Fuck me, I’m going to go mental if I don't fuck that beautiful body of Daphne’s soon. It’s only been one fucking morning and already my cock is twitching like it’s got a mind of its fucking own. It knows what it fucking wants and it's getting pissed as all hell at my brain for denying it.

That’s exactly all I’m thinking about right now as the Bentley’s driving me to One57. I’m still fucking wet from jumping into the water. But I’m not even thinking about that. Why wouldn’t I jump in? You’re thinking I’m trying to be a hero for Alicia or something, right? Well, listen, mate, I’m no fucking hero. I know you might be shaking your head, especially if you’re the skeptical type, but you need to believe me when I fucking tell you that I wasn’t doing anything on that boat for Daphne. I was just trying to get through the morning without popping my massive fucking cock in front of her.

She’s been gone for a bit but it’s doing nothing for my state of mind.

That’s when my phone rings.

It’s Daphne. I pick that shit up on the first fucking ring.

“Derrick,” she says and her voice is fucking trembling like she’s afraid.

Fuck me.

I don’t need to hear another fucking word. “Give me ten minutes,” I say into the phone. I look at where we are – on 23rd street near Chelsea Piers. Fuck, I think we can do better than that. Pressly looks at me for the driver’s seat. “Fuck, give me five minutes,” I say out to her. I nod to Pressly who kicks the shit into high gear. The tires squeal as he turns a fucking U-turn onto 12th Avenue, and kicks the speed up as fast as it’ll go.

I’m on the phone but I don’t say anything unless she needs me to. I’m not hanging up on her and she’s not hanging up on me. I can hear her breathing and I curse under my breath, wishing I could fucking fly.

The Bentley’s flying, dodging traffic left and right. The other cars on the street, let's just say they’re rightfully fucking pissed.

It’s too long, but eventually we turn onto Daphne’s street, and the Bentley literally peals in and I jump out as I see her on the curb.

She runs into my arms and I hold her while Sam, my bodyguard that was in the front seat rushes up to her.

“You’re coming over and you’re staying with me until we get this whole thing sorted, as well. Okay?” I ask her, but I’m not really asking. I’m taking charge because I’m going to protect this woman. This most perfect creature that I’ve ever met.

She’s already told me her apartment number – 4F – so we climb into the Bentley.

I don’t fucking let her out of my grasp the whole fucking time until we get to One57.

* * *

“You live here?” Daphne asks me. She turns around to look at me and expands her question, “By yourself?”

We’re standing in the living room of my apartment. She’s looking out the window from the 75th floor of my penthouse apartment, high above the clouds of New York City. The living room is built in such a way that it juts out and you have views from three separate sides. On one side, there are clear unobstructed views of the Park. The other side has spectacular fucking views of Midtown Manhattan. On a clear day you can see all the way down to the Freedom Tower.

“Just me, love,” I tell her and walk to the window. “Come, see this,” I say, putting my hand at the base of her back and guiding her towards the balcony.

She steps outside and a burst of cool wind whips her beautiful fucking hair around her face. She’s fucking gorgeous. Like a fucking doll.

She looks at me, “So let me get this right,” she says. “Three bedrooms, a dining room, servants quarters, massive kitchen, living room, family room, study, and three bathrooms. And all this is for one person?”

I look at her. I can tell she’s waiting for my reaction.

“You forgot the balcony, love,” I say with a grin.

At first I think she’s going to slap me. But then she just rolls her eyes. “For one person?” Daphne asks again. “Derrick, your balcony is bigger than my bedroom.”

“That’s because it’s a wraparound balcony,” I say, smirking. Another wind comes through and I shiver. I’m still wearing the fucking damp clothes.

Daphne notices. “Let’s go inside,” she says and walks inside. I follow, but I stop. I’m staring at her ass. Her luscious and firm ass. God fucking dammit.

Now you know I’ve been with a lot of women. Fuck, you’ve seen me with a stripper and a news anchor. Let me tell you they couldn’t hold a fucking candle to this woman. And it’s not just because Daphne is fucking gorgeous.

