by Adams, S. C.
“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.
“Yeah, this is where I go when I want to kick my feet up and catch some football. You know, drink beers and relax.”
“You mean you don’t always drink thirty dollar cocktails?” I tease. Oh god, I put my foot in it again. What’s going on with my big mouth? Why do I keep being such a sassy smart-ass?
But Rob likes it because he just throws his head back and laughs, showing off even white teeth.
“Not only do I not drink thirty dollar cocktails, but I think this space qualifies as a man cave,” he says with another amused chuckle. “Check this out.”
The billionaire pulls out a remote before pressing a green button, and then a grinding noise starts. The dark man grimaces.
“It’s not supposed to sound like that,” he grunts. “I paid top dollar for the best contractors. I don’t know why it sounds like a fucking squeaky garage door.”
But I can’t speak because slowly but surely, the wall is beginning to rotate and turn clockwise.
“Oh my god, it’s a hidden wall, like they have in detective movies!” I gasp.
“Not exactly a hidden wall,” Rob corrects. “But it’s my personal bar,” he says. “Complete with top shelf liquor, warm nuts, and magazines at your disposal. Whatever you need is here,” he says.
It’s my turn to laugh then.
“But why do you have to hide it?” I ask. “You live here alone, right?”
Suddenly, I’m caught off guard again. Maybe he doesn’t live here alone. Maybe he has a girlfriend, or even worse, he’s still sharing it with his ex-wife. Is that even possible? My mind whirs. There were times when Katie’s mom came in, but I don’t remember them clearly. All I remember is a skinny blonde who always had ginormous sunglasses on, and a sour, nasty expression on her face. She was always angry with her daughter for some reason or other, although Katie is an absolute angel. There’s no way he’s still living with her, right?
The billionaire shrugs, and I’m relieved.
“Yeah, I have this place to myself. Lindsay moved out a long time ago. Before we even technically “separated,” in fact. We just weren’t getting along,” he says matter of factly.
I want to ask more, but it seems inappropriate. Instead, I just nod with what I hope is an empathic expression.
“It sounds terrible,” I murmur. “I hope you’re okay.”
Rob shrugs again.
“It’s been a long time,” he says casually, although there’s an edge to his tone. “My marriage was over long before we decided to divorce. We’d been leading separate lives, and to be honest, nothing was keeping us together except for our daughter and the fact that we shared a roof. One day, we looked at each other and realized there was nothing gained by staying married. What was the point? We’d be happier apart, and so would our daughter.”
I nod sympathetically.
“Kids are really smart,” I say slowly. “Even if you take pains never to show your distress, they’re like sensitive radars. They can pick it up.”
He nods.
“Yeah, Katie was really young, but we could tell she was affected by the tension, even though we tried not to fight in front of her. She’d burst into tears if she thought I was upset, even if I wasn’t upset at her.”
I nod again.
“Kids are sensitive,” I say quietly. “I see it all the time in my work. The ones who come from troubled homes have difficulty settling down in the morning. Even though they’re only two, they’re already acting out, instead of exploring a new environment or learning skills. Instead, they’re trying to express the fact that their home lives are less than ideal, even if they don’t have the words for it yet.”
Rob shoots me a look.
“So what do you do with the troubled kids?” he asks. “How do you help them fit in?”
This is a tricky question because parents don’t want their child impacted by another child’s problems. Fortunately, I’ve been asked this question many times in the past, and I deliver my answer with sincerity and a genuine belief that this is the right approach.
“We work with every child one-on-one, so every child gets the care and attention that they need,” I say. “It can be very individualized, and much more than an onlooker realizes. For example, if two kids are playing with ponies, and the troubled one begins to make the ponies fight, I’ll intervene. I’ll talk with the troubled child to find out why the pony is unhappy, why they’re fighting, and what that fighting means. Meanwhile, another teacher will work with the other child, and continue the pony play in a much less challenging setting.”
Rob looks thoughtful.
“Interesting,” he rumbles. “And do you have a lot of troubled kids at Ladybug?”
My answer to this question is ready too.
“Thankfully, no,” I say. “We’re located in a well-off neighborhood, so we tend to draw affluent families like yourselves. Not that money doesn’t equal problems,” I say quickly. “But we don’t have troubled children in the traditional sense, who pick f
ights and have aggression issues. Instead, the tots are mostly well-behaved, and eager to learn and explore.”
Rob nods with respect in his eyes.
