Hot Daddy: A Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by R. R. Banks

  © Copyright 2017 - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18.

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Title Page

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Billionaire Boss Series

  Snow and the 7 Hunks (Sample)

  Major O (Sample)

  Fake Marriage with My Friend

  Other Works

  About the Author

  HOT daddy

  A Single Dad Billionaire Romance

  R.R. Banks

  Alright, alright, alright.

  Women say I sound just like Matthew McConaughey.

  And owning half of Texas, life can’t get any better.

  Until my inheritance is threatened by my bitch of a half-sister.

  Well sugar, that shit ain’t happenin’!

  The only way to stop her is to get married.

  It’s in my parents’ will.

  Fortunately, I know just the candidate – Amanda.

  She lights me up as bright as the Dallas sky.

  All I can think of is her riding me cowgirl while wearing my Stetson.

  But there’s more to it.

  She’s actually making my playboy ass consider settling down.

  I’ll do everything in my power to win her over.

  Including something I have never done before, introduce her to my son…

  Chapter One

  Brady

  “I've never done it in a skybox before,” she purred.

  “Looks like you can check it off your bucket list then, sugar,” I reply.

  She gives me a seductive little smile. “Anybody ever say you sound just like Matthew McConaughey when you talk?”

  I look at her and smile. “Is that a good thing?”

  “It's definitely a good thing,” she says. “It's sexy.”

  I flash her a devilish little grin. “Well, alright, alright, alright.”

  She giggles and goes back to giving me a mind-blowingly amazing blowjob. I look at the packed stadium outside the windows of my skybox and smile. I love football – almost as much as I love a good blowjob. But football is the thing I'm most passionate about in life. I've loved it since I was a kid, when my dad used to take me to the games. That love affair only grew stronger when my dad, founder of the Keating Technologies empire, bought an NFL team – the San Antonio Copperheads. Which, automatically became my favorite team.

  I remember going to the games with him when I was a kid. Dreamed of wearing the black and copper colored uniforms, of making big plays on Sundays. I remember sitting in the big luxury box above the field and taking it all in, thinking it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I remember going down onto the sidelines and into the locker room to meet some of the players – some of my idols growing up.

  Of course, back then, I never imagined taking in the games the way I currently was – sitting in my luxury box in a stadium packed to the rafters with screaming fans – and having a gorgeous little blonde face down in my lap working my cock like she had something to prove.

  I tangle my hands in her hair, giving it a firm pull as she works her mouth and hand in unison on my thick, hard shaft. She looks up at me with a flirty little smile and a sexy little gleam in her eyes as she traces the tip of her tongue around the head of my cock, stroking me at the same time.

  The crowd outside the luxury box roars, making me smile down at her.

  “Damn, darlin', you're so good, you can get a stadium of sixty-five thousand people on their feet,” I say, knowing full well that nobody can see through the smoked glass tinting of the windows.

  “Shut up,” she giggles. “I would kill you if anybody could see us. What would my momma think?”

  “Honey, I gotta believe she'd think she raised a damn fine young woman.”

  She smacks my thigh playfully and then squeezes the base of my cock nice and hard before taking all of it back into her mouth. She tightens her mouth around me, moving her head up and down, licking and sucking hard and fast. I lean my head back on the chair and moan, my eyes rolling back in my head.

  “You locked the door behind you when you came in, didn't you, sweetheart?” I ask.

  She nods and mumbles – it's probably a little difficult for her to talk with her mouth full. She keeps moving her head up and down though, cupping my balls and giving them a firm squeeze, making my breath catch in my throat. This girl has the whole sweet, Catholic, girl-next-door look about her, but there is nothin' innocent about this one – which I'm very happy about. Obviously.

  I look at the door again, hoping she actually had locked it. The last thing I want is for somebody to walk in on us during our little tryst. Not that it would be the first time I'd been caught screwing one of the hospitality girls in my skybox. I'm not big on putting on shows for people though. Believe it or not, but I do have some morals – a few, anyway.

  I glance at the clock and realize halftime is coming to an end soon. I need to speed things up so I don't miss any of the game. Or the meeting I have scheduled that I'm already dreading.

  I pull the girl to her feet and then stand up. She giggles and licks her lips seductively. She is a gorgeous little thing – no more than twenty-two or twenty-three-years-old, five foot three, a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, with blonde hair, deep green eyes, and a luscious, curvy, deliciously tight little body. A body I can most definitely get used to banging.

  And if she behaves herself, maybe we'll just have to have an encore performance at next week's game.

