Billion Dollar Love

by Sam Crescent

  Chapter Nine

  Both of Damian’s dark brows jumped up to his hairline. “Are you?” He moved and perched on the edge of his bed. “Or are you making an assumption?”

  Layla moved forward slowly. She was unsure of everything at this point. Everything except herself. “It makes the most sense,” she said. “You’re a good businessman, Damian. Why wouldn’t you fire an employee sent to spy on you? Especially—”

  “So you want me to fire you?”

  Her eyes widened. “No!” She stepped closer on instinct. “But I can’t figure out why you wouldn’t.”

  Damian tucked his hands into his pockets. “Tell me what you want, Layla.”

  She studied him, looking for some kind of clue. He was unreadable. “I—” She cut herself off as her throat tightened. If she was about to lose it all, anyway, why shouldn’t she do what he said? “I’ve fallen in love with you, Damian. I know I shouldn’t have. I didn’t even realize it until today, but … I have.” She licked her lips. “So, what I want is … to stay. Somehow.” Which was ridiculous, sure, but didn’t everyone want something impossible?

  Damian stood and stepped into her personal space. He brushed his thumb across her lips. “I’m afraid that means I have to fire you.” His other hand wound around her waist, preventing her from backing away. “It wouldn’t look good if my fiancée were still on my payroll, now, would it?”

  Layla’s eyes widened, and her heart stuttered. “Wh-what?”

  Damian curved his hand around to her nape and drew her in for a deep, wet kiss. He rolled his tongue through her mouth, nibbled on her lips, and stepped away. “Wait here.” He turned without waiting for her response and strode to the oversized walk-in closet. When he reemerged several seconds later, he held a suspicious box in one hand.

  Layla stumbled to the edge of the bed and sat down.

  A soft smile flirted with Damian’s lips as he stood in front of her. “My mother left this to me,” he said, holding up the box. “For ‘someday’.” He lowered to a knee and popped the lid, revealing a beautiful, surprisingly simple, diamond ring. “I love the way you are with my family of pets. I appreciate the courage it took for you to tell me the truth. I trust you, I love you, and I have no intention of letting you go. So, Layla Evangeline, will you marry me?”

  Oh. My. God. She couldn’t believe it.

  But her decision had never been easier. “Yes!”

  ****

  “You don’t have to be here for this,” Damian said, not for the first time, as he glanced to his new fiancée.

  Layla, seated in his desk chair, took another stabilizing breath. “Yes, I do.”

  Damian sighed and leaned his butt against the edge of his desk. Ultimately it was her choice. “Then prepare yourself.” Even though he had police ready to go in the executive break room, there was no doubt things were about to get ugly.

  The thought was barely past his mind when his office door crashed open and Harold came stomping in. “What’s the big idea, dragging me into work on a Sunday, Harker?” Even as he barked the question, his gaze flicked over to Layla for a moment. He quickly looked away.

  Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought the office was a good location for this conversation. Shut the door, Poleski.”

  Harold narrowed his eyes at him but did as he was asked. “What conversation, exactly?”

  As soon as Harold was facing forward again, Damian leveled an honest glare on the older man. “It takes a special breed of scum to blackmail your own niece. Particularly with threats of a sex scandal.”

  Harold’s eyes widened for an instant. “What—”

  “Don’t deny it,” Layla said. She didn’t get up from the chair. “I told him. Everything.”

  Damian watched as Harold’s surprise shifted into outrage. The man turned a dark glare on her and took a large step forward. “You treacherous little bitch!”

  Damian moved in front of him. “That’ll be as close as you get.” He snatched a folder off his desk and smacked it against Harold’s chest. “I found the photographer and persuaded him to delete the pictures. That was after my nice chat with your brother.”

  Harold took the file and flipped it open. “So what?” he asked simultaneously.

  Damian waited, wanting to see his face.

  Inside that file was the proof he’d been looking for—the proof that Harold Poleski had ordered the hit on Damian’s father, Edward Harker. That specific file contained a profile on the hitman himself, with a rambling letter explaining everything he’d been promised in return for the job—everything Harold had failed to deliver. But that wasn’t all Damian had. Rodney had been a goldmine of information, and swaying Poleski’s contacts had been a lot easier once they’d learned the brothers were split. Damian had been right from the beginning. Harold had wanted the company for himself, and hired someone to kill his father, because of an old contract that stated without an heir-apparent Edward’s shares would fall to him.

  “This,” Harold said, stammering and shaking the open folder, “this is absurd!”

  “No,” Damian said. “It’s fact. One of many facts you’ve covered up over the years.” He extended one arm and tapped a small stack of files. “I found more than enough on you to send you away for longer than you have left.”

  Harold snapped the file shut and threw it across the room. “So what?” His expression shifted, revealing the monster he hid beneath his expensive suits. “What makes you think you’ll live to take all those papers to the authorities? Or that my army of attorneys won’t dismantle all of it?”

  “Army, huh?” Damian smirked, but the expression was probably darker than usual. “I don’t know many armies that work for free. You’ve violated your contract with Harker Technologies in more than enough ways to give me the authority to freeze you out. Not to mention that threat against me. You know I have cameras in here, right?”

