Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  I could still feel his eyes on my breasts and his fingers on my hand. I covered my eyes with a wet towel and let my hands slide down to my breasts. In my mind, they were his hands, soft and warm on my skin. I cupped my breasts and massaged them for a minute. They were so happy to be out of that damned pushup bra. If tits could sigh, mine would.

  I imagined that it was Cain’s hands kneading my flesh between his fingers. My nipples grew plump at the thought of him. His fingers rolled over my nipples for a moment, and then he squeezed my nipples so hard that it made me moan.

  My left hand remained on my breast as my right hand slid down my stomach and over my freshly shaved cunt. My clit was long and plump, aching to be touched by his fingers, his tongue. Like I said, playing onstage always made me horny as hell. I often dreamed I was onstage naked, playing to a crowd and masturbating with a dildo-shaped microphone.

  For now, my fingers would do the trick… Then I would open Mona’s Magic Box...

  I swirled my fingers over my clit, imagining it was Cain’s tongue making me so wet that I could feel the water between my legs growing hotter. The breath caught in my throat as I quickened the pace of my fingers, sliding up and down, back and forth. I could feel the orgasm rumbling from deep inside me, building, making me shudder.

  My left hand drifted down to assist. I placed two fingers beside my clit and pulled back the hood to reveal the tiny nub of my clit hiding there. I rolled the ball under my finger, sending shock waves shooting through my body. My nipples grew thick and hard beneath the water. The hot juices flowed from within me like a hot spring bubbling from the ground.

  I reached for Mona’s Magic Box, which was what she called the black-lacquered box that held the twelve-inch long, black rubber dildo we called Maximus. The rule was either of us could bring Maximus out to play, just as long as we remembered to put him in the dishwasher afterward for a good cleaning.

  Ah, the lives of horny, single girls in New York City.

  Bet you never saw that on Sex in the City.

  I picked up Maximus and gave him a good soaping up. Then I rubbed him between my breasts and over my nipples, then trailed him down to my waiting pussy hole.

  I slid two fingers down to spread my lips. I turned Maximus over in my hand and brought his round, knobby head to my hole and swirled it around.

  “Mmmm…” I held my breath and slid Maximus in as far as he would go. My pussy molded around him. I opened my mouth to breathe as Maximus, now Cain Bohannon’s cock in my mind, slid in and out, in and out… The two fingers moved back to my clit. I rolled my clit from side to side as Cain’s cock slid in and out, quicker now, in and out.

  I imagined Cain was on top of me now, pummeling his big cock into my aching box. I could hear our flesh slapping together. I could feel his balls hitting my ass each time he thrust fully into me.

  The orgasm came in a great shuddering wave. Cain shoved his cock deep inside my pussy as far as it would go and held it there as my body tensed and shuddered and my hot juices flowed into the water.

  My left hand came up to squeeze my breast as my pussy milked the dildo, still pretending it was Cain’s cock deep inside. When it was over, I let Maximus slide out of my cunt and drift in the tub between my legs. I gave my breasts one more good squeeze and then opened my eyes.

  I gave Josh Groban a satisfied sigh and turned off the music.

  Maybe I needed to start a fuck list of my own.

  It would include just one name: Cain Bohannon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Cain

  “So…” Drew said, strolling into my office with his hands spread and eyebrows arched. “How was Katie Berry? Was she list-worthy?”

  I had been sitting behind my desk with the chair turned toward the wall of windows, meditating as I looked out over the city far below. I swiveled to face him and made a sour face.

  “You know, she was not great,” I said, shaking my head.

  Drew huffed. “Really? But she’s so fucking hot.”

  “Hot onstage, but cold as a fish in the sack,” I said sadly. “She just laid there, like a vegetable. It was kind of…boring.”

  “Wow. Who knew?”

  “Not me,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Oh well, at least I can mark her off the list and make room for someone else.”

  “Someone like Olivia Poole,” he said with a grin as he plopped down in the chair on the other side of my desk. “I gave her your card. She’s coming in at two to meet with A&R.”