  Leaning down, I kiss her hard, cupping her breasts through her tight white uniform shirt. She wraps her legs around my waist when I pick her up and carry her over to the bar, sitting her down on top of it. I kiss her neck as I work at the buttons on her shirt, finally getting it undone.

  I drop her shirt on the bar, her bra quickly following. She gasps when I gave her stiff nipples a nice, hard pinch. Leaning down I take one of her nipples into my mouth, sucking and nibbling on it as I squeeze and knead her other breast in my hand.

  She reaches her hand down and takes hold of my cock, giving it a nice, hard tug. I moan and look her in the eye, enjoying the sensation of her small, smooth hand sliding up and down my stiff co
ck.

  “I don't have much time,” she says, her sweet Texas accent dripping like honey. “I need to get back to work soon.”

  “Don't worry,” I reply. “I'll write you a note if you're late. I'm the boss, so what can they do?”

  Sliding my hand up her skirt, I grab hold of her panties and slide them down, tossing them on the pile with her shirt and bra. She bites her bottom lip and gives me a seductive little smile. Damn, this girl is sexy.

  She parts her thighs as I step forward, positioning myself between them. Kissing her, I slide my hands up her thighs, relishing the feel of her smooth, silky stockings. She reaches over and picks up my black Stetson, putting on top of her head and gives me a flirty little look – and I have to admit, it's kind of sexy.

  “Giddyap, cowboy,” she purrs.

  “Yes, ma'am,” I say.

  I quickly slip on a condom as she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me forward. Locking her hands behind my neck, she looks me in the eye and kisses me hard, our tongues swirling together in her mouth hard and fast. She pulls back, a little breathless.

  “I need to feel you inside of me, Brady,” she gasps. “Fuck me now, baby.”

  Grabbing hold of my stiff prick, she guides me to her hot, wet little opening. With one solid thrust, I drive myself deep into her, making her cry out as I fill her up completely.

  “Yes, baby,” she says. “God, yes.”

  She is dripping wet and I thrust my hips in a hard rhythm, moving inside of her with ease. I grab hold of her ass and pull her closer to me as I start to bang her harder and faster. Kissing her neck, nipping at it, I run my tongue down to her sweet, perky little tits.

  She's moaning loudly, calling my name as I bury my cock into her again and again. I look out through the windows and see the teams are starting to come back out onto the field. She squeals and giggles as I pull her down off the bar, turn her around, and bend her over it, and then give that sweet little ass a firm smack.

  She looks back at me over her shoulder, a salacious expression on her face as I push her skirt up around her waist. I take a moment to admire the view of her firm, tight little ass, and toned legs encased in her black stockings and heels.

  “You are damn fine, darlin'” I say.

  “Thanks,” she purrs. “Now stick it in and fuck me.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” I reply – she doesn't need to ask me twice.

  Stepping up behind her, I grab my cock and slip the head of it into her opening. I grab her shoulders and pull her back at the same moment I thrust myself forward, driving my cock deep inside of her. She gasps and moans, pushing back against me as I pound her from behind. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I gave it a hard yank, pulling her head backward, making her call my name.

  I drive my cock into her harder and faster, relishing the feeling of how tight and wet she is. With one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip, I slam my cock into her again and again. Her breathing is growing ragged, shallower, and a moment later, I feel her entire body stiffen. A moment after that, she cries out so loud as her orgasm tears through her, I'm half afraid the people in the seats below my skybox heard her.

  Her eyes fill with lust and her breathing growing ever more ragged, she looks over her shoulder at me again and smiles.

  “Jesus Christ,” she moans. “That was intense. It's your turn now, baby. Come for me.”

  As if I need her permission. I thrust my hips harder and deeper into her, feeling the pressure building up low within me. I feel my balls tighten as she pushes herself back, grinding herself against me, taking me even deeper inside of her.

  The moment I feel her squeeze me hard with her vaginal muscles – making her feel even tighter – I lose all control. My body shudders and I moan – it comes out more like a growl, really – as I blow my load deep within her.

  I ride out the waves of sensation that course through me as my cock pulses and throbs, spilling my seed into the condom. A few moments later, I step back, out of breath and feeling almost lightheaded. I strip the condom off and toss it into a nearby trashcan before turning back to her.

  Pulling her close in a tight embrace, I take my Stetson of her head and put it back on mine before giving her a chaste little kiss. Her face flushed with color, she smiles up at me, her eyes wide and dreamy.

  “That was amazing,” she says, her breath a little husky. “Really amazing.”

  I nod and look out at the field, noticing that they're lining up for the kickoff to get the second half of the game underway.

  “Uh huh,” I reply, suddenly distracted by the action on the field now that the action in my box was over. “It was great.”