  Harold snarled and lunged for Damian, seemingly lost to a blind rage.

  Layla shrieked.

  Damian twisted to the side, caught one of Harold’s flailing arms, and bent it behind his back. As he kicked out Harold’s knees to force him to the floor, he said, “I think it’s time.”

  “R-right,” Layla said. The intercom button beeped. “We’re ready for you.”

  Harold struggled in Damian’s grasp, but Damian held him mostly in place for the few seconds it took for the cops to rush into the room.

  Then it was done. His father’s killer was finally in handcuffs.

  Layla came up beside him as the last officer filed out of the room and wrapped her arms around one of his. “I know this was you getting justice,” she said quietly, “but I kind of feel like I should thank you.”

  Damian rested his hand over hers. “I think this was for both of us, in the end.”

  She smiled up at him, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and said, “For the record, no more trying to seduce me in places with cameras. Even your own.”

  Damian laughed. “Duly noted.”

  Epilogue

  Fourteen Months Later

  “Look out your window,” Damian whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Layla’s ear.

  Immediately curious, Layla leaned forward and pushed up the slider covering the window. Was this Damian’s way of teasing her, since he’d steadfastly refused to tell her where they were going for their honeymoon? Did he expect her to guess from 30,000 feet? She cast her gaze outward and sucked in a breath.

  Below them was a beautiful island, surrounded by blue-green water. Bright green foliage covered the majority of the island, but they were close enough that she could see the pale sand of the beaches. She could even almost make out something that looked like a roof.

  “I’m thinking of calling it ‘La Isla Evangelina’,” Damian said. “What do you think?”

  Tears pricked Layla’s eyes, and she turned her gaze around to the man she’d recently married. “What?”

  He smiled, curled a finger under her chin, and brushed a kiss
over her lips. “It’s ours, Layla. Yours.”

  She beamed at him and glanced again out the window. The tiny island was slowly getting bigger. “How long until we land?”

  “I told him to do a slow circle around, so you could see it from the sky,” Damian said. “So … twenty minutes, probably.”

  Layla stood up from her seat and faced her husband. “That was thoughtful of you.” She held his gaze as she reached under the skirt of her dress and removed her panties. “It gives me time to thank you.”

  Lust burned in Damian’s eyes, and he undid his pants. “Would you believe I’ve never had sex in an airplane?”

  Layla climbed onto his lap and reached down to run her hands over his dick. “Then this’ll be a first for us both.” She pumped him briefly, his hands settling on her thighs, and leaned in to breathe next to his ear. “Remember, we still have staff in the other cabin.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Damian said with a growl. He tugged her down as he snapped his hips up, impaling her on his cock.

  Layla cried out and ground herself against him as she grabbed hold of his shoulders. Everything else scattered from her mind as the pleasure built with each rocking thrust of their bodies. She bowed her head for a wet, breathless kiss. Their tongues danced, sliding together in a sensual mimicry of the raw pounding of their hips. Then Damian grabbed a fistful of her hair, his other arm around her waist, and pulled her back. Her pelvis ground into his as her back arched, and he bucked sharply, sheathing his cock deep inside her pussy.

  She felt him pulse and deliberately bounced over him. Little electric jolts shot through her, and she began to gasp.

  Damian grunted, took hold of her hips, and surged into her one more time.

  Everything burst. Layla shouted her ecstasy to the heavens before her body collapsed against his in a boneless heap.

  Damian wrapped his arms around her, still breathing heavily, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Better save your strength, honey. We have a whole island to christen.”

  A laugh bubbled up inside of her, and Layla swatted lazily at his chest. “We also have a lifetime to do it.”

  Threading his hand into her hair, Damian cupped the back of her head and murmured, “Yes, we do.”

  The End

  Find more books from author Rose Wulf:

  www.evernightpublishing.com/rose-wulf

  NOT TODAY

  Elyzabeth M. VaLey

  Copyright © 2020

  Chapter One

  Jeffrey stifled a yawn. He never thought the day would come where he’d be bored at a BDSM club. Yet, here he was.

  “Who celebrates their stag party at a BDSM club anyway?” he muttered under his breath before taking the last sip from his gin and tonic. “And with their wife-to-be. Pffft.”

  Granted, it could have been a great night if he’d wanted to play with the submissive his friend Henry had hired, but his heart hadn’t been in it. After giving her a generous tip, Jeffrey sent her home. At first, he hadn’t been too concerned, but as wives, girlfriends and fiancées began to make an appearance, he’d soon found himself alone. The VIP room where he sat was empty, everyone having drifted off to adjacent areas to have some fun.

  “Time to go, Jeffrey.”

  Getting to his feet, he made to leave, but the curtain separating the VIP area from the rest of the venue caught his eye. He could go out there and have a look around. After all, he was a stranger in this off-the-beaten-track club. Marc had chosen it precisely for that reason. He didn’t want anyone from their usual joint, Club Noir, to know he was getting hitched, and he’d wanted to offer his friends a night out full of debauchery like they’d had back in their college days, when they’d been obliged to live on allowances from their families.