“You know, I never thought elementary education would be this nuanced,” he says slowly. “I thought it was nothing more than a day care.”
“Well, we are a day care,” I say, “but there’s more to it than that. We don’t just let the kids wander around and do nothing. Instead, we seek to provide enriching experiences, and to help each child develop to their fullest potential in a safe and nurturing environment.”
A moment of silence.
“Ally,” the billionaire says with an amused smile. “I’m already sold on Ladybug Tots. My daughter’s already enrolled, and I think the world of you guys. No need to give me the marketing spiel.”
My cheeks go red.
“No, I didn’t mean that!” is my half-hearted protest. “I know it sounds like I was spouting the company line, but … but ….”
“But you were,” he finishes for me with another amused smile. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the apartment.”
And slowly, we walk down a thickly carpeted corridor, my footsteps silent on the pile. Oh god. What have I done? Why is everything I say so lame and predictable? And why in the world did I give him the marketing spiel from my job? Even if I did, at least I could have made it sound less processed, and more real.
My cheeks flame. Rob’s been throwing open doors and showing me room after room, but I don’t see a thing. Instead, all I can think about is how I’m totally out of my league. After all, he brings me to his penthouse, and I gawk at the space. He shows me his man cave, and I immediately think that his ex still lives here. He asks me about my job, and I turn into a robot spouting slogans. What the hell is wrong with me?
But Rob doesn’t notice, his broad back leading me further down the hall. Finally, we stop before a set of imposing oak doors.
“Is this where it happens?” I ask, trying to crack a joke. “You know, all the magical machinery of Willy Wonka’s factory? Are there oompa-loompas waiting to jump out and dance for us?”
I’m trying to be funny because I figure that the solid oak doors hide an office inside. Something luxurious and grand, with a massive desk and club chairs upholstered in the finest leather. Maybe even a fireplace.
Well, I wasn’t wrong about the luxurious and grand part because when Rob throws open the doors, the space inside is imposing. It’s huge, with floor to ceiling windows that overlook Central Park. The night sky beckons, illuminating the room with the cool glow of moonlight and the sparkle of the city below.
But that’s when I gasp, every cell suddenly tingling with awareness. This isn’t Rob’s office. This is his bedroom. The furniture is all heavy, masculine wood, with a navy coverlet on a king-size bed. It’s sparsely decorated otherwise, and definitely all man.
“Oh I see,” is my faint voice. “No oompa-loompas then.”
“No oompa-loompas dancing,” he agrees in a low voice, shutting the door behind us. “But maybe you’d like to dance for me instead, sweetheart?”
Suddenly, I realize that the evening’s reached its climax, and I’m ready for this man in every way.
8
Rob
Shit, she’s so beautiful that I can’t stop from staring. Ally’s a different one, that’s for sure. Most women I know are practiced and so smooth that it’s like gliding on ice. You’re making conversation, but learning absolutely nothing about each other. You could be talking to a TV, it’s that bland.
But Ally’s all sparkle and shine, with a really cute way of putting her foot in her mouth. She’s shy, sure, but at the same time opinionated and bossy. And she definitely knows her stuff around children, which turns me on like crazy because I’ve always wanted a huge family. My penthouse is enormous. It was cavernous even when Lindsay lived here, like some ghostly space haunted by three souls. We rattled around the ice box most nights, sticking to our respective corners.
But I want things to change. I’ve always wanted dozens of rug rats, and for some reason, Ally makes me think that it could come true. She’s the motherly type. Just look at how good she is with Katie, and how knowledgeable she is when leading a class full of tots. I’d love to make that curvy form grow curvier still, hopefully with a couple of my babies inside.
“You ready?” I ask in a growl.
She’s literally trembling like a leaf. Yet I can feel the frisson of awareness between us.
“For what?” she says in a whisper, taking a deep breath. My dick hardens at the sight of those huge breasts lifting and then falling. I need to touch them, and there’s no reason to hold back. I’ve finally gotten the curvy girl into a room alone, and the time has come to sample what she has to offer.
Slowly, my bronzed fist reaches out and gently cups the bottom of one large tit. Oh shit, this is exactly how I like them. Huge and soft, with a pebbly tip that’s already poking out under the thin fabric of her dress.
“Mr. Lockhart!” she exclaims, eyes wide and startled. “Oh my god!”
