrange meetings.

While working on business plans, and overseeing the movies in production, I work on myself.

I rebuild my depleted energy, strengthen my body, and my spirit. I also try not to get distracted with the visitor.

I have to contain the image of Raven naked, and her on the end of my cock unravelling. It is just hard.

I’m usually good at controlling my mind. I have to be. Running my entertainment empire is a combination of time management, stress management, risk management, and entertainment knowledge.

It requires me harnessing my time and experience, and swinging my focus from one problem to another.

As I read another screenplay in my office, a daily call comes in.

Emily, my PA updates me on various ups and downs regarding the three movies shooting, and she is concise. My VPs provide more detailed reports, and in writing, but I always have multiple sources.

Finally, Emily moves on to other matters, and I stand and click my neck. Even if I don’t want to do it, I grunt, “Shoot.”

For the next full minute, my precise and conservative assistant asks if I’d care to attend various galas, dinner parties, and balls. As fucking if. I’m becoming more and more of a recluse, and I like it. I need time to focus, and I need time to work on myself.

I do, however, listen until she finally finishes. “No, and to everything.” Emily pauses. “Yes?” I ask, with a sigh.

“I’m just checking, but… ”

“What is it?”

“Edwina, Svetlana and Natasha all called this week. Anything for them?”

My jaw tightens, and a temple pulses. They are all trying to suck me in, and I met them all over a year ago. One, or two dates each, was as far as it got.

As soon as they found out, I had billions, they went in like wolves. They are the last of the last, and enough is enough.

“No,” I say coldly.

Having money, living in Manhattan, and dating for a decade, was a bad move.

A dozen models, heiresses and socialites in their twenties and thirties have been chasing me over the last few years. They put me off no end.

Gold diggers are the main reason I pulled back and became a recluse. I also said enough to the endless offers to attend premieres, to attend red carpet events, and to network.

If I want something now, I call banks or talent agents. End of fucking story.

I’ve always been used to being alone, and I prefer it that way. Being given up by your parents will do that.

The problem now is, I’m recluse, with needs.

Even if I don’t have the extreme sexual appetite I had years back, when I could sleep with two women a night, and wear them both out, I’m still hard for hours a day.

I am also fantasizing about acts, very twisted sexual acts.

My PA moves on fast. Emily knows I was what some may call a bachelor playboy, and she also knows a little about my twisted past.

She also knows, I am cold, reserved, isolated from society, extra hard on people and generally...

A complete bastard.

After the call ends, Charles, my primary legal advisor makes the planned Zoom call. As I drop the screenplay, I throw my legs up onto my desk.

My home office is stunning, and it is my favorite place in the world.

We discuss the capital I seek to expand, and we do not waste time.

I can tell Charles is nervous about me constantly building my entertainment studio, but is all I have in the world.

“I understand, Lorenzo, but you have five billion on the line with all of the movies in production. That is, on top of your streaming company investments. Do you really want to keep expanding?” he asks. “And keep diversifying?”

“Always!” I say without thinking about it.

Growing, expanding and building is all I know. Because I have stopped dating, and fucking, I need a sizeable challenge. Also an outlet, to channel my extremely strong energy.

“Look, how big is enough?” Charles asks, as if exhausted. He likely is, but I am not .

I peer out the window, and the weather ahead, looks stormy again.

Charles checks a detail with his PA, and I sit and think about the upcoming trip away. Next, my coming week.

I will soon need a break. Not having sex, is throwing me off my A game.

“Are you really sure you want to keep that much tied up, and now?” Charles asks, “Or at least sixty percent of it, for the next twelve months?”

I decide now is the time, where I need to be straight up, and commit. “Yes and try to find more marketable movie pitches in the twenty-million-dollar range. With stars attached. Also streaming series pitches.”

It’s my style, and I’ve never done anything by half. I came from nothing. All in. All of the time is the only way I know how.

My attorney, now friend, chuckles, and shakes his head. “Did I ever call you a crazy arsehole?”

I laugh, and I like his balls. No one else ever calls me out. “Every year, when our financial statements come in. And every year, we almost double.”

“You are not wrong,” he says before we wrap up the Zoom call.

Later in the week, my team and I fly to Chicago, to meet a bank for a new line of credit. I secure three billion, to be paid back over the coming decade.

Charles, a specialist banker, and me then fly to Dallas, and we close on another three billion for a theme park.

I am sliding some personal finance off the table at the same time. Maybe it is time to diversify, and to buy some property. Who the heck knows, maybe one day I’ll also exit showbiz, and build a home.

As we fly back from Dallas, and the sun sets, a call comes in on my personal cell. It’s Storm, and I answer quickly. “All okay?”

“Yep. Hey, where are the baking trays?”

“In the last drawer behind the main oven, I guess.” I walk away from the banker, Charles, and the junior staff in the private jet.

“And will you be home for dinner? I’m going to make lasagna, or would you like pasta? Only if you’re hungry.”

“Pasta,” I say without thinking.

Storm then asks me about my day. What the hell would she do that for? Who really gives an F, and what’s the point?

I rub my temple, and remember, she’s a sweet, small-town girl, who knows no different. I also remember I tend to be a cold robot.

Growing up alone, depending on no one will do that. Especially after the messed-up chain of foster homes I was forced to endure .

Finally, I answer her next question, even if it feels… weird. “Yes, thanks. I’m having a nice day.” Charles looks over, and even Emily my PA looks across, as if I’ve committed murder.

“So, what time?”

“I’ll likely be home at eight,” I say checking my old watch.

“Great.”

“Ahh, how was your day,” I ask trying to be a human. “Are you alright?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Kind of?” I ask protectively.

“Yeah, just some rude folk.”

“Well, let me know if you need someone killed.” There is silence. “I am kidding,” I say flatly.

“Phew, but good to know,” the mousy stranger says.

As we fly across the mid-west, I rub my neck. “Well, see you soon.” I end the call and sit, clicking my neck.

As we all pivot to the last needed billions to expand, I suddenly lose focus. I think of Storm, and I imagine her naked.

She puts so little effort into her presentation, and clothing.

She is so plain, but why am I thinking about her? And daily? Why does the image of her dripping, keep coming to me?

I close my eyes, as my legal and banking advisors drone on. I cannot have my sexual energy distracting me like it used to, and I may soon need to release it.

Release it far from her.

I think of those big brown eyes, perfect full breasts, and large dark nipples. Her hips, wider than I’ve liked in the past, but so darned perfect.

I want to see her eyes, as she unravels, and I want to stretch her wide. Then have her buck on me, and shatter .

The one image that I cannot stop seeing… Me behind her, her on her knees, and me yanking on her hair, as I come in her and she bucks.