My Mom's Fiance: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  And I nodded, at peace for the first time in a long time.

  “I know, Tristan, I know,” I said gently, rubbing his back.

  The big man jerked his head up.

  “But how?” he asked, anguished. “Why are you so understanding? What changed?”

  And I shook my head, contemplative, despite the fact that we were still both nude in the shower, intimately connected.

  “I guess what it is, is that the world isn’t so black and white,” I murmured gently. “Before, I thought it had to be me or the company. Me or Marks Holdings, me versus the world. But I’ve come to realize that you are the company,” I said slowly. “That this corporation is a part of you for better or worse.”

  And Tristan bowed his head, anguished.

  “And that’s the thing, baby,” he ground out, voice rough and agonized. “I don’t want to have to choose.”

  But I laughed gently then, stroking his hair.

  “And that’s the beauty of it,” I chided gently. “Now that I have an expansive world view, I know that it’s not me versus the world or me versus the company. There’s room for us both, there’s more than one way to approach a situation, and yeah, timing is everything. So I understand Tristan. I understand why you didn’t want to go public with the story of “us” until all the ducks were in order.”

  And the big man nodded again.

  “I’m so sorry,” he ground out once more. “I had to wait ….”

  I interrupted.

  “I know,” I said gently. “And I forgive you,” I finished, with a kiss.

  And that’s the story of Tristan and I, everything wrong and yet everything right, all at the same. Because now I understand better. Call it maturity, call it growing up, call it the immeasurable influence of Harvey Echo. But what had made me fighting mad just two days ago didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. I understood my man better now. Tristan had Marks Holdings long before me, this was his first love, his lifeline for many years before I came along.

  And I could no more take that away from him than build him a different heart. So instead, I accepted. I accepted that my magnate, the CEO, the head of an international conglomerate would always be tied to this company he founded. But the thing is that Marks Holdings isn’t first, and I’m not second, nor is the situation reversed. We orbit in different spheres, and we mean different things to the man, which is for the better. After all, isn’t diversity good? Isn’t it good to have a plethora of interests, a grab bag of resources, to expand your mind all the while expanding your heart?

  So yes, I’ve made peace with the situation. Tristan didn’t want to acknowledge me as his lover until the timing was perfect business-wise, and I’ve accepted that now. After all, I’m only nineteen and hardly in a rush, the world’s my oyster. And reassuringly, the best part of being with a powerful man is that Tristan’s got infinite resources at his fingertips. So if I need something, or if his company needs something, most times, it’s totally fine. Mr. Marks will find some way to make them both happen, it’s not a big deal. So yeah, with a little understanding, a little deep thinking, and a big push from my mentor, I got over my hang-up. Prince Charmings are multi-dimensional, and my particular Prince Charming is as complicated as a Rubik’s cube turned backwards and twisted inside out. I’ll never understand Tristan completely, but that’s the beauty of it. My lover, my man, my everything always has me on my toes … and it suits me just fine.

  EPILOGUE

  Tristan

  She was gorgeous in the white dress, absolutely stunning. The lace fell sweetly over her shoulders, highlighting toned limbs, the deep cleavage hinting at those lush curves, revealing without giving away.

  Because we’re getting married, Daisy and I. Oh yeah, we’ve decided to go big too, make it a society wedding, everyone who’s anyone has been invited to my estate, the property decked out for the spectacular event. But I couldn’t care about any of that right now. Because we were in a dark room, a closet really, while caterers rushed around outside, florists and decorators in a panic, looking for the missing bride and groom.

  Because yeah, we were missing the celebration. My dick was buried in Daisy’s cunt at the moment, the wedding dress hitched above her hips as we banged, deep, sensuous and raw in our hidey-hole.

  “Mr. Marks, Mr. Marks,” she panted into my ear. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!”

  And I came then, sperm spilling into her cunt, the white painting her insides with a coat of cream, jizz hot in her channel, so much of it that it spilled out between us, squeezing out around my dick, coating my balls and running down her thighs.

