Read Online The Bad Boy Billionaire's Wicked Arrangement by Maya Rodale - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maya Rodale
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Romanse
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He reached over to the bedside table, pulled out a condom, ripped open the foil, and put it on. My heart was still racing. My desire only increased. I moaned as he slowly pushed himself inside me, making me feel full, complete and totally at his mercy. I closed my eyes. Then he began to move with long slow thrusts that left me intensely aware of every sensation . . .
His stubble, rough against my neck. His breath in my ear revealing how much he wanted this and how much going slow was killing him too. His hands, holding mine, pinning them to the bed. I fought back at that . . . I needed to touch him.
Desperate for more, I wrapped my arms around his back so I could feel him deeper inside me. Deeper and deeper, harder and faster. His mouth crashed on mine for a fierce, urgent kiss. I couldn’t think anymore, I couldn’t breathe I couldn’t do anything but feel that insane pressure intensifying until I just. Could. Not. Take it. Anymore. I cried out, oh so loud, he gave a shout and we collapsed, catching our breath.
And that was just the first time. That night.
Chapter Eight
----
$(“.feelingsForJane”).hide();
T HE NEXT MORNING we woke up in each other’s arms. I nestled into the warmth, having missed this kind of intimacy. For all the ways of connecting these days, nothing beat skin to skin. Nothing like a kiss, nothing like him slowly entering me, nothing like not being sure what was real and what was still a dream. It wasn’t long before I was crying out in pleasure and it wasn’t much longer after that before he came, too.
While he got up to shower and check email, I stayed in bed.
“Order room service. Go shopping. Write your novel. Whatever you want,” he said, kissing me quickly on his way out. “I’ll be in meetings all day.”
I ordered a pot of coffee, French toast with whipped cream and a side of crispy bacon. Then I started writing. Maybe, just maybe, I could finish this story and make an honest woman of myself. I indulged in a fantasy of showing up at the reunion with a published novel, and Duke on my arm. I may have fled the wreckage of my life and all the curious bystanders, but I could return triumphant.
The plot of my novel was ripped from my real life. But it was a romance novel, so I could be pretty sure Duke would never read it. He’d never know about the hero, the Duke of Ashbrooke, who was based upon him, including that wicked grin, the way that he moved through a crowded room like he was Somebody and the whole world got out of his way until one too many scandals and one fake engagement announcement changed the game.
I switched from my word doc to Google. Some research was in order. Fingers hovering over the keys, I thought about typing in DUKE AUSTEN. Did I want to know? Of course I did. But did I want to know from the Internet or from the man himself?
I texted Roxanna.
Jane Sparks: Is it wrong to Google Duke?
Roxanna Lane: I can’t believe you didn’t already.
I typed in the letters of his name, one by one, and clicked search.
Results came instantly. Duke, on every social network. His website, which included links back to his bio on Project-TK’s webpage and more links of how to connect with him. His Wikipedia page was much more forthcoming with the information I sought. Even more revealing were the profiles and interviews with him in Vanity Fair , Fast Company, Forbes and Time.
The headlines alone were revealing: Third Time’s A Charm? Can Silicon Alley’s Resident Bad Boy Redeem himself?
From Wikipedia:
Duke Austen, American tech entrepreneur, was the founder of two notable, but unsuccessful startups. His first startup, Findr.com, failed after questions were raised about its legality and the company declared bankruptcy from its legal fees—but not before Austen made and lost a billion dollars, earning him the name “the bad boy billionaire.” His second company, Friend.ly, was named “one to watch” by Fast Company but lost its users to rival startup
His stubble, rough against my neck. His breath in my ear revealing how much he wanted this and how much going slow was killing him too. His hands, holding mine, pinning them to the bed. I fought back at that . . . I needed to touch him.
Desperate for more, I wrapped my arms around his back so I could feel him deeper inside me. Deeper and deeper, harder and faster. His mouth crashed on mine for a fierce, urgent kiss. I couldn’t think anymore, I couldn’t breathe I couldn’t do anything but feel that insane pressure intensifying until I just. Could. Not. Take it. Anymore. I cried out, oh so loud, he gave a shout and we collapsed, catching our breath.
And that was just the first time. That night.
Chapter Eight
----
$(“.feelingsForJane”).hide();
T HE NEXT MORNING we woke up in each other’s arms. I nestled into the warmth, having missed this kind of intimacy. For all the ways of connecting these days, nothing beat skin to skin. Nothing like a kiss, nothing like him slowly entering me, nothing like not being sure what was real and what was still a dream. It wasn’t long before I was crying out in pleasure and it wasn’t much longer after that before he came, too.
While he got up to shower and check email, I stayed in bed.
“Order room service. Go shopping. Write your novel. Whatever you want,” he said, kissing me quickly on his way out. “I’ll be in meetings all day.”
I ordered a pot of coffee, French toast with whipped cream and a side of crispy bacon. Then I started writing. Maybe, just maybe, I could finish this story and make an honest woman of myself. I indulged in a fantasy of showing up at the reunion with a published novel, and Duke on my arm. I may have fled the wreckage of my life and all the curious bystanders, but I could return triumphant.
The plot of my novel was ripped from my real life. But it was a romance novel, so I could be pretty sure Duke would never read it. He’d never know about the hero, the Duke of Ashbrooke, who was based upon him, including that wicked grin, the way that he moved through a crowded room like he was Somebody and the whole world got out of his way until one too many scandals and one fake engagement announcement changed the game.
I switched from my word doc to Google. Some research was in order. Fingers hovering over the keys, I thought about typing in DUKE AUSTEN. Did I want to know? Of course I did. But did I want to know from the Internet or from the man himself?
I texted Roxanna.
Jane Sparks: Is it wrong to Google Duke?
Roxanna Lane: I can’t believe you didn’t already.
I typed in the letters of his name, one by one, and clicked search.
Results came instantly. Duke, on every social network. His website, which included links back to his bio on Project-TK’s webpage and more links of how to connect with him. His Wikipedia page was much more forthcoming with the information I sought. Even more revealing were the profiles and interviews with him in Vanity Fair , Fast Company, Forbes and Time.
The headlines alone were revealing: Third Time’s A Charm? Can Silicon Alley’s Resident Bad Boy Redeem himself?
From Wikipedia:
Duke Austen, American tech entrepreneur, was the founder of two notable, but unsuccessful startups. His first startup, Findr.com, failed after questions were raised about its legality and the company declared bankruptcy from its legal fees—but not before Austen made and lost a billion dollars, earning him the name “the bad boy billionaire.” His second company, Friend.ly, was named “one to watch” by Fast Company but lost its users to rival startup
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