The Billionaire and the Con Artist: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Girls Series Book 1)

by Leanne Brice

  Right now, though, my dick’s asleep. Probably because I wore him out yesterday with a busty soap actress.

  I give the brunette a regretful smile, as if the fact that the bedroom area is occupied now is the reason I’m not taking her up on her unspoken offer.

  She nods, her eyes reflecting disappointment.

  The brunette will have to wait for the return trip to ride this dick, and as I check out her firm ass again as she walks away, I look forward to it.

  The sex is even better when you make them wait for it.

  My casino host took care of our rooms so it’s a relaxed limo drive to the hotel private check-in entrance before we waltz down to the casino.

  It’s funny how quickly you get used to other people doing things for you.

  I vaguely remember waiting while my parents checked us in at the counter at hotels for our few family vacations.

  I can’t remember the last time I had to deal with someone directly like that; I can’t remember the last time I had to wait in line.

  I let my host know when I’m heading down, and he makes sure my usual accommodations are waiting for me, amongst other things.

  The rooms will be comped, as usual, and the other guys will share a multi-room villa while I get my own room—a west-facing suite, my favorite.

  I don’t mean to be a dick about it—I just like my own space, and since everything we’re getting is on my player’s card, I have every right to carve out my own man cave away from home. It’s not like the guys will be far from me.

  Besides, they’ll be staying in one of the best villas available—multiple bedrooms, way more space than they need, access to butler services, massage rooms, their own bathrooms with hot tubs, pools, gardens. A fully stocked bar.

  It’s ideal, really, and if any of them don’t like it, they’ll just book their own room, but part of this whole experience is experiencing it together, and the three of them are more social than I am.

  Therefore, I’m getting my own goddamned room.

  My host greets us and prepares to escort us to our rooms, and I can tell something’s wrong immediately.

  “So there’s been a slight snafu,” he says with a small fake smile, and I immediately go on guard.

  My tolerance for snafus is pretty much zilch these days.

  “The hotel was unable to hold the usual room for you… ”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I say in a low voice as I glare at him.

  His face flushes a bit.

  I must be visibly furious because I feel a hand touch my arm in a sort of soothing way.

  “Dude, it’s fine—you’ll just have to slum it for the night with us,” Scott says.

  That almost works to break my foul mood and makes me laugh since they’re not exactly slumming it.

  “We actually still got you booked in one exactly like it, set up exactly the same—same amenities, same size, same everything. It’s just west-facing instead of east…”

  “But that’s part of the whole point,” I say, almost gritting my teeth.

  I’m trying not to yell at him but it’s annoying me—I always get that room.

  “Hey, Axel,” a soft low voice says as a hand simultaneously grabs my arm gently but firmly.

  No doubt it’s Pete—that guy’s all about the calm.

  I know I shouldn’t get so upset about a room, but it’s one of my homes away from home.

  Plus the hotel should know better—I come here fairly regularly, so they know to expect me. Is it totally unreasonable I’d expect them to make sure it’s available when I get here?

  My host looks nervous.

  “Who booked it?” I demand.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have that information. ”

  I get even more furious at being denied once again.

  I don’t get denied—not these days. People give me what I fucking want.

  I barely register another calming gesture on my arm, unable to see past my own indignation.

  This place is supposed to fucking cater to me.

  Who the hell did they think was more important?

  “Did they specifically request this one? Think they’d be open to switching? I mean, if you’re pitching it’s virtually the same to me, why couldn’t that have been pitched to them?”

  “Could you give me a moment while a make a quick call?” he says.

  I nod permission, getting angrier by the second as I stand there.

  “I can’t believe they gave away my fucking room,” I say.

  “Come on, man—they had to do it,” Mr. Mello-fucking-yellow says. “You know how it is—a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush…”

  “In Vegas?” Scott says jokingly. “It’s all about risking that bird for more bush—uh, birds.”

  He chuckles and the other guys join in.

  I turn away from Comedy Central, refusing to let their lightness affect me.

  What the hell is the point of having all this money if you can’t get what you want?

  My host is turning back to me and hanging up.

  It can’t be because of the extra room this time, can it?

  My previous trips, I only had the one room because it was just Nate and me, and I don’t mind sharing a space in that case. Nate I can handle.

  “They’re, of course, going to comp both suites, and for the inconvenience, they’re giving you credit at the Versace store…”

  He continues to yap on about a few extras thrown in to make up for this blunder, but I’m still furious. It’s the principle of the thing.

  And I know my host will be working overtime to cater to my needs on the casino floor too, but there’s really not much more that can be done there; I mean, I already get all the free drinks and cigars and meals I could want.

  What I want is my usual goddamned room.

  My host is apologetic, and his eyes are practically pleading to be forgiving, but I see something else behind them. Not quite smugness, but some sort of defiance.

  It’s like it’s taking effort for him not to say something, not to blame me.

  And then it hits me—some whale probably got my room.