  As I pulled out, a sweet squelching sound accompanied the withdrawal, both of us watching as our joined bodies parted, my veiny cock still stiff, glistening and glossy with our combined juices. And Daisy moaned softly, boobs heaving up and down, pussy clamping reflexively as if missing the connection already. And slowly, oh so slowly, white rose up from inside her, bubbling hotly at her hole before spilling out, the cream pie so luscious, the hot semen gooey and oozing.

  “Don’t waste any of that,” I ground out, scooping it up with a finger, lazily running my hand up to her snatch and pushing the digit in, putting the jism back where it belonged. “This stuff’s precious, it belongs in your pussy,” I rumbled into her ear.

  And Daisy shot me a sweet smile.

  “Daddy, don’t worry about there not being enough,” she said coyly. “We can afford to waste some just now.”

  My heart started pounding, almost throwing itself out my chest.

  “What do you mean?” I began slowly. “Are you saying …?”

  And Daisy nodded, a sweet smile playing on her lips.

  “Yes, Mr. Marks, I’m pregnant with your baby,” she murmured, pulling me close once again, pressing a kiss to my lips, licking me gently, that soft pout so tempting. “I’m going to have your baby, aren’t you happy?” she asked, lifting her face to mine.

  And I gathered her close, my hands stroking over her curves, her back, the luscious swell of her ass.

  “Honey, you’re everything to me,” I ground out in my throat. “Everything, Mr. Marks will take care of you and the baby, always,” I promised.

  And it was true because Daisy is my everything. We’d started out on the wrong foot almost, sneaking around, going on a college tour as an excuse to sample each other, to taste her sweet spots, bury myself in that beautiful body. But it had become so much more. The girl had shown surprising maturity. Honestly, I thought I was gonna lose her. Sure, we’d gotten back together, but I wasn’t sure what was going on in that head, her avoidance, the shuttered eyes, the inability to have a real conversation.

  But Daisy came through. She went to see Harvey Echo of all people, and that old geezer made her see the light. I’ve never been a fan of Harvey, but at this moment, he’s out there with the rest of the guests, chuckling to himself knowing that we’re probably getting it on somewhere. Because yeah, despite the fact that Echo’s a porn legend, he’s got some real years under his belt, and he shared it with my girl, just in the nick of time to save our relationship.

  So yeah, we’re in love and making it legal now. Despite the illicit beginnings, despite the conflicting interests between herself and my company, everything’s worked out. My girl understands that it’s not A versus B, or one versus two. It’s more like the heart working with the brain. Because how can you choose? The answer is that you can’t, they’ve got to work together, and Daisy gets that.

  So we’re making it legal today, my beautiful girl and me. Today, we’re exchanging rings, and as I speak the marriage vows, death do us part never rang so true. Because I love this woman, and despite the fact that she started out as my ward, nothing will take her away from me now.

  THE END

  Anonymous Encounters

  ~Book 5 of the Billionaires Club~

  © 2017

  By Cassandra Dee

  DEDICATION

  To all the dirty girls who’ve dreamed of going anonymous. />
  PROLOGUE

  Donovan

  I watched as the female came closer. She was cute, maybe about five five with a medium ass and tentative eyes. The girl was a B, B+ on a good day, maybe a C on a bad, depending on if that blonde hair frizzed out. Not that the hair mattered, it’s not like I was going to be stroking her head or touching anywhere except for one particular place.

  Because I’m a mofo of the worst kind. Worse than your worst nightmare. Worse that what your greatest enemy would wish on you. But yeah, here I am, at the Great American Concert Hall, stalking prey again, although you wouldn’t know it. It’s not like I’m wearing a trenchcoat and shades like some pervy Inspector Gadget. Instead, looking into the shadows, you’d see a tall, dark handsome SOB, someone to make your pussy run wet and insides quiver with lust.

  And it’s just the truth. That’s how women see me, that’s how they’ve seen me since I was fourteen and Mrs. Lenz made me into a man. Can you believe it? Little Terry Lenz was so small, but we were buddies since nursery school, playing with blocks and Play-Doh. But opportunity is everywhere, and one day when I was a physically a man, Mrs. Lenz went for it. The forty-year old was over me, opening that housedress and pushing massive boobies against my teen chest, giggling and cooing my name.

