Blue Collar Billionaire: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 73)

by Flora Ferrari

  I want to taste him as I take him in my mouth having my first experience that way before I have the ultimate first experience.

  The man I’ve been both lusting after and dreaming about.

  The man who I could learn so much from, both personally and professional.

  And the one I want to be my man…forever.

  And let’s not forget that he’s smoking hot. And speaking of smoking suddenly I see smoke coming out from underneath the sink.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, almost done. Just a little soldering and we’ll be good to go.”

  “Okay,” I say and my thoughts continue.

  “There weeeee go. Got it!” he says and he pops out from underneath the sink. “Now to take a look and see what else needs to be serviced.”

  I’m not lost on the fact that he’s staring right at me and I need to be serviced more than anything in this entire place.

  Suddenly I feel a drop of water on my hair.

  “Oh my gosh, is the roof leaking now?”

  “The sprinklers,” he says.

  “Sprinklers?” I say as I look up to the ceiling just in time to get sprayed right in the eye and everywhere else.

  He grabs a chair and stands on it quickly trying to turn off the sprinklers.

  I run into the kitchen, if you can call it that in a studio apartment, and grab a towel so I can fan the smoke.

  Who in the world has sprinklers inside an apartment? Then I remember the owner mentioned something about it because he doesn’t trust college kids. He said they always cook things on the stove and then go study and forget about them.

  I dash back into the main part of the studio and start fanning the smoke out, and it seems that Beau has remembered something as well…

  That I have on a thin white top that’s now completely stuck to my skin and his eyes are stuck on me.

  CHAPTER 6

  Beau

  I lose track of everything at the sight of her, the water just continuing to pour over us like we’re caught in the rain in some romantic movie.

  Then a switch flips in my mind about the place flooding and I run outside and hit the main water meter shut off switch, which is the only valve that will shut off the water to the sprinkler system.

  That sprinkler system must have been set on a super sensitive setting, and I’m feeling super sensitive right now as my cock is throbbing so damn hard that the pain is nearly unbearable.

  I go back inside and she’s sitting on her futon.

  She’s got her face in her hands as she looks at me and I look back at her. Her expression was lust when I left, and now it’s changed to something more of “it’s just one of those days.”

  Suddenly we both start busting out laughing.

  “Can I get you a coffee?” I ask.

  “Why not?” she says with a huge smile on her face.

  I pull a bottle of water out of the fridge and pour some into the electric water kettle. I dry off the area, especially the wall socket and the prongs, with some dry towels I find in the cupboard and get to boiling the water.

  Less than a minute later I take two cups of coffee into the “living room” and put them down on the table and join her on the futon.

  “Well, it was a hot day.”

  “I have to admit this does feel nice,” she says.

  “And I have to admit you look a lot more than nice in those clothes.”

  Her head slowly moves from the floor up to meet my gaze.

  “What about you?” she says, her hand coming up and stopping just short of my shoulder, but like a cat she can’t resist pawing at something she’s interested in…and this lion is ready to do a whole lot more than paw at her.

  “What about me?” I say turning my body more towards hers as she moves to square up better to me as well.

  My hand comes up to her face, but this time there are no imaginary flies and no stopping short.

  The pads of my fingertips make contact with her beautiful, wet cheek. God, she’s so perfect. She has that fresh just out of the shower look that absolutely cannot be beat.

  “You’re so…strong,” she says as her hand comes down on my shoulder awkwardly before squeezing it. “There’s nothing to squeeze. You’re literally all muscle.”

  “And your so soft,” I say running my finger along those cheeks of hers. “And all day I’ve been noticing what you’ve got in the back of those shorts and all I can think about is squeezing it.”

  “You like my butt?”

  “A lot more than just like it.”

  “I think it’s too big,” she says.

  I push a locket of her wet hair back behind her ear. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  Our faces move in closer.

  “You’re not wearing any make up are you?”

  “No. I didn’t have time to put any on this morning.”

  “Don’t. Ever. Your perfect just the way you are,” I say as I close the distance between us and I feel her soft subtle lips make contact with mine causing my eyes to close and my heart to skip a beat as my hand moves around from the side of her head to the back, applying the slightest of pressure as I make our kiss that much stronger and more intimate.

  “Wow,” she says as our faces separate and I’m already ready to dive back in to taste her sweet lips again. “Strong and gentle at just the right times and in just the right spots,” she says.

  We just stare into each other’s eyes taking in our glistening faces, and I know that’s not the only thing that’s glistening. If I wasn’t drenched already the pre-come on the tip of my cock would be easily visible if I stripped down right now. And damn, that’s exactly what I want to do. Everything…that’s what I want to do. I want to kiss her for at least an hour and then spend another slowly getting out of our clothes. Build up the anticipation for hours more until finally we just can’t resist anymore and I have her for the first time, claiming her as mine.