  I’m a high-roller, but I’m pretty precise about my expenditures.

  I take four gambling trips a year, and I carve out a specific amount to spend each trip so that my gambling budget never changes year to year.

  Basically, I’m unusually careful.

  Because I’m so careful, I’m probably not exactly what the casinos would call a whale—I won’t spend over a million on any one trip.

  Therefore, when it comes to keeping me happy versus someone who will likely spend more than four times as much as me…

  Yup, that’s got to be it. A whale is in the building, and they’ve given him my goddamned room because they expect him to spend a dick-load more than I will.

  It’s sensible and logical, yet I’m still furious.

  I always get what I want, and I don’t want some mirror image of the room I always get—I want the room I always get! I want the same view.

  I know I’m being a brat, but damn it—this isn’t a good beginning to what’s supposed to be an easy-going trip.

  This could put a damper on the whole experience.

  And it’s certainly not the kind of energy I want to start playing with.

  “It’s fine,” someone says as if they’re getting embarrassed by me.

  I decide to play along, if only to stop whoever keeps trying to low-key calm me with their arm grasps.

  But my curiosity won’t go away.

  Who the hell is staying there?

  I have an urge to disturb them as they’ve disturbed me.

  I allow the group to be led to the rooms, then at the first opportunity, I head over to my usual spot.

  One of the guys happens to catch me, but I don’t acknowledge them and keep walking.

  It’s crazy, but anger makes me pretty crazy.

  Still, I won’t do anything stupid. I just need to see.

  P
ush come to shove, I could just pretend I got confused since I usually stay there.

  I was fairly calm when I started to head over, but my anger builds with every step as I get closer to what was supposed to be my room.

  I knock on the door of the suite, determined to get a peek at the usurper.

  I’m not sure what I expected once I got there—I’ve been known to go off half-cocked—but I really didn’t plan anything specific.

  What if some boxing champion had opened the door? Someone with fists that are legally considered weapons?

  What if it’s the CEO of the hotel who then decides to ban me from the place since I clearly have no problem harassing guests?

  Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?

  Of course, the problem is that I wasn’t.

  I start regretting my rash actions, imagining a younger, stronger, Mr. T, Chuck Norris, The Rock.

  What I definitely didn’t expect was for a pocket goddess to open the door.

  I have to bend my head a bit, adjusting my eye line to make eye contact with the tiny suite thief.

  I won’t lie—a lot of my anger sort of melts away when I get a load of her—she’s petite, gorgeous and she’s wearing nothing but one of those medium-sized towels so it barely covers her feminine parts.

  I briefly forget why I’m there.

  “May I help you?” she asks sort of seductively.

  She’s so distractingly beautiful and alluring, it takes me a few seconds to process her words.

  “How did you get this room?” I finally manage to say.

  One of her perfectly arched eyebrows raises.

  “Same way you would,” she says.

  She looks at me like I’m an idiot but it’s in a playful way.

  Jesus, she’s cute. And she seems a bit sassy. I like that.

  I especially like that she seems unfazed about standing there practically naked in front of a male stranger; in fact, it almost angers me a bit that she’d be so careless.

  But anger is a hard emotion to maintain at this moment with my cock throbbing with interest.

  I can’t stop my eyes from going over her exposed shoulders, and I try really hard to keep my eyes above the towel, but my gaze drops as I say, “This room’s supposed to be mine.”

  She fixes me with a defiant glare, her blue-gray eyes hardening, and for some odd reason, I’m actually looking forward to her tearing me a new one for being so forward.

  My cock twitches even more in anticipation.

  Chapter 4

  April

  I register brief surprise on the hottie’s face and it seems his breath caught, but he recovers quickly.

  He’s still angry for whatever reason, but he is most definitely aroused.

  “How did you get this room?” he demands.

  I shake off my brief waver of confidence.

  His tall, heaving, broad-shouldered presence has thrown me off a bit. Not to mention his beautiful flashing green eyes.

  But I have to stay focused.

  Truthfully, I haven’t encountered a specimen like him in…have I ever been this close to a guy this hot up close?

  The guy is cut, rippling with muscles, and his face is high-end luxury car commercial-ready.

  I answer him simply, which doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

  Although the sight of me standing here like this seems to.

  “This room’s supposed to be mine,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes off my cleavage.

  “How is that exactly? Was that your card I booked it with?” I say firmly but keep my voice even.

  I also keep my face calm and pleasant.

  When confronted with an emotional person, escalation can happen extremely quickly if you rise to their level.

  Even when folks are near irrational, when faced with calming tones, part of them will most likely become aware that they’ll look crazy if there’s a hugely disproportionate emotional engagement, and most people aren’t cool with looking crazy.

  Still, I need to make sure this guy doesn’t go digging for more information—I mean he was already ballsy—or crazy—enough to actually come here, not knowing who he was going to be faced with just because he feels entitled to this room.

  He’ll want to know who I am beyond anything I tell him; I need to distract him.