  Did I take it? Or did I do the wrong thing? You got it. Wrong is my middle name, asshat is how I play the game. Because fuck yeah, I was on those MILF tits immediately, like a dog on a bone, getting my dick wet for the first time in my friend’s mom’s twat. So yeah, it’s been a long ride since, and I know what the ladies like. It’s been decades of female tits and ass by now, and frankly, it comes fucking easy.

  So yeah, if you peered into the shadows you’d think, “Holy shit, what a good looking dude. Must be waiting for some glamazon model, wish that girl was me.”

  But most times, people don’t look. They’re busy smoking out, getting ready for the concert, milling about chatting with friends while swigging drinks. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but most folks are already in a daze by the time the music starts. And it doesn’t matter who’s on stage. Could be some 80’s nostalgia band or some emo group from Europe. These folks are in their own worlds, stoned beyond belief.

  So when the girl took a position in the corner by the railing, my dick rose immediately. There was an alertness about the blonde that set her apart, eyes looking around breathlessly, big and round. There was no drink in her hand, and she was alone. Yup, definitely her. Everyone else was here with their friends, jostling each other, chatting, smiling and laughing a little too loud. But the blonde was just one person.

  So as the lights dimmed, I made my way to stand behind her. It was pretty easy, it’s not that crowded on the upper balcony, these aren’t exactly the best seats. Actaully, they’re the worst ones because there are no seats, it’s just a box for people to stand in and sway as the live music starts. And once the guitars start thrumming, the crowd starts moving, the perfect time for a strike.

  So as the lights dimmed, I made my way up behind the rounded blonde.

  “Hey,” I murmured into her ear from behind.

  The girl was immediately still, startled like a rabbit.

  “Discreet Encounters?” I asked. “Number 345?”

  She hesitated for a moment, blue eyes looking straight ahead, almost unable to reply. But slowly, that chin nodded, eyes fixed forwards. Good girl. That’s what I like to see. In our brief discussion, I’d made clear that under absolutely no circumstances could she turn around. This was an anonymous fuck, a no-name, no-face, no-nothing type of encounter, and if she turned I’d be gone in an instant. So the girl held still, barely breathing, the crowd swaying around us.

  And pulling my jacket forwards, I stepped behind her so that my big body loomed over the tiny female. She was so small that this was gonna be a little difficult actually. But as the music sounded out from down below, the female leaned over the balcony a little, like she was enjoying the performance, trying to get closer to the musicians. Fuck yeah, that’d do the trick. The blonde was bending at the right angle, tilting her ass up so that I could get in.

  Pulling my jacket forwards once more, I ran one big hand up the back of a tiny thigh. It was okay. Not great. I like ‘em thick and juicy, and this girl was just too small. Her leg was a little gristly, like an underfed chicken, but it was fine. I’d survive.

  And as the blonde gasped, the button on her jeans popped. Oh yeah, I have magic fingers and even though that denim was skin tight, I peeled it off to reveal a small, flat ass. Again, about C quality. This was no beautiful bubble butt, this was about five sizes too small, more like a Waffle House pancake rather than a rounded, luscious peach. But what the hell, the target was so near and there was no sense in beating around the bush.

  So in one fell swoop, I pushed two fingers into the girl’s twat, making her gasp. Oh yeah, the female’s head fell back and she let out a tiny whimper, eyes falling shut as my digits made their entrance. When I said finger fuck, I didn’t say that we were going to a shit-ton of teasing or anything like that. I said “finger fuck” and that’s what I meant. So going for gold, I went to town on that little vag as the band played below, sawing my fingers in and out of that sweet hole as the girl gasped and panted, head nodding back and forth, bobbing to the music.

  And as the song crescendoed, it happened. The blonde fell apart on my hand, that tiny pussy squeezing me tight, juices everywhere, squirting like a fountain into my palm. Fuck, fuck, fuck it felt good. I love it when a girl loses it, vaginal muscles clenching, personal nectar running like honey all over my fist, it’s the ultimate validation. And as she descended from earth, it was all good. Slowly, deftly, my digits exited, leaving that hot hole trembling and empty.

