Ruthless Daddy_A Romance Collection

by Emily Bishop

  Let’s find out.

  “You look nice today,” I say. A standard second-type response is, “Oooh, thank you so much. Do you really think so? Not as gorgeous as you, Gray.”

  She gives me a vibrant smile through the rearview mirror. She looks happy. Truly happy. “I know.”

  Huh? First-type response could have been the same, but not with that smile. It would have been a shutdown. A wall thrown up. A tense voice.

  Just what in the heck is she?

  I crank the music up to steamroll over my confusion. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll just do our deal and never see each other again. So, why do my eyes keep drifting back up to the rearview mirror? Why does my mind push that question back on me again and again—what kind of woman is this?

  When we get to the travel agent’s office, I lean back in my front seat, nonchalant.

  “You two go in,” I say. “I’m getting something to eat.”

  “OK, Gray,” she says, as she leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

  Then she gets out, and I watch her nice shapely ass as she walks into the travel agency, like she owns the world.

  I vow to myself I’ll figure her out. I know women. I know how to seduce them all, to make them beg for my dick and my attention. I’ve conquered that world. If Isabella Price doesn’t fit the mold, fine. But I’m going to conquer her, too. Maybe there’s another type of woman I don’t know about. With a jolt of excitement, I realize snagging Isabella could open up a whole new world of women for me. I’d have all the techniques to draw them under my spell and have them begging for a taste of Gray.

  This will be fun.

  Chapter 6

  Isabella

  DAY 4

  I consider sleeping at the office. I would, if I had a comfortable chair. It’s nearly midnight. I cranked the heat up as soon as a chill started to whisper through the building, so now it’s cozy. I have my mug of macchiato and a warm glow inside—I’m going back over all the financial papers, inserting in that fifty million dollars. Adjusting the projections gives me a kind of high I can’t explain. Like I’ve been touched by an angel.

  But I mustn’t slip too far into that feeling. It’s obvious what will happen. Grayson will watch me like a fox, sniff out my gratitude, and use it in his mind games against me. He’ll play the angel and spread his glorious feathery wings and make me worship him. Then fly away and leave me grasping at the sky. No thanks.

  My phone buzzes on the desk. His name flashes across the screen, like I called him in my mind and he’s just doing the legwork. I put on my sexy voice. “You’re calling late.”

  “I want to see you.” His voice is like an arrow through the phone. Sharp. Direct. Determined.

  “I’m not at home. I’m at the office finishing paperwork. It’ll have to be tomorrow now.” I run my hand up my thigh to try to feel some of that intoxicating power I had when I touched myself. “Think you can wait that long?”

  “No,” he stresses. “I’m coming to see you now.”

  I laugh. “Come see me tomorrow.”

  He’s already gone.

  I know he’s probably in the BMW already. I see him in my mind. He grips the wheel. His eyes are laser-focused on the road. He’s on a mission. I could feel that in his voice. But what kind of mission?

  Who cares? I have to focus on these papers.

  But a nervousness creeps up in me. Why the hell is my heart beating faster? No, it’s just my imagination. Is it?

  I quickly flick onto Amazon on my laptop. I don’t have my Kindle with me, but I can read my book online. I need a dose of that right now. Desperately. Digital Orders. There it is. Thank fuck. How to Play With Men’s Minds and Have Them Wrapped around Your Little Finger. I scroll down like a madwoman, trying to find something, anything.

  You make the dates. You set the times. Be unavailable. If he wants to meet today, say tomorrow. Or the next day. Keep him hanging. When he’s already desperate to see you, make him wait a little longer.

  So, I should get out, then. Why didn’t I think of that before? I’ll make a quick exit, and by the time Gray gets here, I’ll be on the way home. It’s only a ride away. I’ll just tidy away these papers and get the hell out of here.

