Page 62 of Dirty Billionaire

We have a couple of months to get everything ready and I’m excited to really show what I can do.

“What if I want to do this again?” Stacey asks, doing up her bra.

My eyes drop to the lace, momentarily disappointed to lose sight of her deep pink nipples which had been pressed firmly into my sheets while I thrust into her from behind.

I’ll admit, I’m a breast guy. Which is why I’d moved her up the bed, then had her sit up and face the wall while I took ahandful and continued to pound her ass. Palming the wall, I told her what a dirty slut she was and she fucking loved it.

I’ve yet to meet a woman who doesn’t.

I’m sure it’s because you need some excellent upper body strength to sustain it. That and you can lower your hand and stroke the clit, which is always a winning move if you’re ready for some clamping around your cock.

I’m always ready.

But do I think Stacey wants seconds? No, she’s testing me. We both got what we wanted. No heart eyes needed.

I’m not looking to fall in love.

Or commit in any way.

In fact, I don’t date. I don’t take women out to dinner. Or go to the movies. Or walk hand in hand on the beach and watch sunsets.

I fuck.

When I hit my thirties, I might feel differently about settling down, but that’s a few years away yet.

Right now, my priority is growing Ward Montgomery Enterprises—or WME as we call it—to double the size by the time I take the lead.

A bold target given it’s already a multi-billion-dollar company.

“You won’t,” I finally answer, sliding my gold Rolex back on and then walk into my wardrobe. I select a pair of Prada jeans and a black cashmere sweater then return to the bedroom to find Stacey dressed. “I’ll walk you down. My driver is only a few minutes away.”

I stop a foot away and study her reaction to the fact I organized the car while she was tossing the used condom in the toilet.

Yeah, I’m an asshole.

“I’m glad we did this.” She smiles.

I smirk. “It’s been in the cards for a while.”

Now leave.

Stacey reaches for her purse, and I guide her through my multimillion-dollar Philadelphia penthouse apartment. She turns and places a hand on my lower abdomen, and I feel like she’s breached my personal boundaries despite having her lips around my cock an hour ago.

Or it might’ve been two hours. She had good stamina; I’ll give her that.

“Stay up here, Knox. I can ride in the elevator on my own. I’m a big girl.”

“Then I’ll see you at the next review in six months.”

We politely smile at one another for a final moment as I hold the door open. Then Stacey is gone.

Click.

Jesus, I hope she doesn’t share bedtime stories with Selena, her senior manager. I fucked Selena six months ago when she was in Philly for the last review.

I’m a private man. Who I sleep with is no one else's business, but being part of a wealthy family means people think they have a right to know. Especially the media.

Then there’s my father.

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