  Immediately the girl’s head swung around, mouth already open to ask a question, to get my name, all that bullshit. But too late. I was already gone in the crowd, just the back of a tall, dark head and some broad shoulders disappearing with every passing second. I could have been the guy to the right, the one already looking at her with interest, smiling a slick grin with no idea what had just happened. Or I could have been the older geezer on the left, the one double-fisting PBR, eyes already blood-shot.

  But it didn’t matter. She was too late, and besides, the deed was done. Our anonymous encounter was over, and we’d both gotten what we came for. The blonde had had a screaming orgasm at the skilled hands of a faceless dude, excitement and lust pouring through her veins. And I’d had a wet pussy clenching all over me, cunt juice spilling into my palm as one more woman gave it all up with a series of helpless quivers. But did I want more? Hell no. Did I want to see her again? Hell no. Did I care? Hell no. These things are one-off type events and that’s the beauty of it. We’d had our exchange … and I was fucking done.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Donovan

  “Yo,” rumbled the voice. “Whaddup?”

  I glanced up from my laptop.

  “Nuthin’, why?” I asked, shutting the screen discreetly as Jared ambled near. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to see, although it was better if he didn’t. I just didn’t want to talk about it. Because I was here, deep in the lair of the Billionaires Club, and yet I was surfing on-line for an anonymous encounter. Yeah, the Club is where anything goes, where the hottest, most delectable girls serve men, and I was on-line looking for an anonymous fuck.

  It’s twisted for sure. At the Club, we source the hottest chicks, the most nubile, ravishing females and bring them here to be auctioned. So yeah, you can buy what you want, you can literally put money down and get a virgin for a week, enjoying that beautiful body until she’s nothing but a panting, trembling mess of hot pussy and clenching asshole.

  And even better, after you’re done, it’s sayonara, see ya later. Actually that’s not right. See ya never is more accurate. There are no obligations, no nothing, no parting gifts, no sad goodbyes, no long, ten-paragraph desperate emails. There’s just a load of cash direct deposited to the virgin’s bank account once your
week is done, and then poof, she’s vapor. You never have to see her again, it’s a clean break with a clear conscience, wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

  So why the fuck was I doing on-line? Why the fuck was I surfing sites, looking for hot chicks to finger anonymously? If I wanted to fondle hot twat and walk away, I could do it right here. I could buy a girl. Or shit, I could summon one of the ladies who serves drinks to do my bidding, to bend over right now and pull her panties down, giving me access to a steaming pussy. And no one would blink an eye. Even if I did it in the middle of the bar area, even if I did it in the pool, in our sauna, in the middle of our ballroom, no one would give a shit. Pussy at the Billionaires Club is here to be fucked and used, it’s an anything goes atmosphere.

  So yeah, what the hell is wrong with me? Why was I going out nightly, petting girls at random venues, letting them explode all over me and then walking away? Sure, strange twat is sexy, it’s exciting, but at the same time, I wasn’t so aroused by it. Naw, it’s more of a clinical exercise if anything. I caress those wet folds, watching with precision as the girl gets amped, playing her like a fine instrument. I love seeing nips get hard, her hips twisting with lust as I bring her to the next level. And when the female bursts, folds trembling, breathy moans escaping as jolts shoot through her cunt? Fuck yeah, it’s the ultimate validation for an alpha male, I don’t know any guy who doesn’t live for this.

  But after a screaming orgasm, the exercise loses its allure. Because I pull out right away, palm wet, interest gone. There’s no after care, no petting, no breathy whispers, no reassurances. It’s like I’m a doctor and the surgery’s over. Striding off, her name already forgotten, I’m wiping my hands on a napkin, erasing the smell of her pussy. And shit, that napkin’s balled-up right away and pitched into the trash. I don’t need any memories, it’s not like I’m gonna lay awake nights and re-live our casual encounter. Because tomorrow is another day, another twat, another finger-fucking, and that’s what I like. Take it or leave it, that’s what I’m looking for.