Chapter 1: Morning Glow in Manhattan
The sun spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my $100 million penthouse at 217 West 57th Street, Central Park Tower, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. I’m up early, my 25-inch waist cinched in a silk robe, my bubble booty barely contained as I sip espresso on the terrace, overlooking the sprawling green of Central Park. At 35, I’m still getting used to the weight of $83 billion in my bank account—hell, I’m still getting used to the weight of the world’s eyes on me. But today, it’s just me and Ashten Barnes, my new flame, whose TikTok charm reeled me in long before my fortune did. Now, with money and a man like him, life’s a whole new game.
Ashten’s in the kitchen, shirtless, his lean, tanned frame glistening with a light sweat from his morning workout. His dark hair’s a mess, and those piercing blue eyes catch mine as he flips a pancake with a grin that could melt steel. I Googled him a million times before we met—6’2”, all-American charm, a passionate streak that shows in every intense glance. He’s not just a pretty face; he’s got a fire in him, a raw energy that keeps me on edge.
‘Babe, you gonna stare all day or come get some of this?’ Ashten calls out, his voice teasing but warm, spatula waving like a scepter. ‘I didn’t burn these for nothing.’
I saunter over, hips swaying, and lean against the counter, smirking. ‘Burned or not, I’m more interested in the chef than the menu. You always this hot in the morning, or is it just for me?’
He laughs, a deep, throaty sound, and steps closer, the heat of his body brushing mine. ‘Only for you, queen. But you know I’m not just a pretty face—I’m passionate about my pancakes too. Taste test?’ He holds up a bite, his gaze locking with mine, daring me to play.
I take the fork, slow and deliberate, letting my lips linger just a second too long. ‘Mmm, not bad, Barnes. But I’ve got a better idea for breakfast.’ My voice dips, suggestive, as I trail a finger down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle twitch under my touch.
Ashten’s eyes darken, a smirk tugging at his lips. ‘Oh, you’re trouble. You’ve got the world at your feet, and you’re still hungry for me? I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t get cocky,’ I shoot back, arching a brow. ‘I’m not some damsel fawning over you. I just know what I want—and right now, it’s not pancakes.’ I step closer, my robe slipping just enough to show a hint of skin, my confidence a weapon as sharp as my wit.
His breath hitches, and he tosses the spatula aside, hands finding my hips with a grip that’s firm but not forceful. ‘Damn, woman, you’re gonna make me forget how to cook. You’re playing dirty, and I’m here for it.’
I tilt my head, lips brushing his ear as I whisper, ‘Good. I don’t play to lose.’ My hands slide down his back, feeling the tension in his frame, the way he’s already hard against me, his desire as clear as the lust in his eyes. The air between us crackles, charged with a heat that’s been building since I woke up to his scent on my sheets.
Ashten groans softly, his voice rough. ‘You’re gonna be the death of me. But hell, what a way to go.’ He pulls me closer, his mouth crashing into mine, hungry and fierce, tasting of coffee and need. My fingers dig into his shoulders as I kiss him back just as hard, my body pressed against his, feeling every inch of him through the thin fabric of my robe.
We stumble toward the counter, my ass hitting the cold marble as he lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist. I’m wet already, dripping with anticipation, and I can feel his cock straining against his sweats, desperate for me. His hands roam, bold and possessive, as he mutters against my lips, ‘Fuck, you’re driving me insane.’
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, panting, a wicked grin on my face. ‘Good. Now show me how passionate you really are.’
The promise of what’s coming hangs heavy between us, a storm about to break, as his fingers slip under my robe, teasing, and I know we’re seconds away from losing all control.
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