  “I think I’ll meet with her instead of those idiots,” I said. I leaned back with my hands behind my head and gave him a smile. “What did she say when you asked her to come in?”

  He pooched out his lips in thought. “Well, let’s see, she didn’t know what the fuck A&R was. She thought it was some form of S&M. She said if you were asking her to come in just to bang her, you could forget it.”

  I blinked at him. “She said that? Why would she think I was asking her here so I could bang her?”

  “Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” he said with a grin. He crossed his long legs and drummed his manicured fingers on his knee. “Is that why you want her to come in? I mean, by your rules she is not famous enough to be on your list. And you don’t seriously give a woman the time of day if she’s not on your list.”

  I began to slowly rock as I pondered his question. Why did I want her to come in?

  Was it because I liked the song she’d written about me? Not especially.

  Was it because I liked her singing and thought there might be something there worth developing? Yes, possibly.

  Or was it because I was mesmerized by her angelic face and smoking hot body and was thinking about adding a “might someday be famous” category to the list?

  Again, nothing was set in stone.

  I’d created the goddamn list.

  I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to with it.

  It was a little odd that I had never been tempted to bend my rules before, but one must be fluid in this age of bountiful pussy.

  Before I could figure out a way to avoid Drew’s question, the intercom on my desk buzzed. “Mr. Bohannon, Olivia Poole is here.”

  “Right on time,” Drew said, checking his Apple watch. “Do you want me to hang around?”

  “No. I got this,” I said. I got to my feet and pulled the black Armani jacket from the back of my chair and slid into it. I adjusted my lapels and nodded at the door. “Show her in, and then fuck off.”

  “Yes, my lord,” he said, flipping me the bird as he opened the door to usher Olivia in. She was wearing a pair of tight black skinny jeans, high-heeled knee-high boots, and a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Her blond hair was in a tight ponytail at the crown of her head. She was wearing just enough makeup to enhance her features rather than hide them. She looked fucking hot as hell.

  I came around the desk to greet her as she walked through the door. When our hands touched, it was like the air in the office filled with electricity. A trace of ozone wafted between us. I could feel it in my bones. And I could tell by the look in her eyes that she could, too.

  “Liv, nice to see you. Thanks for coming in,” I said, guiding her to the sofa that sat in one corner of the office. She gave me a nervous smile as she sat down. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  I sat in the chair across from her and rubbed my hands together. “So, first off, I loved your set. Great stuff. You really had the crowd rocking. Can I ask what inspired you to write that song?”

  She gave me a terrified look, like a deer that found itself suddenly in a hunter’s sights. Her pretty lips quivered for a moment, and then she said, “Um, well, I just thought of the title, and…um…”

  I gave her a warm smile to calm her down. “It’s fine, Liv,” I said. “I’m well aware of the mysterious fuck list the press accuses me of keeping. I thought it was very clever of you to play off those rumors, no pun intended.”

  “So there is no fuc
k list?” She asked the question and then closed her eyes, immediately regretting it. Her eyes popped open and her lips quivered again. “I mean, um…shit…”

  I chuckled and slapped my palms on my knees. “No, there is no fuck list,” I said, shaking my head at such a ludicrous idea. “Anyway, the reason I wanted you to come in was to get to know you a little better and find out what you hope to do with your career.”

  “My career?” She licked her lips and gave me a blank look. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it that far in advance. I just want to sing.”

  “Okay, well let’s brainstorm a little,” I said, putting on my serious mask. “Are you happy being a trio, or would you prefer to be a solo act?”

  “Well, I guess, I mean—”

  “Because I think you could be an amazing solo act,” I said, being honest now. “I mean, no offense to your bandmates, I’m sure they’re sweet girls, but it’s clear that you’re the driving force in the band. You write, you sing, you play. And you have a great voice; smoky, sexy, like Courtney Love in her prime or a young Janis Joplin.”

