Page 12 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Stalker

“Really?” she asked, her eyes roving over me in doubt. Oh yeah. I wasalsocovered in tomato soup.

“Give me five minutes,” I said, already jogging down the hall that led to the bedroom and bathroom attached to my office. When we’d built the building, I’d insisted the architect put them in the plans for nights I worked at the office.

I heard Grandma assuring her it was all okay as she called Dinardo’s Deli and asked to speak to Old Man Dinardo.

I hurried through my shower, trying to ignore my hard cock. I really didn’t have time to take care of it right now, but it was throbbing, aching with need. I couldn’t be expected not to stare at tits like hers in a wet T-shirt and not have this reaction. I looked down. It was basically a steel rod. I groaned. And it was going to be obvious if anyone looked down once I got dressed. At least that’s what I told myself. I leaned against the tiled shower and moaned with relief as I grabbed the base and squeezed then started jacking myself furiously.

“Fuuuck,” I moaned out as I pictured her on her knees in front of me, her pretty, full lips wrapped around my dick, green eyes staring up at me. And I exploded, coming with a ferocity that left me weak in the knees and gasping for breath.

“My God,” I gasped out. That had taken all of thirty seconds.

What was this? I’d heard of insta-love. My sister, Laura, read romance novels constantly. But this felt different from the way she’d described that. I thought about that television seriesYou. It wasn’t quite like that, either, thank goodness. Maybe it was somewhere in the middle of those two things? Like maybe I had stalker-like feelings similar to the guy in that series, but I would never want to hurt her. Maybe I was a ‘nice’ stalker.

Although I wanted to do some decidedly not nice things with her. To her.

Shit. I had to quit thinking about that or I’d make myself hard again.

I hurried and washed, taking extra care to make sure all the tomato soup was gone. I scrubbed my hair, neck, andfingernails. That had taken the brunt of mess. “Glad I closed my eyes,” I said to myself, wondering if anyone had ever been blinded by soup.

I got dressed faster than I think I ever had before and started down the hall to get back to her. The closer I got to her the more nervous I became. What did I say to a girl I actually liked? Most of the women I went out with were a one-and-done kind of thing. I was out with them to fuck them, and that was it. I never had any trouble talking to them, even the small talk I hated so much, because I didn’t really care if they liked me.

I cared whether or not Daisy liked me.

I already knew I wanted more from her. I stopped walking and took a deep breath. I looked down at what I was wearing, suddenly worried for the first time that I didn’t look presentable. I was wearing some comfy jeans and a faded T-shirt with Nikes. What if she was used to guys in suits?

I felt shaky.

Man. Was this what guys felt like all the time when they were into somebody? I fucking hated it. And loved it all at the same time.

I forced myself to walk slowly and try to act casual as I entered the lobby area. “Are you ready?” I asked.

Daisy nodded. “I don’t want to put you out, Mr. Lancaster, I know you’re very busy.”

“I’m not that busy,” I lied, ignoring the sounds of disbelief Tallon and Grandma made. I turned to them. “I’ll see y’all later.”

I also ignored the way my dick twitched when she called meMr. Lancasterin that sweet voice of hers. Fuck, I wanted her badly. I turned back to Daisy. “Call me Jack.”

“Oh… okay.”

Someone had magically cleaned up the elevator, and I knew Grandma had probably been behind it. She made everything work that way. She thought about things I wouldn’t before I even knew I needed them.

It was awkward in the elevator. I didn’t knowexactly what to say to her, and I could tell she felt the same way. Plus, all I wanted to do was stare at her.

But I didn’t want to be fucking creepy.

“Grandma called Dinardo’s?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Old Man Dinardo was pretty mad until she said you weren’t upset.” She looked at me nervously. “You really aren’t upset?”

“Not at all.”

“I hope you’ll let me pay for dry cleaning. Or your clothes if the soup won’t come out.”

I shook my head and tried to make myself stare at the closed elevator doors instead of at her. “That’s not at all necessary.” I tried to imagine how much she made working at Dinardo’s Deli. It would take her a while to pay for those stupid golf clothes, and there was no way I’d ever expect that.

The doors opened, and I thought I heard her breathe a sigh of relief. What if she didn’t like being around me? I winced inwardly at the thought.

I felt the stares as I walked across the lobby with her. We walked outside, and I just stood there for a minute. I rarely drove. I either took an Uber or called my driver, but the first option seemed weird. And calling my driver seemed like a douche move.