Page 17 of Single Daddy To Go

It’s true. Staring closely at the white wall, I can see tiny seams that run about ten feet up and fifteen feet across.

“So there’s a hidden elevator here, that drops your car off on this floor?” I ask, gesturing to the slide indentation in the wall.

Rob nods.

“That’s right. You know us billionaires. We don’t like to be apart from our toys, and that includes our cars.”

I’m stunned. I’ve heard of crazy things before, like Japanese robot parking attendants that can fit fifty cars into a small, boxy lot with elevated riders. But having your car parked inyourpenthouse, ready for you at any time? It’s a luxury that blows me away.

But Rob is totally at ease.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he teases me, opening a gilded front door. “Come see what other toys there are.”

I step hesitantly into a blinding white apartment with black leather furniture. A giant, glittery chandelier hangs from the extra-height ceiling, and what looks like a sculpture of a tree adorns one corner. Artwork is placed in each wall creche, carefully highlighted to bring out the exquisite detail and craftsmanship.

“Wow,” is all I can manage, looking around with a stunned expression. “It’s like you live in a museum.”

“Oh that?” he asks with a casual glance, indicating the tree with a nod. “That’s just something I picked up at Art Basel last year. You know I’m pretty into the art scene and enjoy collecting. It speaks to something in me,” he says simply.

I’m surprised, shooting him a glance.

“Really? You’re into art? I thought you were more of a business and finance type.”

He grins.

“I am, but who’s to say I can’t have outside interests?” he shrugs. “Art helps me see things in a different light, and gives possibility when I feel like I’ve hit a wall. Running my company is tough, and there are a lot of times when the shit hits the fan and I want to give up. But imbibing art and seeing how it changes the world helps calm me down and give me insight into next steps,” he says.

The words are casual, but I know he means every syllable. I’m infused with respect for this titan. Of course, running a corporate empire must be difficult. It’s no walk in the park, and everyone has a different way of blowing off steam.

“Well, I guess it’s better than using hookers and blow,” I say in what I hope is a funny voice. Immediately, I wish a hole would open up in the floor to swallow me up. Why did I say that? What a stupid remark. He’s probably going to throw me out of his apartment now, and I would totally deserve it.

But instead, Rob just shrugs. “Maybe for a younger man,” he remarks, “but I leave that to my subordinates. Nope, it’s the gym and art that do it for me,” he says. “And a good woman,” he adds on a low note while shooting me a glance. “That also helps me relax a lot.”

Immediately my body goes hot all over. He wants me. He wants my body to take his cock and to give him relief. He wants to use me as a plaything, and to bend me to his every whim and will. The problem is that I see nothing wrong with that. I’m absolutely willing to give him what he wants because the truth is that I want it too.

“I’m ready,” I say in a quiet voice. “If you’re ready then I am too.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, merely looking at me all over and eating up my curves with his eyes. My knees turn into jelly as a flame ignites in my lower belly. Yes, I want this man. I want those broad, square shoulders blocking out the light as he owns my soft curves. I want that hard slash of a mouth descending on my lips, and swallowing my cries as I dissolve beneath him. I want it all, and I’m ready to give it to him.

But instead, the billionaire takes my hand, our flesh meeting with a sizzle.

“Sweetheart, not so fast,” he growls. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the apartment?”

I do, and I don’t. I do, if it means going straight to his bedroom. But instead, he leads me to the kitchen, showing off a set-up worthy of a professional chef.

“Do you cook?” he asks casually.

I gasp.

“Yes,” I say. “And this is top of the line everything! Oh my god, you even have an induction food processor,” I say, opening one of his drawers to see the long, chubby tool the size of a curling iron.

He grins, pulling it out.

“We’ll have fun with this,” the billionaire laughs, taking my hand again. He leads me out of the kitchen and into a lavish sitting area.

“Is this your second living room?” I ask. “I mean, the one that we were just in must be your main entertainment area.”

He nods, eyes flicking over the huge projection screen mounted on the wall.