  But before I know it, there’s a knock on the door. Oh, shit. What the fuck do I do now? There’s no official back entrance. I guess I could hightail it out of the fire escape, but that would bring me out right on the street, where his car is parked, presumably. He’ll know I’m running away.

  I guess I simply have to face it. Right. I’m putting on my sexy, in-control, yeah-you-want-this-but-you’re-never-getting-it face. I take a quick peek at myself in the mirror. Power. Power. I can do this. I can do this.

  I flick my hair behind my shoulder and open the door. “Oh, it’s you,” I say casually, like he’d never even phoned me.

  His intense brown eyes pierce into me. “Isabella.”

  My stomach is fluttering. No way. “That’s a long drive to take at nearly midnight. You must have something very important to say to me.”

  He walks forward. I have to step back inside so he doesn’t walk right into me. He makes a beeline for my executive office chair, which is where I had planned to sit to feel in control.

  “You’re working too late. Do you ever have fun?”

  I lean against the desk and try to hold onto this sex-queen mentality. Even though I want to snap back that I have plenty of fun, thanks, and perhaps he should try a side order of hard work to go alongside his main meal of reckless irresponsibility. “I had plenty fun the other night when I touched myself thinking of you.”

  “You had the best orgasm of your life. That’s just with me in your mind. Do you know how much you’re missing out on?”

  There’s a warm heat pulsing between my thighs. I laugh like I don’t have a care in the world. What else is there to do? “Oh, really? You have such a high opinion of yourself?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “I think maybe you’re all talk. Maybe you claim you dump these women you conquer because you get bored and want to move onto the next one. But maybe the reality is, they drop you. You talk a big talk but can’t deliver.” I smile, teasing him. “Is that right, Grayson?”

  “Why don’t you come sit on my dick and test your own theory?”

  Oh, fuck. Heat pushes through my pussy. I try to keep my—and it—cool. I look down at my nails like I’m not getting wetter by the second. “Hm, maybe one day.”

  “You want it now. Your pussy is wet.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Liar.”

  Fuck. Does he really know how wet my new lacy panties are? I feel like he can read my mind. My body. Is he just studying my body language?

  I get up and walk to the other end of the room. When I turn, he has his eyes locked on me.

  “Don’t be scared. You might scream, but you won’t die.”

  Why do I want to run over there and slide his cock up into myself? “Find some easy chick to scream your name. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

  “No, I haven’t. I can see it in your eyes. You can lie, Isabella, but I can see right through you. Do you want to see it?”

  My pussy is burning now. I wave my hand like I’m not bothered in the slightest. “Do whatever you want. It’s none of my business. If you want to get your dick out, go ahead. But I won’t be doing anything to it.”

  He shrugs. “OK.” He leans back and places his elbows on the arms of the chair, my chair, looking like he owns the place. “It’s obvious you’re not in a sexual mood. It’s OK. Let’s talk about something else.” He smirks at me. He knows what he’s doing. He knows I know what he’s doing. “I’d give you the best fuck of your life, but if you don’t want it, that’s up to you. So, now, talking about the flights. Do you know what the baggage restriction is on American Airlines?”

  “I do want it,” I whisper. I can’t stop myself. My pussy has control over my mouth.

  “Oh,”
he says softly, with a smile like he’s in full control. I should hate this, but I don’t. I want to feel this, every second, because in some way it makes me feel like I’m winning. I’m beating him.

  But that’s a lie, isn’t it?

  His eyes are like a magnet, pulling me across the room. He doesn’t have to say, “Come over here.” I can feel it. I want to. I want it. As I walk, I feel just how wet my pussy lips are as they rub against my panties. Oh my god. I just want them off and his dick inside me.

  Finally, I’m in front of him. He looks up at me, his eyes playful and serious at once. “Isabella. What do you want?”

  I bite my lip. My clit quivers. “Your big dick.”

  He smiles a little. “Where? In your mouth? In your hot cunt?”

  I could melt to the floor. “In my hot cunt,” I repeat after him, in little more than a trembling whisper.