  But not here. This isn’t the place. But I have to kiss her again.

  I lean in and she moves to meet me as our lips lock for a second time and damn if it isn’t just as incredible as the first.

  “Everything okay in here, oooookay,” someone says at the door before suddenly turning and walking away.

  “We should probably shut the door,” she says, cutting our kiss short.

  “We should probably go somewhere else,” I say.

  “Where?”

  “I know just the place.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Ariella

  “Oh my gosh. Is this case study house number twenty-two?”

  “You know your stuff I see.”

  “This is one of the most iconic houses in all of L.A.”

  As an aspiring architect from California I know all about the Case Study Houses. I practically have the Wikipedia page memorized…

  The Case Study Houses were experiments in American residential architecture sponsored by Arts & Architecture magazine, which commissioned major architects of the day, including Richard Neutra, Raphael Soriano, Craig Ellwood, Charles and Ray Eames, Pierre Koenig, Eero Saarinen, A. Quincy Jones, Edward Killingsworth, and Ralph Rapson to design and build inexpensive and efficient model homes for the United States residential housing boom caused by the end of World War II and the return of millions of soldiers.

  The program ran intermittently from 1945 until 1966. The first six houses were built by 1948 and attracted more than 350,000 visitors. While not all thirty-six designs were built, most of those that were constructed were built in Los Angeles, and one was built in San Rafael, Northern California and one in Phoenix, Arizona. Of the unbuilt houses #19 was to have been built in Atherton, in the San Francisco Bay Area, while #27 was to have been built on the east coast, in Smoke Rise, New Jersey.

  A number of the houses appeared in the magazine in iconic black-and-white photographs by architectural photographer Julius Shulman.

  And the most famous of all the Julius Shulman photographs was taken right here in
this house at 1635 Woods Drive, the house that I admire so much.

  Archdaily.com, the world’s most visited architecture site, did an incredible write up on the residence back in November of 2015.

  Without a doubt, it’s among the most famous houses in Los Angeles. The house is easy to describe: a steel framed L-plan, divided into bedrooms and the communal living spaces, all wrapped around a turquoise pool seemingly impossibly poised above the city. But words don’t do it justice. Julius Shulman’s 1960 photograph of Pierre Koenig’s Case Study House 22, perhaps better known as Stahl House, changed the fantasies of a generation.

  Shulman’s photograph of, or rather through, Stahl House made plate glass and steel girders, materials normally too industrial to be accepted by home owners, seem glamorous. It was magazine genius: a voyeuristic image of two women in a glass lined room, suspended above the lights of Los Angeles, seen from outside the glass, the ambiguous perspective of either a guest leaving late, or an intruder arriving unannounced—whatever you wanted it to be. Shulman’s notorious photo is subtler than it first appears. The architecture is not so much shown as hinted at by the geometric underside of the roof, and the city is brought closer by the careful double exposure and the reflected image of the ceiling lamp that appears like a double moon inside and outside the house. Shulman’s genius was that he understood architectural photography first and foremost in terms of film, and not least Hollywood, the dream factory down the road. Where other photographers took static descriptive images of entire houses, Shulman made film stills, frozen moments from places you wished you lived in. When printed in John Entenza’s influential Californian magazine Arts and Architecture, Shulman’s photographs worked like an intoxicant on a generation of post-war architects.

  The official agenda of Entenza’s Case Study House program was to reimagine the typical family dwelling using postwar materials and technology. They were meant to be affordable, and replicable, houses for a confident democratic society. But the irony is that almost all of the case study houses were one-offs, modernist gems that were never replicated. Instead of using the best of postwar technology, the building industry used the booming market to cover America in suburban tract housing built by a deunionised and deskilled workforce. Wooden frames proved cheaper than steel, and required less skill to manage. The Stahl House represents an alternative history, a custom built precision architecture that everyone wanted but few ended up getting.

  The Stahl house itself was a classic American story, a house built as much by sheer force of will as from the application of contemporary technology. The site was believed to be too steep to build upon, so the owner, C H “Buck“ Stahl, a retired professional football player, heaped up the terraces supporting the structure more or less by hand, and made models of a curving, glass walled home over a year before finding an architect with the courage to take the commission. Pierre Koenig rationalized Stahl’s original plans, but recently rediscovered photographs of the early models suggest that this is one of those cases where the client deserves credit as a co-designer.

