The Billionaire

I looked down from my top-floor office at the hustle and bustle down below. I felt bereft, adrift, and just downright bored. Life has become somewhat melancholy here lately. It was a hard pill to swallow for someone who’s supposed to be at the top of his game.

My business was going gangbusters. I had my finger on the pulse point of life, and yet here I am. My breath caught as I saw what I’d been waiting for, what has been drawing me here to my windows for the past few days.

There she goes again, fuck me. Does she have any idea what she does to me? Of course, she doesn't; she hasn't a clue; she doesn't even know I exist.

In her catholic school uniform, that made me want to perform all sorts of illegal acts. Well, maybe not so much illegal. She looked to be at least seventeen or eighteen; sixteen is legal in this state.

So what if I'm twenty-six years old? Legal is legal; still, I've been fighting myself, trying to be good. That's not my forte.

I'd seen her for the first time three and a half weeks ago. The wind had been extremely high that day, as I'd been exiting my chauffeur-driven car when she walked by on the other side of the street.

It wasn't the short skirt blowing about her legs that caught my attention, no. It was the way the wind blew in her hair. The way her small, slender hand came up to hold it back from her face; why the fuck did I find that so hot?

She had the typical teenage body, tight ass, perky tits, though hers seemed a little on the heavy side on her slender frame, but it was her lips that really got to me, those fucking lips that made you think 'Angelina who'?

I've had dreams of fucking that mouth for three weeks and counting, but still, I hesitate to approach her. A man in my position can never be too careful, and going after a young girl might not be the smartest move.

On the other hand, Gideon Thorpe isn't in the habit of denying himself anything, especially something that affects him so deeply. Not much does anymore, so that added even more of a pull—a challenge, something to get the blood pumping again. I felt my body react at the thought.

How would she feel under my hands? Would she be soft and sweet, or was she one of those ridden hard types? She didn’t strike me as such she had an air of innocence about her, something that was sorely lacking in my world and had been for quite some time.

I watched her now from the high-rise office in my building downtown. I've become obsessed, I'll be the first to admit it, but there were a few things to take into consideration, not the least being the woman I've been fucking for the past two years. I say it like that because that's just what it was. She's a fuck, a good fuck, but just a fuck nonetheless.

I would need to extricate myself from that situation before I approached my Blossom.

I didn't let myself worry about whether or not she was in a relationship of her own; that wouldn't stop me.

She'd called forth something in me that no one else ever had, to me that meant only one thing; she's meant to be mine.

***

I had the timer in my office set to go off every morning at the time I knew she usually walked by on her way to school. It didn't matter what I was doing at that time; I’d stop to watch her, kind of like getting my fix for the day. Once I'd been in the middle of a conference call when it went off, I'd carried on with the meeting while standing at the bank of windows and spying on her through my new binoculars bought just for my new pastime.

The buzzing of the intercom alerted me to my secretary calling. I didn't want to take my eyes away from the scene below on the sidewalk across the street. So fucking beautiful it hurts. I felt the telltale signs of desire once more as my body reacted to the vision. If the pull was this strong from afar, I can't imagine what it would be like once I get her beneath me. With a heavy sigh, I walked over to my desk; whoever this is, it better be fucking good.

"Thorpe." I picked up the phone none too gently. I’m sure my secretary was wondering who the fuck had pissed in my oatmeal here lately, seeing as how I have not been my usual self.

Long nights dreaming of a girl whose name you didn’t know but who fucking halfway owned you already put a man like me in a pissy mood. I had to handle things right, so nothing came back to bite me in the ass, but the waiting was killing me. I’m sure dignitaries vetted heads of state faster than my shit was taking.

"Miss. Halston on the line for you, sir." Shit, I knew why she was calling; Lynn isn't a stupid woman. She knew the signs and what they meant. I haven't touched her in three and a half weeks. I couldn't. It seemed my body and mind, maybe even my heart, had already moved on.

"Lynn!"

"Gideon, what's going on?"

"Now's not a good time." I scrubbed my hand over my face; this was not a conversation for here and now.

"It hasn't been a good time in about a month. If you have something to say to me, why don't you just say it?"

"This isn't the way to do this." I'm nothing if not a gentleman after all, and though I have no fear of confrontation, I don’t like messy scenes. I’d been putting things off with her because, well, truth be known, how the fuck do you break up with someone who was just a fuck buddy? I erroneously thought all it took was me not seeing her, which I haven’t in weeks, but apparently, we were gonna do this shit the hard fucking way.

"No, let's do this now. Are you cheating on me?"