Daddy’s Forbidden Fantasy (An Erotic Romance Series)

Chapter 2

Fred

“How about a snack then?” she said brightly.

“I could use some crackers, or cheese, or chips, whatever you have lying around.”

I shook my head regretfully.

“Naw sweetheart, I got nothin’. I don’t eat here usually, all my meals are at work, so my cupboards are bare. Sorry.

”Sorry, not sorry. Although frankly, it could be true. I had no idea what was in the kitchen. I don’t usually go in there so technically, the shelves could be bare, although that was unlikely. Surely Conchita had stocked it with something. I had to be paying my housekeeper for something, right?

But that was none of the blonde’s business. So I shrugged my shoulders before walking over to the door and holding it open. And this time, my smile was real.

“Hey,” I rumbled, “It's time. Let’s beat feet. I gotta run some errands in addition to getting to work at the crack of dawn tomorrow. You know us CEOs, it takes a lot of energy to steer the ship.”

The girl’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide. I swear, the word “CEO” turned her into a mass of jelly between her legs, some chicks love that sh*t.

And I wasn’t above using it to my advantage.

“Oh of course! I didn’t realize you had an early call, of course, of course,” she babbled, grabbing her coat.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.”

That was bullshit, I’d been not-so-subtly hinting for her to get the f*ck out for the last ten minutes. But finally, the girl got her act together and I waited patiently by the door as she searched some random thing in that giant purse. At last, Chickie located her keys and scooted out by me. But not before leaning up to press her mouth hungrily against mine.

“Mm, Fred, call me,” she whispered against my lips. “Call me.”

I almost choked. No way was I calling Minky / Pinky, I’d tasted her c*nt and it was sour like stale cheese. But hey, some things you gotta do just to survive. So I lied again, smiling like the f*cking Joker.

“Sure, no problem. Got it.”

And with that, she was down the hall, waving coyly.

“Bye now!” the blonde cooed, swinging her purse as the door opened.

“Call me Fred!”

I resisted the urge to wipe my mouth. The girl’s lips had been dry and thin, more like kissing a sandwich than a real live, juicy woman. But whatever. It was done. Because sprinting back into my apartment, I did a quick check. Oh yeah, everything was spic as spicy as usual, and I shut thedoor to the red bedroom firmly, locking it. No need to take chances, given what was about to happen.

Because at that moment, the elevator dinged again in the hallway.

Strolling casually to the front door, acting like nothing was wrong, I opened it, propping my bulk against the frame.

“Hey,” I grumbled as the doors slid open.

“Hey, you.”

Sh*t, was this woman’s name Marta or Martha? Just like Minky / Pinky before her, I wasn’t sure. I do my best to remember, but f*ck, there are just so many f*cking women. The females practically pour from my ears, they assault me on the streets, begging for my attention, throwing their bodies into my path. So as Marta stepped off the elevator, clad in a trench coat, I summoned a smile.

“Hey,” I tossed out again.

“Good to see you.”

And the minute we were inside, that trench coat came off. Or more like it was whipped off, the girl was so eager to jump me. But little good it did because just like Minky before her, Marta was way too thin. As the material dropped to the floor, I got an eyeful of bony ribcage and skinny, chicken-meat thighs. What happened to big, luscious Double Ds? What happened to girls with junk in the trunk and enormous, soft behinds? I groaned beneath my breath, dreading the hour ahead.

But f*ck that. I’m a serial womanizer, and I’m here to f*ck. Sure, it wasn’t grade A tonight, it was more grade C, but if there’s a menu, why not eat? So yeah, f*ck it. It was time for a second dinner, and I led the new girl over to a bedroom across from the first.

“In here baby,” I ground out, flinging open the door. And just like the first bedroom, this one had a huge, king-size bed complete with crisp new sheets, all done in blue.

“Ooooh,” squealed the girl.

“I like it.”

I grunted, shutting the door. Because there was work to do, and I was on it. Some people would say I’m a womanizer, or even a cheater but I beg to differ because there are no explicit promises, not really. Women just think we’re exclusive. They think we’re an item, not realizing that as soon as the door slams, there’s a new one waiting.

But it works for me. I bought this apartment for exactly this purpose.

Because why else would a single guy have a five-bedroom pad? That’s right, I’ve got multiple bedrooms, each outfitted with a king-size bed and a corresponding en suite. That way, I can entertain multiple ladies, and they never smell the others. They never detect the scent of p*ssy juice or bubbly jizz, they never see crusted cream on a pillow case or semen pooled on the floor. So yeah, I’m an asshole of the worst sort, the kind women love to hate.

But what you see is what you get … and my life f*cking rocks.