by L M Lovett
Her other hand creeps to her pussy and I let her rub her clit eagerly.
My little Maribel is settling into her role. She’s still my sweet virgin – even though I’ve had her ass, mouth, and cunt hundreds of times by now – but she’s braver now. I never tire of her.
I almost cum in her mouth when I see her sneak a finger into her pussy, but I hold myself back.
“What bad thing did you just do, Maribel?” I pull my cock out of her mouth – just a little – so she can mumble an answer. She needs to be punished.
She drops her eyes.
I pull out further of her mouth until her gaze darts up at me, all anguish and fire and need, and then my brave angel says, “I put a finger in my pussy. I know I’m not allowed to. I couldn’t help it. I’m so empty.”
I want her so bad. “I know that, my darling. But your sweet cunt is just for me. And you know that,” I say sternly.
I decide I’ll let her off light, because despite my control, I always need her as much as she needs me. Even though I’m in charge and she’s all mine, this lust, desire, and love is a two-way street.
“On your back. Spread your legs open wide.”
She moves to the bed with a huff and then shows me her pretty pussy. She glistens for me.
I thrust three fingers into her hard and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She is so pure in her need I feel a wave of love wash over me. I keep my fingers still, tormenting her further.
“Is this what you want?”
“I want you to fuck me, sir.”
“Hmmmm,” I pretend to consider her request, even though my cock is so erect I could die of it.
I give her what she wants, because she is my Maribel and as much as I own her, she owns me too.
I move my fingers deeper and arch them, until I hit that one perfect spot. Maribel starts to shudder and shake. I decide I can’t take it anymore and I remove my fingers and thrust into her into I’m balls deep.
I pound into her as she wraps her legs around me, pulling me closer. We are snarling and grabbing and begging each other. She comes first, like an angel, and then I feel the most profound sense of peace. I don’t know how long I stay in this timeless place until instinct takes over and I buck shamelessly. Stars explode across my eyelids and we both collapse in mindless pleasure.
Later, she giggles as I press my body around hers.
Since I made her made mine, I’ve fulfilled her every dream. She has fulfilled all of my dreams too. I’ve made her a dream library, stocked her closet with the most expensive lingerie, and taken care of her every need and desire. I’ve set up a trust for her, so that she never feels beholden to me for money. But I know now that the gift she values more than anything else is my love. My love and our blossoming relationship – our ability to create a life and home for each other.
“I love you.” The words spill out with complete and unshakable certainty. Each time I say these words, I am overwhelmed by the rightness of them.
“I love you, always and forever.”
She coils herself around me and relish the feel of her satiny soft skin. My mind starts spinning thinking about the perfect ring to craft for her until I force my thoughts to be quiet.
I already know that I will have engraved on the inside of the ring. Maribel, mine forever.
Afterword
Dear Readers: I hope you enjoyed Maribel and David’s story! Are you hungering for more? Sign up for my author newsletter here to receive a steamy and sweet bonus epilogue. As a token of gratitude, you will be entered in a drawing to win a $25 Amazon giftcard!
Like you, I absolutely love reading romance. One day, when I was hanging out in the Mission District, the characters of Maribel and David popped into my head. And then my short turned into a novella and now here we are. As a new indie author, I can’t thank you enough for diving into this story. If you enjoyed what you read, it would mean the world to me if you left a review.
Keep your eye out for more books from the Brazen Billionaire’s Series.
Till next time!
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.M. Lovett writes sexy, sweet, and irresistible romance – always with a guaranteed happily ever after.
She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. When she emerges from her writer’s cave, she enjoys devouring chocolate and romance novels.
To discover more steamy and fun romance by L.M. Lovett, sign up for her newsletter here. As a token of gratitude, you will be entered in a drawing to win a $25 Amazon giftcard!
Follow L.M. Lovett on Facebook here. Find her author website here.
Exclusive Sneak Peek: A Billionaire’s Folly
COMING SOON
Did you enjoy A Billionaire’s Love (Book 1 of the Brazen Billionaire Series)? Check out a preview from L.M. Lovett’s upcoming sexy release, A Billionaire’s Folly (Book 2 of the Brazen Billionaire Series).
A sizzling standalone enemy-to-lovers story of a playboy prince and a good-hearted college student.
Logan Harris
Thanks to my father’s billions, I am the unquestioned playboy prince of my town.
I can do anything, be anything, until there’s a slight fly in the ointment.
Daddy Harris is finally laying down the law and my uncontested reign on debauchery is threatened.
With my crown threatened, I’m backed into a corner.
The ultimatum?
No more sex scandals, incontrovertible proof debauchery, and fulfillment of month’s worth of revolting community service at a retirement home of all places.
There, I’m surrounded by goody-two-shoes like Natalie.
We are like oil and water.
She’s fun to tease and puts up a good fight but she’s hasn’t danced with a devil like me before.
Who is going to come out on top?