  Paradoxically, for the most glamorous house in America, it’s all about family. From the street, there’s almost nothing visible. The house presents a blank wall. The schism between privacy and view could not be more extreme. The 3D model from Archilogic shows the strong shift in atmosphere between the photogenic public spaces and the rarely photographed bedrooms, which are clearly designed to offer a feeling of enclosure, and security, in spite of the steep drop only a short distance away.

  Although on July 24, 2013, a half a century after completion, the Stahl House was listed in the National Register of Historic Places, finally affording it the recognition it deserved, there’s still a strange split between the postwar houses of figures like Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson, and the case study houses of the Eameses, or Pierre Koenig. Whereas Mies and Johnson were drawing on an architecture that went back as far as ancient Greece, and they knew it, the Eameses breezily rejected the weight of tradition. Koenig is a more ambiguous figure. He built, and he taught, for most of his life. He was fascinated by the properties of steel, and he did idealistically motivated work—notably with the Chemehuevi Indians when he taught at USC—but nothing ever brought him the fame and recognition of the magazine friendly pieces from early in his career.

  So how much does it cost to live in a modernist masterpiece?

  Well, Buck Stahl paid the outrageous sum (for the 1950s) of $13,500 for the land, and another $37,651 for the house and pool. At the time of writing, Zillow estimates the value of the house as $2,531,800 (or between 2.23 million and 3.11 million), Trulia’s algorithms estimate its value slightly lower than average for a Hollywood property, at $2,237,000, and Realtor guesses $2,042,328. The real value of the house is almost certainly higher, much higher. A story in the Los Angeles Times (June 27, 2009) reported that Stahl’s widow, Carlotta, and their three children turned down offers as high as $15 million for the house since Buck passed away, but whatever the offer was, the family didn’t sell, so the house is effectively priceless. That’s quite a premium for great architecture.

  “You’re able to get inside?” I ask.

  “We’re able to get inside,” he says.

  “But this is a landmark, and we’re soaking wet.”

  “They have a shower…and a pool.”

  “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I say as I lean over in the truck and hug him as he pulls to a stop. This is the perfect present, and surprise, for someone like me. It’s my dream to visit places like this, and as a broke college student the chances of that happening are slim to none, and slim’s been out of town for some time now.

  We step out of the truck and enter the property making sure not to drip everywhere.

  “Should we take showers?” I ask.

  “I was thinking since we’re already wet why not go for a dip.”

  “I didn’t bring my swimsuit,” I say nervously wishing I hadn’t eaten that entire pint of grocery store brand ice cream last night.

  “Perfect, then I won’t be the only naked one,” he says as he unbuckles his buckle and starts sliding his wet denim jeans down past his tree trunk thick thighs.

  Is this really happening? Is my fantasy really getting closer to coming true by the second?

  I would think I was dreaming if it weren’t for the sight of him and the smell of the air up here in this part of town. And the majestic view overlooking L.A. that no dream could recreate with such awe-inspiring heights and opulence.

  I slide my shorts down and reach for my top as I see his eyes narrow and the intensity in them increase. He looks more primal, more feral, more hungry than ever before.

  “Show me what perfection looks like so I can finally know after all these years because I know I’m about to see the most perfect sight on this entire earth.”

  My self-consciousness about my body starts to fade a bit and I feel better, more free, more satisfied with how I look when I expose myself to him.

  He quickly yanks his shirt up and over his head and pulls his boxers down, his cock catching on the elastic band and then springing free like a diving board as it clears the cotton restraint.

  Oh my lord, his muscles aren’t the only thing that are huge, thick, and rock hard.

  I’ve never seen a cock that big. I may have never seen a cock in real life, but I’m not a total prude and I do have an Internet connection and right now I want to connect myself to that.

  I realize my hands are still crossed at my waist with the base of my shirt in them.

  “Show me. Show me perfection,” he says, and I lift my hands up and feel my breasts fall free.

  As my shirt clears my head I take in his expression, his mouth literally open, and watch as he becomes completely weightless falling backwards completely still and flat like a board.

  “Beau!” I yell just as I see his body go completely horizontal and that big rod of his go completely vertical and then suddenly there’s a splash and he disappears into the water.
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  I can’t help but laugh so hard that I snort a little, but luckily he’s underwater and can’t hear me.

  “Wait!” he says as he breaches the surface, rubbing his eyes quickly.

  “Now I’m ready…ready for my perfect prize…your pristine peach,” he says.

  I grab my panties by the side and watch as he quickly swims up to the side of the pool closest to me, never taking his eyes off my sex. When he reaches the side he grabs it and holds himself in place as still as he can.

  I tug one side down low, but don’t reveal myself.

  Then I quickly reverse which side is down and which side is up before jumping up in the air and spinning around half way so my butt is facing him.