  Her eyes grew wide as I spoke. She said, “Really?”

  “Really, really,” I said, my head bobbing. “I think you have a raw talent that could be amazing, if you had the right mentor to guide you along.”

  “Is that why I’m meeting with your—what is it—A&E guys?”

  “A&R,” I said with a smile. “No. Fuck those guys. They’re idiots.”

  She gave me a confused look. “Then I don’t understand—”

  “I’m going to personally be your mentor, Olivia Poole,” I said, rubbing my hands together again. My mouth watered. I could taste her on my tongue. I stood up and held out my hand.

  I said, “Come on. Let’s go cut a demo.”

  CHAPTER NINE: Olivia

  I felt like I’d stumbled into a magical dream. Rather than meeting with BEG’s A&R guys as expected, I was ushered into Cain Bohannon’s office for a meeting with the great man himself. He looked even more handsome in the daylight.

  Sitting across from him, watching his lips move, my mind kept drifting back to my fantasies from the night before. I imagined him naked, muscles rippling across his chest and shoulders, his long cock draped between his thighs.

  It was only when he held out his hand and said, “Come on. Let’s go cut a demo,” that my brain clicked back into reality.

  I was more than a little dumbstruck as I stood beside Cain with my arm touching his while we rode the elevator down three floors. When the doors parted, I saw the word STUDIO on the wall with an arrow pointing right. I followed Cain through a set of glass doors and into a control room that had the largest mixing board I’d ever seen. There was a large window over the board, and beyond it was a studio with microphones, guitars, and drums set up.

  “Liv, this is Robbie, our sound engineer,” Cain said, introducing me to a guy about my age with long hair and sleepy eyes. I could smell the faint scent of pot in the air. Cain turned to me and held out his hands. “Let’s cut something slow to get your pipes warmed up. What’s your favorite slow song to sing?”

  “You mean onstage?” I could hear the tremor in my voice and was sure they could, too. “We don’t really do anything slow…”

  “No, just in general,” Cain said. “We can literally call up a music track for just about any song ever written. What’s your favorite song to sing, period?”

  “Well, this is probably going to sound silly,” I said, nervously licking my lips. “I really like ‘Eternal Flame’ by the Bangles.”

  Cain smiled at me. “I like that one, too. Robbie, cue it up while I get her set in the studio.” Cain opened the glass door that led into the studio. He took my hand and positioned me in front of a boom microphone. He handed me a set of headphones and gave me a smile. When I reached for the headphones, his fingers lingered on mine.

  “We’re here to just have fun,” he said, moving his hands to my shoulders…so close to my breasts... I wondered if he felt the shudder that rushed through me.

  He gave me a playful look and said, “No pressure, okay? This is just to give me an idea of your range. Have fun. Like singing in the shower.”

  Or masturbating in the tub…

  “Okay, got it,” I said, taking a deep breath. I blinked when he kissed my cheek to wish me luck. My eyes followed him as he went back into the control room to stand behind Robbie.

  “Okay, you’ll hear the music and your voice in the headphones,” Robbie said over the intercom. “Let me know if I need to adjust the levels. If you need the words, they’ll be on the computer monitor in front of you.”

  Wow, just like karaoke, I thought, only in a million-dollar recording studio. I gave him a thumbs-up and held my breath as the music filled my ears.

  This is your shot, Liv, the little voice said.

  Try not to screw it up.

  CHAPTER TEN: Cain

  It was around two thirty when I led Olivia into the studio to record a quick demo. My plan was to impress her with my charm and overwhelm her with my empire, take her to dinner, get her a little drunk, and then…well, I didn’t know what then.

  She wasn’t famous enough to be on the fuck list, but goddammit, my cock was aching to be inside her. I didn’t know what it was about Olivia Poole that had me thinking about bending my rules, but she was unlike any woman I’d ever known.

  Maybe that was it.

  She wasn’t like the rest of the gold diggers and ladder climbers and groupies and fake stars that haunted my life like zombies stumbling through The Walking Dead.