  “I'd like to see you again,” she says.

  I nod without looking at her. “Get dressed,” I reply. “You have to get back to work and I have to meet with Rick.”

  She looks at me like I'd just slapped her across the face. But without another word, she slowly starts to dress herself, never taking her eyes off of me. I give her a little smile, but my attention is pretty much fixed on the game going on below.

  Like I said, football is my passion in life. Always has been, always will be.

  Chapter Two

  “We really need to talk about you screwing half the hospitality staff,” Rick says when he steps into my box, closing the door behind him.

  I look over and give him an amused grin. “Why? Is the other half jealous?”

  Rick Dempsey, the current President and General Manager of the Copperheads, sits down in the plush, padded seat next to me. The large windows are open so I can hear the roar of the crowd, the popping of the pads as the players collide with one another, and soak in the ambiance of a Copperheads home game. There's really nothing else like it.

  I've visited with other owners in the league in their stadiums. Some of them like to spend their Sundays down in the hospitality suites, drinking and stuffing their faces, not even paying attention to the game. Others like to sit in their luxury box, drinking, stuffing their faces, and watching the games on the televisions that fill the suite – if they pay attention to it at all.

  Many of them just like to be surrounded by a loud crowd of hangers-on who are there to be seen rather than to enjoy a game. And that's just not my way.

  I don't understand it. You own a team and you don't even watch them play? I'm convinced that half the owners in the league – maybe more – don't really care about football one way or the other. They own a team for the status and stature of being an NFL owner.

  But not me. Football is in my blood. I played in high school and college – and if not for a blown-out knee in my sophomore season, who knows what might have happened? Maybe I'd be down there strapping them up with my hometown Copperheads too. It had been my dream at one point in time – a dream my body was unable to help me fulfill.

  Yeah, there's still a little bitterness about that in my system.

  Instead of being on the field blowing up receivers on Sundays, I'm sitting in the skybox, watching them play – the owner-in-waiting, as my lawyer, Kendrick Booth likes to say.

  The blonde I'd banged at halftime comes in with a tray bearing wings and beer. She sets it down on the table between Rick and me before giving me a flirty little wink and a smile.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I say.

  Rick shakes his head and sighs as she turns and leaves the box. I grab my beer and take a long swallow of it. Rick grabs his bottle and holds it, watching the play on the field unfold. Our second-rate quarterback, Jake Penn, throws another incomplete pass, bringing up yet another fourth down. It hasn't been a great game for the Copperheads. Hell, it hasn't been a great start to the season.

  “The hospitality girls,” Rick says. “I need you to lay off of 'em, Brady. Not only is it unprofessional, you're opening yourself – and this organization – up to a potential lawsuit.”

  I shrug. “They're all of age,” I reply, watching with a simmering anger as the punting team comes out onto the field. Again. “What happens between tw
o consenting adults is nobody's business. Least of all yours, Rick.”

  Rick and I have a – contentious – relationship. To put it mildly. Mostly because I forget more about football in a day than Rick is ever going to know – and he knows it. He's only in the position because after my parents died, somebody had to step into the role – and he was available. For whatever reason, he and my father were friends and he has a lot of years in the league – many of them in a GM capacity. So, to some, that gives him some credibility around the league.

  Not that his years as a GM were good years. For any of the teams he's been with.

  If anybody had asked me – and nobody did – I would have told them to steer clear of Rick Dempsey. He drafts poorly, goes cheap on free agents, and his track record as a GM doesn't include guiding a team to a single winning season. Twenty years in the league – thirteen as a GM – and Dempsey doesn't have a single winning season to his credit.

  It's something that never fails to irritate me whenever I see his face. He's terrible at his job, but somebody else always takes the fall. It's the quarterback. It's injuries. It's a poor pass defense. The most recurrent theme is, it's the coach. Nobody ever really stops to look at his track record of drafting and signing free agents.

  I have though, and it's horrible.

  And the reason our relationship is so rocky is because he refuses to listen to my advice. Refuses to draft the players I want to target or sign the free agents I think can help the team. He simply smiles, nods, and blows me off – as if I'm just some spoiled rich kid who doesn't really know much about anything other than girls and partying.

  Dempsey doesn't seem to understand that it's only a matter of time before I assume control of the team though, and will be the one calling all the shots. All he talks about is sticking to his vision and his game plan for the organization, promising that better days are ahead.

  “Be that as it may,” Rick goes on, “There is always the potential –”

  “I'm done talking about that,” I snap. “What I want to talk about – the reason I asked you to meet with me – is because of what I see down there.”