BABY DADDY (4 page)

Yeah. She didn’t get me at first sight. She got me at first scent.

She comes out of the bathroom in one of my shirts. I’m a lot taller and bigger than her so she looks dwarfed by it. I know she’s wearing a pair of hot pink bikini underneath.

I’ve checked her out while we were walking to the hotel. Visually, she’s a knockout, on the fleshy side which I prefer in my women, though most chicks who come to me try to lose all their body fats to fit into those minuscule numbers, so I’ve had to make do with available consumption. I haven’t hit on a woman since taking lessons from a MILF for a whole year at age sixteen. I didn’t have to do much to get laid since then but grow a boner.

This babe however is packed full in all the right places— big boobs, big ass and hot damn, she smells delicious.

And I’m hitting on her.

Come to think of it, I’ve missed the feeling, of being the hunter, the one going after what I want. And I want her.

I really do.

Her scent alone sent my libido in a tailspin and I don’t know which head is more messed up now, my upper or lower.

“Thanks for this,” she says, gesturing to my shirt.

“Looks great on you.” I’m not kidding, too. Seeing her in my shirt is making me feel all hot and bothered. The kind that goes all night long until it’s fully diffused.

I need to avoid women until after the championship race, I remind myself. But how can I? She’s that force at the bar. I can feel the power of her pull now that we’re at close range. I didn’t need to look for her. She came right at me. Now I don’t know which of us is the gravitational force, me or her.

Honestly, I don’t care.

The woman wants me. I can feel it in every pore of my skin. The way she looks at me, like I’m something that will give her immense pleasure—that simply drives me nuts. Who am I to say no to a delectable treat? If she looks like that at another man, I can guarantee instant boner like she’s done to me. I find the thought strangely aggravating.

Whoa, hold it there, buster. Don’t even go there.

But of course, it’s a foregone conclusion now. Before the night ends, she’d be out of my shirt and I’d be in her.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

She gives me this breathtaking smile again. “I’d love to.”

I feel a new wave of desire course through me, rushing in my bloodstreams like quicksilver. My hands itch to touch her. My tongue craves to taste every inch of her. My dick badly wants to discover her depths.

Her smoky eyes tell me everything. She’s not playing coy at all. I can have her flat on her back or against the wall right now if I wanted to.

Yet I hesitate.
I’ve played this game countless times before. Why am I taking it slow?

I wonder how old she is. She looks young and fresh, her skin blushed like a teenager’s, her curves ripe and luscious, but there’s an elegance and air of sophistication about her that’s making me hesitate to apply my usual player MO on her.

“Where do we eat?” she asks.

“I have a favorite restaurant in this island.” Which I reserve only for the VERY special guests, like Jackie Chan, Leo DiCaprio and Dare Montgomery when they come to visit, or the Emperor and Empress of Japan, or Sheldon Adelson, Lewis Hamilton, Valentino Rossi, Kei Nishikori and Keith St. Onge, who are good friends of mine.

“Where? What do they serve?”

I’m not going to rush this one. Hell, no. I’m going to make her and myself wait a bit longer. Pleasure delay, especially if it’s as sumptuous-looking as this one is always worth it.

“You’ll see. Would you like to take a walk at the beach before we proceed to the restaurant?”

“That would be fab.” Her face brightens even more and my insides are getting tied into smaller knots every damn minute.

This is going to be very interesting. I can’t wait to experience with her what is yet to unfold.

I escort her outside and we walk the short distance toward the beach. The sun is just setting, painting the Pacific skies in brilliant kaleidoscope of fire.

“This is probably the best beach I’ve ever seen,” she says as we emerge on the shoreline.

I couldn’t agree more. The island is a literal paradise on earth. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful and I’ve been globe-trotting since I was ten. The weather is perfect in these parts too, sunny most of the time with rains that don’t last for months. Tropical weather is the best for me. I function well under this climate.

“My favorite part of the day,” she comments quietly as we tread barefoot on the pristine white sands as fine as refined sugar.

I deliberately fall back a foot or two behind her so I can watch the wind play with her long, wavy, dark strawberry-blond hair which perfectly reflects the majesty of the sunset, turning it into dancing flames. I don’t usually poetically describe the color of a woman’s hair, too.

I’m amused at myself. Seldom do I marvel about a woman’s looks anymore these days. I’ve seen all kinds of beauties and the thing that makes them different from each other are not what’s outside on full display but what’s inside hidden from scrutiny, the ones they’re afraid to show. “Why is it your favorite?”

She glances at me with a weird look. “Do I need to explain that?” she gestures at the magnificent sunset.

I smile and nod, staring deeper into her eyes. Damn, I’d like to know all the secrets behind those expressive baby blues, the beautiful, the ugly and the dirty. “I guess not. It’s my favorite, too. Too awesome for words. Never fails to take my breath away.”

She flushes and looks at her feet, then peeks back at me under her long lashes. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“Would you like me to?”

She ponders on it a bit then shakes her head. “No. Not yet.”

First potential sex partner who I spend more than thirty minutes with who doesn’t start fishing right away about what I do to line my pockets. Rare. “I see. Now I’m wondering what would make you want to know my name.”

She smiles at me like Mona Lisa. “You’ll see.”

I’m taking this too far. I don’t need to spout cringe-worthy lines to get in her bikini. Really. Those are for average Joes who cannot score a lay if their lives depended on it.

But I can’t help myself. Corny, cheesy lines make the time stretch longer and make a woman totally relax. They’re used by men when they want more than a one night stand. I didn’t have to use any of that shit. All I wanted were one night stands. I’m a take-one guy. Repeat performances never appealed in my book.