“Oh my god what, sweetheart?” I ask, gently jiggling it. It’s gorgeous. Her flesh moves naturally, wobbling a bit like jell-o yet with the firmness and elasticity of youth. This is going to be fun.
She’s panting now, and still as a doe under my touch. Her breast is warm and soft in my palm and I squeeze it a little, causing a low moan to emanate from her throat.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” I ask in a dark voice. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me you want it.”
She can’t speak for a moment, mesmerized by my gaze. An array of emotions pass over that beautiful face, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to say no. Holy shit. It’s been so long since a woman said no to me. Probably more than thirty years, in fact. But is Ally going to buck the trend? After all, she’s unpredictable, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she took matters into her own hands and walked out.
But instead, that narrow chin tips up until she’s looking me with no fear in those brown depths.
“I’m ready,” she says in a slightly quavery voice. “I’m ready for whatever you want, Rob. Use me, if that’s what makes you happy. My body is yours.”
Ah, the words are so sweet to my ears. I love women in general, but I love it even more when a smart, intelligent, and independent woman bends to my will. I love when she lets me be a man, and take charge. So I squeeze her breast one more time, making her yelp, before lightly pinching her nipple.
“Good,” is my growl. “Because I want you to dance for me.”
Her cheeks color.
“I’m sorry?”
But I’m already striding to a club chair by the window.
“I want you to dance,” I say simply, folding my broad form into the buttery leather. “Dance, and show me what you have. Show me everything, sweetheart, because I want to see it all.”
She’s still staring at me with wide eyes.
“Dance?” she echoes again, unsure.
“Dance,” I say firmly, making a twirling movement with my fingers. “Let me see what you have.”
Again, Ally seems like she’s about to bolt from the room and make her escape. Maybe I’ve overplayed my hand. But then her narrow shoulders straighten, and she looks me in the eye once more.
“Of course, Mr. Lockhart,” she says in a dulcet tone. “I’d love to dance for you.”
With that, the girl begins to sway, undulating her hips from left to right. It’s a little mechanical at first because she’s unsure of herself, but I’m entranced from the very first move. Ally’s absolutely beautiful, like Salome doing the Dance of the Seven Veils.
Sure enough, she begins to feel more comfortable with herself and does a little twirl so that she’s facing away from me. The girl shoots me a sly look over one shoulder, and then parts her legs before bending down slowly to let her hands almost touch the floor. Oh shit. The sight is so gorgeous that my dick literally jerks in my pants, rock hard and ready to rumble. The materia
l of her dress slides up those ivory thighs, stopping just under her pussy. In fact, I can see the shadowy vee of her soft spot, and a glimmer of white fabric there. Are those her panties?
“Do you like what you see?” she giggles, wiggling her butt a little. “Is this what you want, Mr. Lockhart?”
Oh fuck. This is what I want and a thousand times more. I want to rip those panties off her lovely pussy and burrow my head in her wet spot until she screams with delight. I want to taste every inch of that succulent pink twat until she creams hard into my mouth, crying my name while riding my tongue.
I will do all that, and more, but it’s too early yet. I want to draw it out some first.
“Sweetheart, you know there’s no holding back when it comes to me,” I rumble, almost casually. But there’s nothing casual about my stance. I’m rock hard, with every muscle tense and ready to jump this girl.
She giggles again, swaying her hips a bit more so that her pussy tempts me.
“I’m not holding back,” she says coyly. “Why, is there something I should be doing that I’m not?”
My dick jerks again and spurts a little inside my pants. Oh fuck. I’m literally leaking sperm already, this chick has me so turned on.
“Pull your panties to the side,” I command, my eyes never leaving the vee between her thighs. “Show it to me.”
She pretends mock-shock.
“Pull what?” is her throaty purr. “What is it you want to see?”
Oh shit, I’m totally out of my league. I want her to say the words, but instead, I’ve become putty in Ally’s hands. She’s controlling this scene, and the fact is that I love every second of it.
“Your panties,” I grunt. “Show me that steamy pink.”
Ally sways her butt a little more, teasing me before her fingers dance up her thighs. Her ivory legs make my mouth water, they’re thick and solid, just the way I like them. Her fingers stop right at her pussy, teasing gently at her silk-covered pussy.
“Oh my god, I’m wet,” she mewls with mock shock. “The fabric is so drenched.”
As if on cue, my nose detects the scent of sopping cunt. It’s true. She’s sticky and soaked, and the girl proves my point by hooking one finger into the crotch of her panties and pulling it down to show me.