Natalie Leung
I’m not much for violence, but five minutes into meeting infamous playboy Logan Harris, I’ve already slapped his arrogant, perfect face.
I’ve promised myself to never again interact with such an infuriating dick, when my beloved boss tells me that his loaded dad will donate $1 million to our center if Logan makes it through one month of volunteering.
I’m stuck babysitting this arrogant jerk. He infuriates and sets me aflame.
In more ways than one.
How are we going to survive being stuck together?
A Billionaire’s Folly is steamy, sultry, and is complete with a total HEA. It features sizzling scenes, an arrogant playboy alpha male, and scorching passion. While this book is part of the Brazen Billionaire’s series, it is a complete standalone (with minor mention of characters from other books in the series). Books can be read in any order.
Come along for the ride.
Logan
One moment I’m flying high down California’s Highway One in my obnoxiously on brand ice cream colored lambo (look it up), enjoying the fruits of hot girl summer – a willing, nubile college girl preening next to me.
The next moment I’m rudely catapulted back to earth.
“Pardon,” I say mildly. I have an infamous temper and the school records to match. But Daddy Harris has been good to me. Why won’t he be? I’m his only son. And he, and ergo me, are worth billions.
Moms is standing behind my dad, anxiously wringing her hands. She’s normally an anxious mess, albeit an extremely well dressed one. My dad likes all of us – moms, big sis, and myself – to be impeccably attired.
My dad is sitting behind his enormous desk and I’m suddenly feeling on edge in the way I haven’t been since I smashed into his favorite car, age ten, on my dirt bike. And also that one other time. That we don’t speak about.
“Son, you’ve given me a lot of joy.”
I smirk. My dad likes to play hard ball and that’s how he made most of his money. But me? Blessed with deep dimples, the model genes of my glamorous mother, and wealth that provides for my every need, my magic has never failed me.
I live a charmed
life. I do what I want. Sure, I barely skated by in school and my dad did have to drop a pretty penny (ok, two new dorms) to get me that diploma. But college is a breeze. I am twenty-three, so a smidge older than most students enrolled at ritzy Galbright College. But don’t have do any homework and I’m definitely going to graduate this year. So that’s a win win.
“I need you to know –”
My mom butts, uncharacteristically bold, and says in a sweet voice, “you are our pride and joy, sweetheart –”
“– Not now, Carol. Logan Harris, you’ve fucked up one too many times.”
Hmmmmm, so this conversation isn’t getting my trust early?
“I spent millions, MILLIONS, cleaning up your last mistake.”
Ah yes, one enormous yacht. One lithe and willing co-ed. A couple lines of cocaine. And one little sex tape. And some light extortion.
Never should have let her be the one to film the tape.
I project the confidence and charm of a golden boy, who has always had his parents’ complete adoration.
“I’ll do better pops, don’t worry.”
“How?’ he asks intently. I’m flummoxed.
The river of bullshit runs deep and wide in my brain. I can bullshit with the best of them. Usually the little lies coming swimming right up to me, but this time around I’m a little slow. I’m off my game. Also, I won’t understand the question.
“YOU’RE ON NOTICE, HARRIS,” he roars. And I surprisingly, I flinch.
I’m not used to be the target of my dad’s ire. He normally takes all of his rage out on his various teams.
We are definitely going off script here.
“One more fuck up, one more slip up, one hint of debauchery and I’m cutting you off!”
My mom widens her eyes and words slip out soundlessly.
“Pardon?”
I’ve charmed my way out of some tight spots before. But the reality of this moment is sinking in with the heft and weight of a jilted lover barging into to promising menage a trois to dump out my entire supply of Dom Perignon. Speaking from…personal experience (where was her inventiveness before this? I wouldn’t have been so quick to discard her if she had brought more spark into things).
“Dad,” I firm my voice, “I take full responsibility for this event. I’m sorry if anyone was offended by my behavior. I’m a red blooded male –”
“Jesus, Carol. He doesn’t even know how to apologize. Or understand how deep in shit he is. I blame you, Carol.”
God, I’m trying so hard to go against my instincts. I’m saying and doing the opposite of what I normally would. Is it working yet?
I press on. “I take full responsibility. I will make amends. Apologize directly to the unfortunate lady.”
“Logan, this is impossible. The issue isn’t that you need to apologize to her. I spent millions so that you never interact with her ever again. That’s the whole goddamn point. I should have treated you like an employee a long time ago. So here’s a contract. You will sign. And I hope – I pray – that you will exercise the barest modicum of self-control and avoid living a life of abject poverty.”
He thrusts a paper towards me and I take in the three sentences written on creamy paper.
1.) No scandals.
2.) No debauchery.
3.) One month of volunteering at the Diamond Independent Senior Living Center. See ultimatum #1 and #2.
Dread coils in my stomach. I have one month left of summer before my last year of college. This can’t be happening.
I have no choice.
It’s happening.
I scrawl my signature across the page.
This is the worst day of my life.
Natalie
This is the worst day of my life.