  “Are you sure you want it?”

  “Yes!” My voice comes out pleading.

  “All right,” he says. “Open your shirt.”

  My fingers can’t pick at the buttons fast enough. My new red lacy bra is in full view. He nods appreciatively. “Now pull it down.”

  I tuck my bra underneath my breasts, exposing them to him. My nipples are sticking out, so hard.

  I think he’s going to dive forward and start sucking on them, but he sits back in the chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Play with them.”

  I feel shy. “I…”

  “Play with your tits for me, Isabella. Then, if you’re a good girl, I’ll fuck the soul out of you. How does that sound?”

  My hands are already all over my breasts. I feel their roundness. I pinch my nipples. My pussy’s flooding. “It sounds good, so good,” I half-say, half-moan.

  He unbuttons his jeans, then pulls them open and pulls down his boxers. Oh my god. His cock is huge.

  “Oh, fuck, Gray.”

  He looks up and grins wickedly. “You’re going to love this big cock.”

  “I want it now!”

  “Twist those nipples for me. Feel your pussy crying out for me.”

  I can’t help but reach for my pussy. It desperately needs to be touched. He reaches out and gives my hand a gentle slap. “No,” he says with a half-smile. “That’s mine. Do what I say.”

  Oh, yes.

  “Pull your skirt up and turn around.”

  I pull it up to reveal my red lacy underwear, which is now soaked through, my wetness all on my thighs, and turn.

  He makes this low growl. He doesn’t do anything for a moment. I’m just standing there, desperate, waiting. Then in one swift movement, he pushes my soaking panties to the side and pulls me onto his cock.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I come as soon as it slides inside me. He grips me tight by my hips and growls again. His strong hands pull me up off his cock, then he rams me back down on it, pulls me off, rams me back on, pulls me off, rams me back on.

  “Oh, fuck, Gray!”

  “You love it, don’t you, Isabella?”

  “Yes!” It’s huge. It’s going so deep. “I love that dick.”

  He pulls me harder back onto his cock, so it pushes even deeper into me. I come again, wailing out, as my breasts bounce. Then he stands up, his cock still inside me, and pushes my back down flat. He grabs my shoulder and fucks me harder than I’ve ever been fucked before. He pounds that cock into me, and I can’t help but cry out his name.

  “Yeah, baby,” he says. “You love getting fucked by the boss, don’t you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Who’s the boss? Tell me about him.”

  I pull myself off his cock and go to grab the edge of the desk. Then I bend over.

  “You’re running away?” He saunters up to me like he’s honing in on his prey, his eyes wild with excitement.

  Then he thrusts his cock so deep in me I can only scream. “God!”

  “Now, push back on that dick and tell me who’s the boss.”

  I push against the desk, thrusting myself back onto his dick again and again and again. “You’re the boss,” I moan, loving every minute. “And I love getting fucked by the boss.”

  “You love this cock. And this cock loves you. You and your tight pussy.”

  Then, with one forceful pound of his dick, he sends me flying into space. I’m soaring. Soaring through the stars. “Gray!” I scream out as I come again. “Gray!”

  Chapter 7

  Grayson

  DAY 5

  A HAPPY HOME, the sign reads. What a load of shit.

  Isabella looks up at it with a bit of a snarl, too. But her eyes are sad. Fuck knows why. She’s got her curls piled up on top of her head. No makeup. She’s actually very pretty without it. Just jeans and a top today, not that figure-hugging dress. No dance in her eyes. No hair-flicking and smiles and flirty voice.

  She told me I gave her the best sex of her life last night. She was sitting on my lap, her hair wild, her eyes alight. It was great. But when I agreed, her eyes changed, and she told me we’ll never do it again. I don’t get it. But anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re here to call Mr. Fink. That’s all.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she says.

  “That’s what we’re doing.” I get a cart and push it through the automatic doors. “This will be too heavy for you when it has stuff inside it.”