  Jeffrey sighed. Unfortunately, all the girlfriends and wives had gotten wind of it and had ended up here. He suspected Marc himself had sent the location, but who could blame him? The place, at least the VIP area, lacked submissives. However, the other side of the curtain seemed to be teeming with activity.

  He moved closer to the light filtering through the crack. There was laughter, along with moans, yelps, and squeals. His lips quirked. One look couldn’t hurt. He threw open the curtain and stepped through. The bouncer standing at the entrance glanced at him.

  “Carry on,” Jeffrey ordered.

  The muscle grunted and moved to one side, allowing him a full view of the space. A few people dressed in everything from conservative black jeans and a t-shirt, to only a thong, chatted near the bar area. A man in a leather skirt with a matching harness walked past him, leading a woman with a pony mask and tail. At the back of the room, a girl and her partner listened attentively to the rope instructions of a guy with blue streaks in his hair. And then there was her.

  Jeffrey did a double take. The brunette in the killer thigh-high boots and faux leather mini skirt, stood some distance away chatting with a guy in faded jeans with a duffel bag at his feet. She had her arms crossed, and she shook her head vigorously. The guy waved his arms in the air. She glanced around the room, their gazes crossing for a fraction of an instant before she returned her attention to her partner. Jeffrey’s heart picked up its pace.

  Interest piqued, he made his way toward the couple. As if she sensed him coming, she glanced back at him. Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked away, speaking something to her companion. Jeffrey’s grin vanished as he watched them move away from him. He would have given up, except she committed a fatal mistake. His mystery woman turned toward him one last time, as if reassuring herself he existed. His lips quirked. The night could still be saved.

  Yeah, baby. I’m right here. And soon I’m going to be spanking that ass.

  Jeffrey followed them to the back of the room where there was a general play area for anyone who wanted to indulge in a bit of light exhibitionist play. The guy in jeans led her to a bench and indicated she should bend over it, then, turned to search in his bag. Jeffrey frowned. She stared at the spanking bench as if she’d never seen one before. Her lips rolled inwards, and she teetered on her heels. Anger slammed into Jeffrey, making his fingers itch to throttle the so-called-Dom. If she were his submissive, he’d be helping her onto the bench, speaking to her at every step and heightening her experience with every breath she took.

  She placed herself as best she could on the bench, but her nerves were clear from the number of times she shifted her weight. His dick jerked, the idea she was a novice crossing his mind. He waited to see what jeans-man would do. From the distance he stood, Jeffrey couldn’t hear him speak, but he must have said something because she turned her head toward him, then adjusted her position. The so-called-Dom rubbed her ass clumsily over her skirt. Hadn’t he ever done this before? Jeffrey took another step closer. If he didn’t see her enjoying herself in the next minute, he was going to intervene. The Dom gave her ass a couple of pats and commented something, which by the way her body stiffened didn’t please her at all.

  Enough.

  Jeffrey purposely approached them.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  The man ceased his ministrations and looked at him. His surprise quickly became a glare when he took in Jeffrey’s full appearance.

  “Fuck off,” he growled, in a surprisingly deep voice. Jeffrey’s eyebrows quirked. He could see the appeal in the voice, but clearly that was all this guy had going for him.

  “Mind if I step in?” Jeffrey asked.

  Tension clicked on the man’s jaw, straining it.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks,” Jeffrey said.

  “What?” the woman shrieked.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.” Jeffrey fished out his wallet and pulled out some bills.

  “Will two hundred dollars be enough for you to stop mauling her ass?”

  The man’s expression changed. Greed distorted his features as he hungrily took in the green dough.

  “Adrian,” the woman said.
r />   “Hush,” he said without even giving her a second look. “Two-fifty.”

  “Only if you promise to get a new bag?” Jeffrey smirked. God, people were easy.

  Adrian narrowed his eyes. Jeffrey could almost see the wheels in his brain turning in slow motion, wondering if he could get any more out of him.

  “Leave it or take it,” he warned.

  “Deal,” Adrian finally said, stretching his hand to take the cash.

  “Adrian, what the fuck?” The woman came storming up to them, anger radiating off her. She was tiny compared to Jeffrey, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. His libido jumped to the forefront, an image of her riding his dick playing in his mind.

  “Calm down, sweety. I’m sure you’ll have the same amount of fun with him that you would have had with me. That’s if you ever learn to relax a bit,” Adrian sneered.

  “Fuck you,” she cried.

  Shock hit Jeffrey in the gut. Son of a— He moved in front of the woman and glared at Adrian.

  “Get the fuck out of here before I decide to take my money back and slam my fist against your face. It’s one thing to be a cheap son of a bitch, but something very different to insult someone gratuitously just because you’re no good at what you do.”

  Adrian snorted.

  “As if you’d dirty up your suit.”

  “Try me,” Jeffrey said, taking a menacing step in his direction. They stared at each other for several seconds. Finally, Adrian picked up his bag, flipped them the finger, and walked out. Jeffrey took in a deep breath and unclenched his fists.

  “Asshole,” he muttered. He turned to the woman of his fantasies. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Her luminous brown eyes shot daggers at him. “What is wrong with you?” She gesticulated wildly. “Why did you do that?”