My day didn’t start off ominously. I clocked in to my part-time job at the senior living center. It actually doesn’t even feel like a job being there. I mean, I need the money, that’s for sure. I finally am at a point where I can transfer to my local university and I am so ready.
Also, I love being here at the center. I didn’t grow up around my grandparents and I’ve always felt like I’ve missed something. I always wanted to give some lovable elder a “best grandparent” mug. So it seemed pretty natural to end up volunteering and then getting a part-time gig here, especially because I hope to become a geriatric social worker.
I’m going through my rounds, greeting residents, squashing a couple of conflicts, and updating chart notes, when I hear the front door buzz.
Our center is pretty bare bones and we are low on staff. Even though there is supposed to be security stationed at the front, there’s no one there. When I open the door, I am greeted by the most incongruous sight that has ever graced the halls of Diamond Independent Senior Living Center.
He looks to be about my age but that there where the similarities end. For one, he’s incredibly tall. He’s dressed in loud and gaudy clothes emblazoned with a brand I am not hip enough to know. He’s got classic fuck boy sunglasses on and his nose is wrinkled, like he smells shit.
He is conventionally handsome, I suppose, if you are in to the type of thing. I’m mean, the sculpture of David is considered the world’s greatest sculpture and the epitome of masculinity, but that guy looks like a douche. So basically he’s a modern day David.
I’m still trying to process when he breezes right by me, hitting me on the shoulder with his body.
“Ow.”
With all the attention of an elephant to an ant, he finally deigns to take his sunglasses off. I’m momentarily speechless at the sight of deep, green eyes. They remind me of emeralds. Emeralds that he also seems to be wearing around his wrists. This guy is covered in drip.
“I’m here,” he says expectantly. “When can I talk to someone who works here.”
“That would be me.”
“Huh.”
He runs a disdainful gaze first up and then down my body. My cheeks heat up.
“You just don’t seem very…” he trails off and I feel my anger coiled and ready to strike. I’m not really one to get angry. I’m actually pretty patient, all things being considered. And not to brag, but I’m some of the residents’ favorite. I’ve even been told that they wish their grandchildren were like me.
But when he knocked into me then roamed over my every crevice and found me lacking, I got heated. When he disregarded any possibility I know what I’m doing here, I’m livid.
“What are you, exactly?” his hands gesturing dismissively over me.
I’m as they say, “racially ambiguous.” I’ve even be told that I’m the “exotic girl next door.”The ancestry question is also a sore point for me for a reason I don’t let surface in my day to day. So it’s a trigger for me hearing the “what are you” question.
“A person, asshole. My race isn’t something up for public comment.”
“Oh. I was referring to your general status in this decrepit establishment that smells of shit and tears. Are you some kind of cleaning lady? An underpaid, Cinderella sort?”
What. The. Hell.
“Did your family sell an indenture? Oh. Speaking of race, what are you?”
Before he even has a chance to speculate, my hand darts out. I have an out of body experience watching my hand collide with his cheek.
He doesn’t even seem all that surprised, which makes my first slap – assault, really – even less satisfying.
“Wow, there’s a hellcat hiding in that little package.”
I really don’t know what I’m going to do when I see his eyes flicker up and hear the voice of Marybeth, my boss, as she jogs towards us.
Oh my fucking hell.
Did she just see me do that? It was assault. It was assault and my life is over.
The douchebag from hell reads every thought streaking across my face and he smirks.
“Mr. Harris,” I hear Marybeth say, in the exact tone and timbre she only ever uses on the very-important-donors-who-hold-the-future-of-our-center-and-the-lives-of-our-el
ders-in-their-hands-like-a-tiny-little-bird-one-squeeze-away-from-death. “We are so pleased you are here. Really, it is such a profound honor. Truly, amazing.”
I stare at the floor, wishing the very bowels of hell open up so I can be expedited to what circle of torment exists for me.
Logan
Day one of cruel and unusual punishment is upon me.
The ramshackle building that houses this “Diamond” senior place is not a banging oldies home for rich old geezers living their best lives with matching sets of thirty-year-olds fulfilling their every need.
No, this place is not diamond. It’s not even diamond in the rough. I make a note figure out how my dad even heard about this place in the beginning.
It smells like shit here. Actually it smells like death, decay, loneliness, despair, and the single most mortifying moment of my life.
I breeze by some kind of teen intern and even though I don’t think I could be more disappointed by my day, but there is literally no one to greet me.
This petite thing is talking to me like she knows me and I don’t like it. I don’t want anyone, especially someone who – I realize she closer to my age – is the same decade as me. There will be no tagged photos on Instagram, no likes, no reflective posts on my social media. As far as my buddies are concerned, I’m partying in Ibiza. Or maybe I’m getting a daily massage from some sultry goddess. Or perhaps I’m hanging out daily with a Soundcloud rapper. Really, anything but this.
This girl looks like she thinks she is sweet but I can see I’m already getting under her skin.