  “Stuff inside it? What money do you have to shop?”

  “It will look more realistic when I call Mr. Fink. We’ll tell him we’re bringing it all back to England with us.”

  She sighs then marches over to a shelf. She pulls off a trash can, then marches a little farther on and pulls off some storage boxes.

  “What on earth would I buy those for?”

  “I know it must be an alien concept to you, Grayson, but people have to actually do life stuff. You know, like organize things. Store things. Actually run their own life. Instead of having housekeepers to do it all while you drink and flirt.”

  She starts to load them into the cart but I rush to do it instead. “I don’t just drink and flirt. You make it sound so shallow.”

  “It is shallow. You’re the shallowest person I know.”

  “What? Just because I’m not a human rights lawyer or something.”

  “No.” She leans against the cart with one hand and plants the other on her hip. “Because you have no concept of responsibility, or… look, we don’t need to do this. Let’s call Mr. Fink, and then I can go back to my paperwork. There’s still a lot I have to do before we fly out.”

  “We need towels first.”

  “Geez.”

  I swerve the cart into the next aisle and spot the towels. I grab some red ones and put them in the cart. “We can call him now.”

  “Yeah,” she says, disinterested, looking over the towels. “Out of all the colors there, why did you pick that bright gaudy one? It’s not exactly relaxing.”

  I tap Video Call and wait for a response. It just rings and rings. “It caught my eye. It’s bright. What does it matter?”

  “This is exactly what I mean. You don’t put thought into anything, do you? Whatever catches your eye, you go for. No planning. No consideration. Nothing. Just ‘I like that one, I think I’ll have it.’”

  “I get what I want. Nothing wrong with that.” It goes to voicemail, and I hang up. “Finky’s busy.”

  “Ugh.” She walks along the aisle.

  I watch her. I seriously don’t get it. I gave her the best fuck of her life last night. Now she’s acting like I’m her enemy. My phone vibrates and I check it—Finky. I’m with a client. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.

  “Cheer up,” I say. “Remember I am giving you fifty million dollars, after all.”

  She turns. Her eyes flare. She makes a deep bow with a flourish of her hand. “Oh, thank you, King of the Universe. May I kiss your feet?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she says and turns back to the shelves. She smells all these different colored
candles, one after the other. “Where do you find these women?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “What is it they see in you? Seriously. I’m not seeing it.”

  A slow grin spreads over my face. “You weren’t saying that last night.”

  Her head whips in my direction. “I told you that never happened,” she says with a dark glare. “And if it did, it’s never happening again.”

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and you’ve weaseled your way back into their pants again. Well, you know me, Grayson. You know when I say something, I mean it. And I mean this. I will never do anything like that with you again for as long as I live.”

  I feel something in my chest. It’s not nice. But I shrug. “Plenty more fish in the sea.”

  “Yeah, plenty more fish to hook on your line to nowhere.” She plonks two candles into the cart. “I’m actually buying these. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for them. I know you don’t have…”

  A couple passes us, arm in arm, and she trails off. She watches them intently. I turn to see what’s so interesting about them. Nothing out of the ordinary. A downtrodden man pretending that one woman can satisfy him. She has a nice body, a nice face, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, not a scrap of makeup on but still pretty. But even so, poor guy. What a jail to be trapped in. He has a gold shackle around his finger. They stop a little farther up and start going through the whole candle-smelling ritual. She’s placing them up to his nose and asking his opinion.

  Isabella turns and sighs. She sees something I don’t see.

  “What?”

  “If only there were more men in the world like that,” she says.

  “I feel sorry for him.”

  “What?” she says. “Look at him. He’s so attentive. He’s completely in love with her. Look at the way he looks at her. Like she’s the only woman in the universe.”

  “Well, then, he’s delusional.” I push the cart on. “That’s all there is to it. A poor, delusional, miserable fool.”