Dirty Daddy

“You were the one saying you’d fuck me if you had the chance,” I say, my grin widening as my heart starts pumping boiling blood to my cock. If this conversation keeps going in this direction, soon enough I’m going to have an erection so massive that I’m going to overturn the table.

“A deal is a deal,” she shoots back.

Touchdown, it seems.

“Check, please!” I tell the waiter.

Time to get out of here.

145

Fiona

We leave the restaurant in a hurry. No wonder, though, after the conversation heated up, I knew how our night would end up: with my clothes on the floor.

By the time we got out of the Time Warner Center building, Danny already had a valet waiting with his Aston Martin out front. A few heads turned as some people noticed whom the owner of the car was, and I had to wait while a few kids surrounded Danny, asking for autographs and selfies. I waited patiently by the car, anxious to be alone with him. I usually don’t do stuff like this, getting naked on the first date, but this is Danny Manning we’re talking about! And more than just being famous, he actually proved to be a perfect gentleman. I mean, what kind of guy bothers to bring a rose on the first date? That’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel. Sure, I prefer my novels hotter than what Jane Austen writes, but you won’t hear me complain about being swept off my feet by a perfect gentleman with manners straight out of the early 19th century.

“Where are we going?” I ask him as he finally leaves his fans behind and opens the passenger door for me.

“Trump Tower,” he replies, getting behind the wheel and revving up the engine. My insides burn up as he tells me our destination: from the Time Warner Center to Trump Tower is a quick drive, probably less than five minutes. Thank God.

“I didn’t know you lived there,” I try and make small talk with him as we cruise through Manhattan’s heavy traffic.

“Why would you? It’s not like I have billboards around town telling people where I live.” Fair point. “Besides, I rarely bring people over. “

“By people, you mean … women?”

He chuckles, the sound of his voice turning my pussy into a wet mess. Christ, I can’t wait to get out of the car and inside his pants.

“Yeah, especially women. I don’t want to risk having a crazy stalker knowing where I live.”

“And what if I’m a crazy stalker?” I tease him, placing one hand on his knee and sliding it up to between his legs. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but I just can’t control myself right now.

“I guess that’s why they invented restraining orders,” he fires back at me, his grin widening as I place my open palm right on his crotch. His cock is already tenting his pants, and I guess he wasn’t joking when he told me I knew nothing about his size. It’s like he doesn’t have a cock between his thighs, but a lighthouse. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything this huge in my entire life.

Thank God he stops in front of the Trump Tower in no time, or else I think I’d just go nuts and blow him right on the ride to his place. Don’t judge me; I have no idea what’s happening to me. I’m usually a well-behaved girl, I swear!

“Take good care of it,” he tells the valet, handing him his car keys. I follow him inside the massive building like a lost pup. I’ve never been inside one of these luxury apartments, let alone fucked by a luxury kind of guy. I guess I really won the lottery yesterday. God bless Ashley, if it weren’t for her tickets I’d be home right now, my nose buried in a massive constitutional law tome.

“Here it is,” Danny finally announces, sliding his magnetic key card through the slit and pushes the double doors to his apartment open. He takes a step back, allowing me to enter his place before he does, and I almost gasp as I step one foot inside. The place is gigantic!

To my right there’s a stairway that leads to an upper floor, and right in front of that there’s a living room bigger than my whole apartment. The decor is pretty modern, all the furniture having modern straight lines that compliment the stoic black and white colors of the walls.

But I’m not here as a decorator, am I? I turn on my heels, my heart tightening up inside my chest as I finally accept what’s about to happen: I’m going to fuck Danny Manning, one of the most coveted bachelors in New York City.

“Where’s the bedroom?” I ask him, not wanting to waste a single second.

“Who needs a bed?” he asks, taking one step toward me and closing the distance between us. He leans in, and my eyelids droop by instinct. Our lips touch and it suddenly becomes real: I’m really kissing him. And, by God, he tastes delicious, just like a real man should. His lips fit on mine perfectly and, as he holds me by the hips, I suddenly can’t recall a kiss more perfect than this one.

“I like a girl who keeps her promises,” he says, looking me in the eye.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook,” I respond, resting my hands on his waist. “You’ll have to make it worth my while.”

“Fiona,” he whispers, and a shiver goes up my spine as I hear my name rolling over his tongue, “you’re in good hands.” That much I can’t dispute; his big hands sure seem to fit perfectly on my curves.

“I don’t doubt it… I just hope you’ll be using more than your hands,” I purr, moving one hand over his belt and suddenly flattening it against his crotch. A grin dawns on his face as he feels the pressure of my hand.

“I’ll be using far more than just my hands,” he says, and I feel the shape under his pants hardening against my fingers. Whatever monstrosity he’s hiding between his pants, it keeps on growing and growing until my hand feels much smaller than it really is. “Surprised?” he asks, noticing the amazement that has taken over my face. “You s