  Not the worst task in the world, and certainly not the hardest; I have a very distinct advantage here.

  I step closer to him so that there’s about an inch between us.

  Though he was agitated with anger before, a bit mediated by his obvious attraction to me, my slender, nearly nude body this close to him is now changing the game—his breathing is different, his mouth hanging open in the usual arousal, his eyes darkening with unmistakable desire.

  Haha! Got him.

  But damn, I’m actually wet in anticipation.

  “I’m happy to share,” I say.

  I didn’t even have to fake the sultry tone.

  This guy has turned me on so much, I have to stop myself from hopping up on him.

  I grab his hand and pull him inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

  Then I drop my towel, facing him.

  His eyes immediately start traveling my body, lingering over my naked breasts before traveling lower, straight down to my waxed mound.

  By the time his eyes make their way back to mine, I can tell he is finished—his other animal side has taken over.

  No doubt, whatever he was mad about is far from his mind as he grabs me to him, planting his mouth on mine.

  I find myself getting wetter, anticipating more of his warm body against mine.

  I am so ready for him—and I don’t even know his name!

  All I know is that I need this man inside me. Forget everything else.

  I wrap my arms around him, pulling his head closer to me as I kiss him back just as hungrily.

  He picks me up and takes me to the bed, and in record time, he has shed his own clothes, distracting me briefly with his sinewy body.

  Christ, I didn’t imagine how much hotter he would be like this—his tanned sculpted shoulders, strong wide chest and rippling abs, the giant raging cock above powerful thighs.

  A wave of fear suddenly passes over me, catching me off guard.

  What the hell was that about? Guys like him don’t scare me.

  There’s no risk here—what we’re about to do is purely physical.

  I figure it’s just because it’s been a while, and I’m probably doubting a cock that size can push inside me without hurting me.

  Then again, I’m about as wet as can be.

  He covers my body with his, and his mouth tastes my neck, making me emit a moan as he teases the sensitive flesh.

  He continues nibbling and tasting my body, his mouth moving from my neck to my shoulders while his hard, muscled body hovers above me, his cock a tease just hanging out there when all I want is for it to sink into me.

  What he’s doing feels good—too good—and I just want us to get on with it, dive into the basics.

  All this slow tasting and teasing feels far too intimate.

  It gives me time to appreciate too many parts of him—the softness of his lips, the warmth and strength in his touch. I notice his thick, wavy brown hair I can’t help but run my hand through.

  I’m dripping in anticipation as his cock hovers above my heated, slick mound, threatening invasion while he gets to know my body with his lips and tongue.

  “I can smell your arousal,” he says hoarsely. “I know you’re soaking wet for me.”

  His fingers slide over my heated core, making me twitch at the electric sensations from his light, grazing touch.

  It’s almost too much for me.

  Then he starts exploring me there, slipping one finger inside me, letting out a deep groan as he invades my slick, heated core with his long, hard digits.

  He slides his finger in and out, curling it every now and then and taking me closer to snatching his head bald as my grip tightens
on his hair.

  “I can definitely feel your arousal too,” he says almost mockingly. “Your pussy’s squeezing my finger, pulsing against it. You feel so tight. You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  None of your business, pal.

  But I know it’s rhetorical anyway so I don’t say anything, waiting for him to give me what I want.

  Please just push it in. Just push your cock in my dripping wet…

  “My cock wants in there so badly—but not before I taste you,” he says, then before I can think or say or do anything, his mouth has captured my cleft, making me arch my back and cry out loudly in surprise and pleasure.

  My brain shorts and I start to see white spots.

  Soon, I’m just a writhing, bucking mass of reaction to his warm, slithering tongue.

  I become dimly aware of him lining up the head of his cock with my begging entrance and become fully aware again once he starts pushing it inside me.

  He shoves it all the way in so that we’re practically pelvis to pelvis before he starts pulling it out and slamming it back into me with delicious rhythm.

  His hard, thick cock slides against my hungry walls in delicious massage, reaching parts of me that will rocket me into orgasm soon as he plows into me.

  I try not to look into his eyes as I pant and whimper while he drives his huge cock in and out of my warm, wet canal.

  He surprises me with a gentle brush of his thumb on my sensitive nub, and all hopes of holding out longer fly out the window as he takes me to clitoral orgasm, then makes me come again the same time he does from deep inside as he fucks me harder and faster.

  I moan loudly as our bodies contract against each other, the stranger sunk balls-deep in me as he comes with a deep, masculine groan, his cock throbbing inside me, my walls pulsing against him.

  I experience brief panic as it occurs to me for the first time that he hadn’t whipped out protection—my brain stopped processing properly once he got me going, and now I’m paying for my momentary lapse.

  My mind starts going a mile a minute till I remember how easy it is for an over-the-counter EC.

  He collapses on top of me, and it feels so delicious to have his hard body against my soft curves, I wrap my arms around him and hold him there, smiling like an idiot.