  She was young and fresh and truly talented and just wanted to sing.

  When I asked what she wanted for her career—what she wanted from me—she said she just wanted to sing.

  How fucking refreshing was that?

  She nailed the Bangles song on the first take, so I had her give Robbie a list of five more songs to record. These were just demo recordings I could share with Drew and the VP of A&R to confirm that I was listening with my ear and not my cock, so they didn’t have to be perfect.

  That said, her voice was so damn strong and her singing so dead-on pitch that I could have released the demos as the real thing and nobody would have been any wiser.

  She was wasting her talent screaming punk-rock bullshit into a microphone. This girl could sing. Really sing. And I could make her famous.

  I had lost track of time, so I glanced at my Rolex. It was almost six o’clock and Liv had been in the studio for an hour since her last break.

  I watched her at the microphone, singing her rendition of the classic “Summertime.” Her eyes were closed. She cupped the headphones to her ears. Her breasts gently swayed as she moved. Her tongue darted across her lips. She wasn’t just singing the song. She was making love to it.

  I felt something inside me click as I stared at her face.

  Not an audible click like a switch being thrown, but something subtle I couldn’t otherwise describe, like brain cells switching off and on.

  I took out my phone and called up the file labeled The Fuck List. I took a deep breath as I moved the cursor to the number one spot, which was currently held by Taylor Swift (I know, that was gonna be a tough one). I moved Taylor down to number two, and at number one, I typed in Olivia Poole.

  She wasn’t famous at the moment, but by the time I was done with her, she would be.

  And she would be mine: heart, mind, body, and soul.

  She finished the song and I stood up to give her a standing ovation, making her smile.

  I pressed the intercom button and said, “I think that’s enough for one day. Come on, superstar, let me buy you dinner.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Olivia

  I was both giddy and exhausted. I’d just spent four hours singing my ass off and playing star as Cain watched me through the glass and egged me on. I closed my eyes sometimes when I sang. Each time I opened my eyes, there he was, staring back at me with a smile that made it hard to concentrate on the lyrics.


  He didn’t ask if I’d like to go out to dinner or what I’d like to eat. He just took my hand and dragged me out of the building and into a waiting car. I had to admit, I didn’t mind being towed along behind him. He looked as good from the back as he did from the front.

  He opened a bottle of Perrier and handed it to me without asking if I was thirsty. Then he proceeded to spend the next few minutes telling me how awesome I was. “Fucking amazing” was the term he kept using. I thought that was fucking awesome.

  I sipped the fancy bottled water, which tasted like Alka-Seltzer, and took it all in stride.

  I’d had smoke blown up my skirt before by guys just trying to get me in the sack, so I took Cain Bohannon’s words with a grain of salt, especially knowing what I knew about him from the Internet (which Mona swore was all true). Cain Bohannon was a legend of debauchery and bad behavior.

  Bad boy billionaire, star fucker, industry bully, obnoxious asshole, and owner of the famous fuck list…

  Even if his fuck list didn’t really exist, it was clear he was used to having his way with everything in his life, including his women. Cain Bohannon didn’t ask for permission. He just did what he wanted, no matter the cost. All you could do was hold on for the magnificent ride.

  The words I had jokingly said to Mona when she told me about the fuck list echoed in my brain.

  I remembered saying, “Hey, if it will get him to notice our music, I might fuck him!”

  Sitting just inches away from him now, so close I could smell his musk, I wondered if I had the guts to back up my own words.

  The dampness between my legs was screaming yes.

  But the little voice in my head was saying no.

  I had flirted with him, shown off my body to him. But I would not fuck him just for a contract.

  * * *

  We had dinner at a swanky Italian place called Scarpetta that I was grossly underdressed for, but when the maître d’ saw I was with Cain, he smiled and welcomed me like the Queen of England. I nearly choked on my breadstick when I saw the prices on the menu, but Cain just smiled and offered to order for the both of us so I wouldn’t order the cheapest thing on the menu.