She’s so elegant, even after her apartment got broken into.

She’s got some real class.

And you’re going to fucking groan, but there are two things in this world that drive me absolutely mental about a bird.

The first is if she’s got class.

The second is her ass.

Class and fucking ass. And Daphne has both in spades.

I admire her as she walks around, cooing and making comments to herself as she studies my apartment. Like a bird, before it nests.

Her legs are fucking toned. Her tits are fucking ripe. Her face is beautiful. I want to turn her around, bend her over and fuck her till we both pass the fuck out. That’s the only thing I want in this life. That’s all I know I will ever want in my life.

I’ve been ruined for all other women. And I haven’t even kissed her yet.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” she says as she walks up to me. “You’ll catch cold.”

“Right, love,” I tell her. “You want to join me as I get out of them?”

Her eyes fucking twinkle. Four days ago, she would have rolled those eyes and maybe even slapped me. But not now. Instead she just smiles and says, “I have nothing to change into.”

“That’ll change soon enough,” I tell her. “Sam’s bringing your shit over as we speak.”

“Just because you’re so wealthy doesn’t mean you can call all my stuff shit, Derrick,” she says. I look over at her startled and see her teasing smile.

Then she nods, thoughtfully. “I wonder who would want to break into just my room. I mean, I didn’t really even have anything valuable in there.”

I don’t know either but I’ve asked Sam and Pressly to do a very thorough check of the place after Daphne’s stuff gets brought over.

“I’m so afraid to go back,” she says, and her eyes cloud up with uncertainty and fear again.

Fuck, why does she remind me so fucking much of Alicia? I don’t even know where Alicia is at after she graduated from Yale. But I remember enough about her that my cock stiffens again just thinking about her when she was 18 – before she left St. Livy.

She probably left hating my fucking guts. Because Prince Sin – the bad boy Prince of the fucking world – was too much of a chicken shit coward to admit his real feelings for her. Because I’d been too fucking scarred by the ill treatment of my mother by my father. Because I was too numb from her eventual death. Because I was too worried about how I had treated Alicia as a kid. Where I had not just treated someone despicably, but wasted an opportunity to tell a woman that I loved her.

Yes, alright. I fucking admit it. When Alicia left, I knew that I loved her. That’s why during her going away party, I conveniently went to Cannes. I didn’t want her to see me and I knew I couldn’t keep that shit to myself.

“You’re a million miles away,” Daphne says and I shoot back to reality. Her eyes are wide and she’s looking at me.

I take a step closer and can feel her breath.

Fuck me. I can’t be falling in love with Daphne. Not after just meeting her.

Not when I’m hoping to find Alicia one day.

My face inches closer to her and I can see her eyelids droop as I get closer.

I don’t care if she’s a fucking stripper. All I want is to fucking be with her.

My arm drapes around her and descends to her lower back.

I feel so at peace when I’m with her. She banishes my fucking demons.

Our lips are centimeters apart.

I’m going to kiss her. She reminds me so much of…

“Alicia.”

Daphne opens her eyes and looks at me. Concern, or jealousy, or fear, or what the fuck I don’t know.

All I know is I’m standing there, like an idiot about to kiss fucking Daphne and I’m mumbling Alicia’s fucking name.

Fuck me.

Daphne’s eyes are wide. She’s studying me. I know I’ve fucked up and for once, I don’t have a fucking one-liner or a comeback.

I’m ready to take this – however it comes. Bring the fucking pain.

But I don’t get a chance to. The door opens and Sam and Pressly walk in. They’re carrying two suitcases each.

“Where should we put Miss Daphne’s clothes, Your Highness?” Pressly asks.

I don’t answer at first, but Daphne clears her throat and moves backwards. Our moment is done. It’s gone. Destroyed by yours truly. With his fucking anti-Midas touch.

“I’ll take them,” Daphne says as she leads Sam and Pressly to the first guest room in the hallway.

All I can do is watch her luscious fucking ass sway as she walks away.

I feel like a fucking idiot. Most likely because I am.