HIS CURVY OBSESSION

Anthony

BANKS POV

"I never knew you loved plump girls."

I put down my phone and clear my throat, hating that I can't watch her scramble for me, or whoever she imagines dare to release onto her.

"I do now," I reply dismissively to the partner who had made himself my friend and wouldn't stop prying. It is six a.m., approximately two hours since I left Eleanor’s home.

"She has quite the t**s, and you’ve always liked those."

"What did you just say?" He turns his back to me, focusing on one of my shelves where files on my achievements lay.

"We’ve been friends for a while."

"Partner," I corrected. He turns back and chuckles before pulling out my award for the Forbes 40 under 40. He owns one as well.

"Well, I’ve seen you with girls and had drinks with you… that’s friendship, you asshole."

"I am sure you came here for better things." He moves to the guest sofa, three steps below us.

"She’s quite talkative."

I hate inefficient people. That’s why I had my assistant's personal assistant sacked this morning. She had the audacity to give him my phone because Eleanor’s texts were piling in while I was busy, and Anthony found a way to convince her she could give him my phone. The bastard saw it all.

"How will you prefer the house be decorated?"

"Anthony."

"She asked. Funny little one getting comfortable." I ignore his taunting voice and focus on watching Eleanor prepare for work on the laptop screen.

"Well, she is not little, actually."

"One more word, and security will escort you out."

He chuckles.

"Is the great Banks finally falling in love?" I shoot him a glare.

"Get the hell out of my office, Anthony."

He doesn't. Instead, he leaves the guest sofa and walks closer to me. His elbows on my desk, his eyes widely staring at me.

"You got her a sky scraper."

"I bought Alexandra and Morgana apartments."

"But not a skyscraper." He sits.

"And not within a week of knowing them."

He turns the laptop that holds the frozen footage of her in the middle of the kitchen, heating up something.

"And you never monitored them." I drag it back.

"She has never had a Dom or an 'arrangement'."

"What the bloody hell is an 'arrangement'?" His eyebrows raise at me, and I close my eyes at the slip of using her word. Her face shows up. Her body facing me inside the car. The way her lips curled around the word 'arrangement.' I give a dry chuckle. I didn't just adopt that term.

"Yes, an 'arrangement.' Me f*****g her when I want in exchange for money."

Anthony sits back in his chair… staring at me… then laughs. He stands up, parades the length of the desk, stares at me again before shaking his head, wheezing in laughter, and pulling out his cigar.

"You, attending Oxford preparatory now?."

I bring up my phone and look at the video again, my earbud in.

Daddy.

Before the death of my child, I never liked the term, and after it, you can imagine how much I loathed it. But listening to it, watching her fondle her breasts, stroke her hard n*****s—the same n****e I gazed my d**k on when she was asleep…

I close my eyes to consciously stop myself from that memory.

"Banks," Anthony calls, but I ignore him. Watching her soap her breasts, getting totally relaxed in the bathtub. I need to get something bigger; that tub looks too small for her body shape.

You made it sore, Daddy. The words sound, having the same effect. Bad daddy to a good girl.

My body comes alive, shivers running down to my now hardening c**k same way it did last night when I saw those clips. I couldn't resist visiting her.

"Banks!"

I finally look at him, one eyebrow raised. He licks his lips, and I swipe through my phone until I find my front desk.

Get the biggest, most luxurious bathtub.I hit send.

"Since your wife, you’ve had four subs, yet you’ve never called any of them an 'arrangement'."

"Ex-wife," I correct, and I play the live feed. And now, she is undressing… probably to prepare for work. I can hear Anthony saying something, but my brain isn't registering it.

She is wearing a gown that fills out her wide hips and clings to the flesh of her stomach. She looks claimed. Cared for.

"Banks!" I lift up… totally missing the moment Anthony came behind me. I close the laptop. A deep surge of protectiveness, to not let anyone see her. "Leave." He chuckles at my order.

"What are you hiding? We’ve shared a girl."

Heat floods me.

"We are not sharing her."

He scoffs.

"Not like I’m interested in someone I can't lift up."

There is a reason I’m reluctant to own my friendship with him. He is as annoying and obnoxious as they come, but apart from his rude words, he is the only one who puts up with me. No backstabbing in six years of knowing each other, and I can tolerate him.

"I still don't see what you see in opting for a fat girl," he says, heading to take a seat in front of me.

I pull him closer to me by his collar. "Address her with respect."

"You are choking me."

I don't release him, burning my eyes into his skull.

"You are really choking me for a fat, chubby girl that you can't lift up during s*x or have it easy to find her hole."

I hit his head two times against my desk. The papers fly off, and my laptop bounces.

"Ba… Bank…"

I get closer to him, my chest tightening. "I am not as lazy as you not to be able to lift up a ninety-six kilogram woman." I tighten his collar around his throat while his nails drag down my hand.

"Neither am I foolish to not be able to find her cunt or clitoris."

He gulps, struggling miserably.

"I… it’s just…"

I press his head harder, not caring..

"You will resist insulting her, or it will be the end of our acquaintance." I finalize and push him off. He stumbles back, clothes slack and eyes bloodshot.

I lift up the laptop and find my PA standing there, shell -shocked by the door.

"I… it’s time to go."

I fix my tie.

"Get the jet ready and wait." I say and head to the washroom.

There is something wrong with me. Six years of friendship. I don't regret warning him, but… that was a first

AUTHOR'S NOTE: What do we all think of Anthony? Do you think he is good or a

person? Do you like him?