Read Online Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance Boxed Set (10 Book Bundle) by Anna Antonia, Selena Kitt, Amy Aday, Nelle L'Amour, Ava Lore, Tawny Taylor, Terry Towers, Dez Burke, Marian Tee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna Antonia, Selena Kitt, Amy Aday, Nelle L'Amour, Ava Lore, Tawny Taylor, Terry Towers, Dez Burke, Marian Tee
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on his face told me that things were not quite as simple as that.
“Oh,” he said suddenly, and then, as quickly as he could without injuring me, he set me down and pulled his fingers from my cunt and ass. The swift loss sent a tremor of remembered pleasure through my body and I jerked in my twisted satin bonds. I was caught where I lay, but he retreated from me, leaving me to work my way out on my own. He stood at the edge of the black backdrop and watched, as though he had had no part in my predicament. Sitting up, I struggled out of the tangled white satin, and then stood up. The sweat on my skin was drying and cooling rapidly, and I started to shiver.
I stood, naked, in the middle of his studio, and he stared at me as though he had never seen me before.
Well, I thought to myself, that's what you get for trying to fuck a crazy guy.
I tossed my tangled hair back and met his stare head on, daring him to say something. But he just took another step back.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Will you see yourself out?”
My jaw clenched, but he backed away again, and I was suddenly reminded of my mother's old cat, who, after a lifetime spent in our house could never tolerate people and never wanted to be touched or spoken to. An abused cat. That's what he was reminding me of.
Wow. Sexy.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Yeah,” I said. “I'll see myself out. No problem.”
“Okay then,” he replied, and with that he turned and walked out of the studio, his footsteps thundering on the stairs until he stepped off on one of the floors below. His camera lay on the floor and I thought, briefly, of going over and stealing the SD card, but some artistic camaraderie stopped me. I hadn't stopped him from taking those pictures. They could still be wonderful. And he certainly didn't need money from porno pics.
I left it where it lay, got dressed and gathered my things, then descended the stairs, my knees still weak from the delicious orgasm he'd given me. When I finally walked down the steps to the sidewalk in front of the house, I paused and looked up.
A curtain on the third floor twitched and then was still.
I walked to the subway station, one thought echoing in my head:
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter Four
"So did you fuck him?" Felicia asked me the next morning when I showed up at the door of her studio, an unlighted cigarette dangling from my lips and a six pack of Pabst swinging from my fingers. I pinched the cigarette out of my mouth and glared at her.
"Depends on what you mean by fuck," I said.
"Sounds like you have a story to tell." She opened the door wide and I followed her inside.
The place was familiar to me. It had been Felicia's apartment before she had married Anton, but now she kept it purely for her sculpture. A huge wad of clay sat in the middle of the floor on a large tarp, ringed by tables covered in tools large and small of her own devising. The only other piece of furniture in the apartment was an old mattress sitting on the floor, the bed she used to sleep on before she found a better one with the world's most eligible billionaire.
Felicia returned to her project. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, but padded around the studio barefoot, even though it was freezing cold. Gray clay coated her feet and arms in patches, evidence that she had been working on something real. Creating.
God, I envied her.
"So tell me everything," she said, resuming her sculpting. I watched her for a moment as she picked up a table leg and began to pound on the wad of clay. Wet smacks echoed against the walls. I lit my cigarette and inhaled the smoke into my lungs. One of my many vices. I just can't seem to give them up.
"Well," I said, "I showed up. His house is a mess. Like, a real mess. It's kind of like a hoarder house. It's full of stuff."
Felicia frowned. "What kind of stuff?"
I thought for a moment. "Like if you crossed Sotheby's with a flea market."
She stopped whacking at her
“Oh,” he said suddenly, and then, as quickly as he could without injuring me, he set me down and pulled his fingers from my cunt and ass. The swift loss sent a tremor of remembered pleasure through my body and I jerked in my twisted satin bonds. I was caught where I lay, but he retreated from me, leaving me to work my way out on my own. He stood at the edge of the black backdrop and watched, as though he had had no part in my predicament. Sitting up, I struggled out of the tangled white satin, and then stood up. The sweat on my skin was drying and cooling rapidly, and I started to shiver.
I stood, naked, in the middle of his studio, and he stared at me as though he had never seen me before.
Well, I thought to myself, that's what you get for trying to fuck a crazy guy.
I tossed my tangled hair back and met his stare head on, daring him to say something. But he just took another step back.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Will you see yourself out?”
My jaw clenched, but he backed away again, and I was suddenly reminded of my mother's old cat, who, after a lifetime spent in our house could never tolerate people and never wanted to be touched or spoken to. An abused cat. That's what he was reminding me of.
Wow. Sexy.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Yeah,” I said. “I'll see myself out. No problem.”
“Okay then,” he replied, and with that he turned and walked out of the studio, his footsteps thundering on the stairs until he stepped off on one of the floors below. His camera lay on the floor and I thought, briefly, of going over and stealing the SD card, but some artistic camaraderie stopped me. I hadn't stopped him from taking those pictures. They could still be wonderful. And he certainly didn't need money from porno pics.
I left it where it lay, got dressed and gathered my things, then descended the stairs, my knees still weak from the delicious orgasm he'd given me. When I finally walked down the steps to the sidewalk in front of the house, I paused and looked up.
A curtain on the third floor twitched and then was still.
I walked to the subway station, one thought echoing in my head:
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter Four
"So did you fuck him?" Felicia asked me the next morning when I showed up at the door of her studio, an unlighted cigarette dangling from my lips and a six pack of Pabst swinging from my fingers. I pinched the cigarette out of my mouth and glared at her.
"Depends on what you mean by fuck," I said.
"Sounds like you have a story to tell." She opened the door wide and I followed her inside.
The place was familiar to me. It had been Felicia's apartment before she had married Anton, but now she kept it purely for her sculpture. A huge wad of clay sat in the middle of the floor on a large tarp, ringed by tables covered in tools large and small of her own devising. The only other piece of furniture in the apartment was an old mattress sitting on the floor, the bed she used to sleep on before she found a better one with the world's most eligible billionaire.
Felicia returned to her project. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, but padded around the studio barefoot, even though it was freezing cold. Gray clay coated her feet and arms in patches, evidence that she had been working on something real. Creating.
God, I envied her.
"So tell me everything," she said, resuming her sculpting. I watched her for a moment as she picked up a table leg and began to pound on the wad of clay. Wet smacks echoed against the walls. I lit my cigarette and inhaled the smoke into my lungs. One of my many vices. I just can't seem to give them up.
"Well," I said, "I showed up. His house is a mess. Like, a real mess. It's kind of like a hoarder house. It's full of stuff."
Felicia frowned. "What kind of stuff?"
I thought for a moment. "Like if you crossed Sotheby's with a flea market."
She stopped whacking at her
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