Until this moment.

I knew right away she’d be different from my usual casual lays. How? I have no fucking idea. I just feel it. Like when I see a boulder or a log and know immediately it belongs in my body of work. It’s instinctive and I can’t explain it.

She’s a stranger. Fast. Easy. Forgettable. Remember?

That’s why I’m taking it slow. Before the night ends, she won’t feel like a stranger anymore.

I’ve never done this before,
pick up a stranger from a bar. But it was peanuts!

I didn’t even have to lapse into those embarrassing pick-up lines. I did look up some on the internet and wanted to puke as I scrolled pages and pages of lines that either spelled desperate or plain lame. But I figured those are the ones people use in the dating circuit nowadays so I had to arm myself with some, just in case. Thank god, this guy is so damn easy!

I can almost feel my eggs coming alive, as if they’re getting soaked in a life-giving fuel.

Hmmm, symbolism in words. Fuel. I need his fuel. I need him to fill my tank to the brim everyday for at least a week.

I just know he’s going to give me the most beautiful baby.

He’s simply mesmerizing.

I can stare at him forever. I want to scrutinize every line and angle on his fabulous body, inspect how he’s made of, like deconstructing a work of art to discover how it was crafted, then putting it back together.

Once he has removed his shades and I got the full impact of his stare– his eyes are hazel and just about the prettiest pair I’ve seen in a man, and I’ve seen many—I was gone.

Totally.

He’s a mixed breed. His features hint of Asian blood blending well with his white genes. Japanese maybe? Whatever it is, it’s a perfect combination. Just what I’m looking for.

I want my kid to look like a cross breed of the east and the west. Okay, I’m designing my first child like I do with my clothes but what the heck, I’m in the position where I can. Since I’m doing this without the pressure of emotional attachment, I might as well go about it like a pro. But man, I’m allowed to gush a little, right? Okay, a lot. This is my Baby Dada we’re talking about. Every detail of him must be gush-worthy.

My ovaries agree.

The rays of the setting sun cast his skin into a darker shade. You don’t acquire that kind of tan from getting baked under the sun. It must be genetic. His bronze skin is beautifully evened out on his entire frame.

His black board shorts hide the middle part of his toned body but it’s riding so low on his hips. The V on his lower abs, yes THAT vee of muscles bracketing his manly treasures are in plain mouth-watering view and there are no tan lines in sight.

His jet black hair, cropped so short to his skull, gives him this badass I’ll-mess-you-up look. Oh he can mess me up anytime!

Take this. He’s holding my beach sandals for me as we stroll down the beach. How sweet! This guy knows how to woo women. Thank God for that. However Machiavellian my plan is, I still want to be treated like a lady by the man who will be a huge participant in this most defining moment of my womanhood.

The feel of the sand eroding under my feet as the waves go back and forth is so relaxing.

“How long have you been on the island?” he asks.

“A week.”

“How come I haven’t seen you?”

“And why would you even see me, of all the spectacular sights in this island?”

Lame. Just lame. You’re the CEO of your 1.2 billion dollar clothing empire. Don’t give him that insecure female shit. How many times have you read this crap as a major turn off in men? Confidence, bitch. Wear it like the boss that you are.

“Your face is not easy to forget.”

Oh crap. Perfect line. He really knows how to slay women from the get go. Normally, I’d bitch slap any man who tries to use any of those player lines on me. I have that reputation back home. But now, I’d believe it if it would bring this particular man to my bed and make him stay there for a whole week.

“Thank you. You look kind of unforgettable yourself.”

“Don’t flatter my ego. It will get you somewhere.”

I laugh. “Do you have a big ego?”

He stops walking and turns to me, a peculiar look on his face.

Ops.

But his eyes have picked up heat now.

Maybe not an ops remark, after all.

“Yes. A sizable one. Can you handle it?”

Ooooh.

Sexual banter is not something I’m good at, but only because I lack practice. Give me a little time and I know I can match his innuendos line by line. However now, I can’t think of a smart comeback.

I’m getting seared by the smoldering look he’s showering me right now. I can’t think past sizable. Like how sizable can it get? I blame my limited experience in male anatomy now. I actually forced myself not to look down his body to check for any sizable signs of his ego.

My throat has gone dry. “I can handle just about anything,” I finally find my voice again.

A sexy smile splits his lips. “Good to know. I like take-charge women.”

Ooooh-kay. I’m getting a surge of hot flushes now and I’m pretty sure, it’s not a menopausal symptom.

We walk again, in silence this time.

Strange, but it’s not awkward. In fact, I feel comfortable walking beside him in silence, just the sound of the waves resonating around us.

I feel him take my hand in his.

Surprised, I look up at him.

“Let’s not waste the view and the moment.
It’s too romantic not to hold hands.” He gently squeezes my fingers.

Can I swoon? I want to high-five someone up there. My guardian angel is a pro at selecting the best genes and the sweetest dude.

Thank you God, for not making my Baby Dada an asshole.

I smile and curl my fingers around his rough palm, feeling his calm strength. My skin is so pale compared to his swarthy complexion, my hand totally engulfed in his and I’ve never felt more feminine in my entire life. Right this moment, I want to feel small and delicate and weak and let this man take care of me. Dominate me.

So, it’s true what they say. The strongest woman will succumb to the natural power of an alpha male. It’s the natural order of the universe.

For once, my hard-core feminist inner goddess is shutting up. The bitch is probably enjoying this rare moment, too.

“Would you like to do this for a week?” I blurt without a thought.

Hah!

Oh, there she goes. Really! I swear, it just came out of my lips, bitch!