Page 1 of Little Did You Know

Chapter One

"Alittle faster," I growled, the words hollow in my throat as I watched her head eagerly bob up and down between my legs. My gaze lifted to the ceiling, trying to manufacture enthusiasm I didn't feel.

Her name was Tiffany—this week's blonde in an endless parade of them. Even the pleasure felt mechanical, like checking another box on my daily schedule between business meetings and workout sessions.

My pulse stayed steady, betraying how routine this had become.

When had sex turned into such a chore? The thought bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Tiffany was like every other woman who'd come into my life post-billionaire status. She fit the mold perfectly—blonde, blue-eyed, curvy and enhanced in all the right places. Another ambitious woman convinced she could turn a hookup into a happily ever after.

It never worked out for them.

My gaze followed her lips as they slid down my length, pushing me to the back of her throat, wondering if she saw the irony: the harder they tried to reach my heart, the more it turned to stone.

Tiffany released a loud moan.

Usually, watching my manhood tickle the back of her throat excited me more, but today it was as if her face was making love to my cock, and it was getting me no closer to the release I needed.

Don't get me wrong, my dick was painfully excited to see her, but my brain, not so much.

She stared up at me through long fake eyelashes, and I tried to express as much interest as possible, letting out a slight growl, but it was primarily out of frustration, not pleasure.

Dropping my head back on my plush leather sofa, I tried to focus on the hot wet mouth sucking me off, but before I knew it, my thoughts were on everything but the blow job.

The truth was I didn't care about any random thought running through my head. Only the fact I wished Tiffany would hurry up so I could get off and she could go home.

"Faster, Tiff," I ordered, hurrying her along, but she continued at the same slow vanilla pace.

I tangled my fingers through her hair, gripping it tight, deciding to take matters into my own hands, but froze when my phone vibrated.

Thankful for the interruption, I released her.

"That's enough, Tiff." I gripped the edge of the leather sofa, knuckles white against the dark material.

Tiffany sat back on her legs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The gesture smeared her red lipstick, creating the first genuine thing about her I'd seen all evening.

"But we haven't finished." She traced a manicured finger along my thigh as I tucked myself away. "You didn't get your happy ending." Her lips curved into that practiced pout I'd seen on a dozen other faces. "And neither did I."

My phone buzzed again. I held it up like a shield between us, my other hand already fastening my button. "Sorry, Tiff. I have to take this. Rain check?" I had zero intentions of ever seeing Tiffany again.

"I could hang around and wait until you're done?" She stood naked from the waist up. Her tits were fantastic, but they looked the same as every other girl I was fucking—enormous and fake.

"This could take a while, but I'll call you." I would say anything right now to get her out of my house.

My rules were carved in stone: no access to my bedroom, no kissing, no spontaneous visits, no overnight stays. The rules weren't cruel—they were armor, protecting the parts of myself I couldn't afford to share. The parts I didn't want to share. It was easier to be called a cold-hearted bastard, a playboy, a dick than to explain the real reasons I kept everyone at arm's length.

"Sure." She flashed a hopeful smile, but we both knew I was saying goodbye forever.

I busied myself with my phone, deliberately avoiding eye contact. "You know the way out, right?" The words came out harsher than intended, but maybe that was better – false kindness only led to complications.

I retreated to my kitchen, my bare feet silent against the marble floors. The space was all shiny surfaces and sharp angles—polished granite countertops, German appliances that looked more like modern sculpture than cooking tools, and a wine fridge programmed to maintain the perfect temperature for vintages I rarely touched.

The gentle hum of the Sub-Zero fridge was the only sound besides Tiffany's muffled movements in the other room as I hit the green accept button before pulling the phone to my ear.

"Look who's come back from the dead." I pressed my forehead against the cool, massive floor-to-ceiling kitchen window, watching the rain trickle down.

Emmett's laugh crackled through the line. "How's it going, Nick?"

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