AIDEN.

“Spank me. I deserve it all. I’ll take it. I’ll beg for more. All For You.”

I run my fingers along her exposed flesh. A part of it had turned a dark shade of red. I only whipped her twice. I’ve read stories on BDSM, watched movies, and listened to fantasies. It piqued my interest, but now I’m just bored.

Delilah is screaming off rhythm, and my hard on is disappearing by the second. I’m not a man to leave a woman unsatisfied. I’ll finish. But never again Miss eye fucking server. Never. Again.

I tossed the idle whip aside, flipped her over her back, and shrugged her left leg over my shoulder.

“Oh, God. Aiden.”

She screeched. I thrust my c*ck

. One last movement took us both over the edge. Her more than me. I’d give her a three out of ten. I’ve been with better women.

Impaling my c*ck

out of her core, I disposed of the condom, moved away and reached the table, fishing my cell phone from the corner to meet two new notifications.

“My number is on my card.”

She drawled by the bed. I tossed my head and snorted. Tugged on my boxer briefs, then my pants followed suit.

“I don’t do second times. Sorry.”

I hissed in annoyance. Not from her. Not completely. I got a message from the PR team of the company. It never ends well when he hollers. And I got two texts.

One at 10 AM when Delilah was sneaking, more like shoving her boobs in my face, the first two buttons of her uniform popped open, screaming to fondle me.

Challenge accepted. I got her out of the restaurant. Turns out she’s into the kinks with whips. You know how that went.

The other text came about ten minutes ago when I decided BDSM was over-hyped or was it serves with perky boobs?

Grunting in frustration, I skimmed through its contents, which were bleak as fuck. “Conference room. Meeting by noon.”

That was fifteen minutes ago. I’m fifteen minutes late to a meeting. I’m not worried about being scolded. My dad bothers himself with affairs of public representation. That’s why he has the PR team.

I’m fucking concerned for what they’ll want to tell me.

I’ve gotten called out thrice, excluding the Hawaii “incident.”

All three times were because of my “extracurricular activities."

I looked back at Delilah, struggling with her ripped panties. They couldn't have known I took her early. The timing didn’t match.

It’s just Tuesday. Who had I fucked again? Tina from the bar? No, I don’t think she’ll try to claim pregnancy so early.

Um, Irina? She is still texting me, so no.

God, that’s the only two women I can recall. They were last weeks. Katty? Queen? Cynthia? So many women. Bloody hell.

I don’t use drugs. I haven’t wasted in over a week to screw shit.

What does my father’s PR team want with me? It’s a summoning. If I don’t go, they tell him. Fuck my life.

“I need to get back to work. I had a great time.”

Delilah kept going behind me. No shit. I get that everytime.

“Are you sure you don’t want my number?”

She crawled her skinny hands over my shoulder, rubbing circles and drawing lines.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

I hissed and walked away, pulling my shirt over my head.

“My wallet is over there. Take it. I left the cash inside. I’m taking my cards. You weren’t bad Delilah. I had an excellent time. But we’re not doing this again. Goodbye.”

She parted her lips to protest, but I skipped the usual lines of “Aiden please don’t”

I’m sick of it.

Slipping my cards into my pocket, I shut the wallet filled with three hundred dollars maybe, passed her a wink, and left the hotel room.

**

Smith’s Industries is an international construction company with branches all over the world. It’s been in the family for three generations and is currently controlled by CEO—Grant Smith. My Father. That makes me the director of one of its crucial departments—Architecture. It’s perfect for me since I simply adore drawing or designing.

I should be in my office, but I got derailed by a few things this morning. Eventually, I landed me in a hotel with a waitress. Anyway, it takes less than thirty minutes to arrive at the parking lot then swoop past the guards, receptionists, and more guards, and into the elevator to the 4th floor. The conference room.

I texted Adam, the Head of the PR team half an hour ago. He hadn’t gotten back to me, so I’m walking in blind..

It’s nothing I can’t handle. What’s the worse that can happen? Is the media writing a tale about me? Some sick girl claiming to be pregnant with the heir to this empire? Another girl crying at the top of a bridge?

There was nothing I did. I adore women. Even though I worship them. I have a great time with them and some just go over the edge when they learn it’s a onetime thing and I always make it clear. Can you blame them? I am spectacular.

Chuckling at my thoughts, I strode past my office, which was still shut, then I looked forward and kept walking towards the conference room.

Five feet away, I heard her voice.

“I’m not doing this. He’s fucking an hour late. What does he take us for? A bunch of jobless morons?”

She snapped, reeling in aggression. She’s here?

I quickened my pace, reaching the door at the same time as she slipped out, about to exit.

I fastened my arms around hers, gripping her in place.

Gasping, she angled her head and glimpsed at my hand, then moved to my face.

Her features lit with recognition and she glared, reeling back like my touch was made from acid.

“You insolent...”

“Let’s use our proper words.”

I scolded, stepping back. She exhaled.

“The next time you put your hands on me. I’ll break them.”

“We’ll see.”

I chirped, shrugged, then slipped past, tracing a line over her fingers.

“Oh, and I’m not an hour late. This meeting was by noon. It’s just 12:43 PM. Also, the only moron here is you and not dear Adam.”

Smirking, I pulled a chair and sat down.

“You...”

“Miss Dean.”

Adam soothed, cutting her off.

“Mr Smith. We’ve been waiting,”

“As you both should. Especially her.”

I arched a finger in his direction, then rolled my eyes.

“I’m out of here. I will not fucking let him insult me.”

“It’s not an insult, love, a fact. I’m a billionaire with a net worth higher than yours. You’re meant to wait.”

I spread my arms across the table, grinning.

“One. I am not-love. My name is Layla. They thought you word in grade school, right? Second, we are both billionaires and Forbes just released this year’s copy. My net worth is thousands higher than yours now."

That threw me off to her pleasure.

“What!?”

I snapped. That’s not possible.

Layla Dean was at number 23rd and I was on 24th. Category- billionaires under 25 years. That’s what my phone screen displayed.

“Fuck!”

I hissed in annoyance.

“Suck it up Satan.”

**

This is the first part of chapter one. The site doesn't allow more than 2400 words hence I have to break it into two parts.