I grab the flavor-of-the-day’s hips and pound my cock into her over and over, smirking when she cries out a string of words practically in worship of me and what I’m doing to her body.

“Oh, fuck, Liam, your cock is so big,” she squeals, writhing under my hands. “I’m gonna cum—”

Her words break off as I flick my thumb across her clit and make her cum all over my cock.

Fuck yeah, my cock is big. And I know exactly what to do with. This girl—Misty?—is just the latest to tell me how fucking amazing it is. Like I don’t know. There’s a reason I have a reputation as the hottest billionaire playboy in New York City. Everyone wants a piece of Liam Donovan. And I’m usually happy to give it to them.

Hard, fast, and dirty.

Sometimes more than once if the chick happens to be especially hot. But never for more than one night.

Shoving her face down into the bed and yanking her ass up even higher, I plunge into her even harder, groaning through my own orgasm.

“Fuck…” I grit out as I shoot hot, streaming jets of cum inside her, my cock throbbing with my release.

Then I pull out and let her fall to the bed, standing up and taking care of the used-up condom. I tie it off and toss it in the trash and reach for my pants, ready to get the fuck away now that we both got what we came here for.

Misty (I think) rolls over on the bed and bites on the tip of a brightly painted fake fingernail. “Liam,” she coos, rubbing the wrinkled sheets beside her. “Why are you getting dressed? Come back to bed.” She pats it for emphasis.

I just look at her. What the fuck? She wants to cuddle or some shit?

“Uh, Misty—” she doesn’t correct me so I assume I got that much right, “—that’s not part of the deal.”

She pouts. “Maybe I’m not done with you.”

Too bad. I’m done with her.

“I thought maybe we could go again?” She bites her lower lip, no doubt thinking I’ll find it sexy. Whatever. Girls like Misty are a dime a dozen.

Well, at least in the circles I run in. Yeah, she’s some celebutante socialite, always on the pages of the tabloids, but girls like her throw themselves at me on the regular. I’ll have another one begging for my dick tomorrow.

Misty should know how this goes. It’s a one-night stand. I pull my pants on, making it clear that she needs to be happy with what she got. A nice, hard fucking from Liam Donovan.

She slumps back onto the bed and shrugs, yawning, and my mind moves on to other things. I have a lot to do for work tomorrow and I need to get some rest. I’ll sleep better now that I got my rocks off.

Pulling my shirt over my head, I notice that Misty’s already on her way to knocked out cold. Guess that’s what a bottle of wine and a good fucking will do to you.

Leaving her there naked on the bed, I leave the room, pulling the door shut behind me. She’s totally welcome to stay in the guest room all night if she wants. I always let the women I bring home sleep there if they want, even though I don’t invite them to. I won’t even have to ask my housekeeper to clean the room up tomorrow. She knows the drill. It’s the room I use for fucking, and it’s always fresh for the next girl in line.

I wonder briefly what my housekeeper thinks about that. I don’t ever fuck girls in my own room. It’s a rule. One I never break. But just as quick as the thought comes, it’s gone.

Strolling into the living room of my penthouse apartment, I look out the windows at the lights of Manhattan below. I could probably go get some work done tonight if I wanted to. I have a lot on my plate right now, trying to juggle everything.

Instead, I pour myself a glass of Scotch and settle on the grey sofa, my eyes on the city lights but my thoughts elsewhere. Taking a sip, I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling.

I have a fucking awesome life and I want to keep it that way. The best apartment, all the best and sexiest women, the envy of every man in Manhattan, more money than anyone could ever need. They all want to be me.

More than that, I have my work. I fucking love what I do. You can’t really beat that, can you? What more could I ask for?

Nothing. That’s what.

Yeah, some people want to razz me about my playboy lifestyle, but I don’t give a flying fuck. I like having a new woman in my bed every night. I like that I don’t have to worry about all the bullshit that comes with keeping one around for longer than that.

Slamming the rest of my drink back, I go to my imported German bar and pour another glass of ten-thousand-dollar Scotch. Nothing but the best for a Donovan.

I carry it toward my room, not bothering to look toward the guest room as I pass by. I’ll be gone before Misty manages to crack a hungover eye open in the morning. I work hard and play hard. My day tomorrow will be jam packed. And then the night will be spent drinking and fucking.

Stripping down again, I set my Scotch on my bedside table and grab a quick shower in my top-of-the-line en suite, then drop into bed naked. I grin as I prop myself up on a stack of feather pillows and pull the Egyptian cotton sheets up to my waist, sipping on my drink with one hand propped behind my head.

Like I said, everyone wishes they were me. I’ve got it all. Money, looks, women lining up for miles.

Fuck yeah. It’s good to be me.