Billionaire Bad Boys: A Collection of Contemporary and Paranormal Bad Boys

by Calinda B

  “Absolutely.” Sliding from the couch, she unfolded to standing and took a deep breath. If I behave like the women of Mosul, I’ll do great. Who needs a courtesan when you have real submissives to mimic?

  “Monique, would you please make space for darling Naeva?” Ambrosia inclined her head in a queen-worthy gesture.

  Monique’s eyebrows pinched together. She lifted her chin, eyes glaring, as Savannah slunk past.

  “Let’s see how well you do with Master Steele. He’s one of the best,” she hissed.

  Without sparing Monique another glance, Savannah stood before Master Steele, her eyes downcast. Refusing to meet his gaze like a true submissive—she had to play her part and convince them she was Naeva—she knelt, kissing one booted foot, then the other. She stretched her arms in front of her, like a supplicant, placed her forehead on the floor, and whispered, “How may I serve you, Master Steele?” She remained, head pressed to the floor, waiting for his response.

  The other women murmured and gasped.

  “Wonderful, Naeva. Simply wonderful,” Ambrosia gushed. “Monique, sit next to me.”

  A soft pat, pat, pat met Savannah’s ears, indicating Ambrosia’s hand against the couch cushion.

  “Janna, get me some champagne,” Ambrosia said.

  Rustling fabric, thudding footsteps, and the clink of glass against glass, followed by the tinkling of liquid, added to the backdrop of sound.

  “Splendid,” Ambrosia cooed, slurping whatever had been handed to her. “Master Steele, please proceed.”

  Her forehead began to grow numb from being pressed against the polished wood floor. Her arms ached from holding them outstretched. Something cool tickled the back of her neck. Savannah sucked in a breath. The riding quirt?

  The cool leather slid inside her loose collar, brushing against her shoulders. She shivered but remained poised on the floor.

  Light slaps flicked back and forth across her neck. He moved the whip lower until it lashed at her shoulders. The intensity increased until the leather bit at her skin. She hissed.

  He let the two tails trail softly along her stinging skin, soothing the throbbing ache pulsing from her upper back.

  She let out a long breath.

  Then, he withdrew them.

  “Remove your top,” he commanded.

  Eyes remaining downcast, she lifted her torso, thinking of her female friends in Mosul. When asked to do a man’s bidding, they knew to comply. The consequences of disobedience were too great.

  She began to peel off her sleeveless garment, however, like a graceless American.

  The lash of the whip cracked against her forearm.

  She sucked in a breath and pulled away, letting her top drape around her body.

  “Slower,” he commanded.

  Swallowing, she forced her wild heart to calm. Pushing under her top, she crossed one hand over the other, at belly level. Then, she slid her hands to her waist. Unhurriedly stroking the tender skin along her sides, she urged the flimsy fabric of her billowy, five-thousand-dollar garment above her breasts. As she drew the top over her arms, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, revealing her throat, adorned with the delicate diamond necklace Marcus had picked out for her to wear.

  Master Steele let out a small, sharp hiss of approval. His breathing grew rough and heavy.

  The other women seemed to be entranced. No words or utterances broke the stillness.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she guided the garment from her body, stretching languidly and moving her limbs with feline grace.

  “I could have done that,” Monique whispered loudly, breaking the moment.

  Wanna bet, you high-priced bitch?

  “You’ll get your turn,” Ambrosia said, her voice a husky purr.

  Savannah spread the garment across her lap in a tidy pile. This is how women behave who think they have no choice in life. She clenched her jaw. People in the States liked to play at submission and domination as if it were fun and games. But, the real-world cruelty of being forced to submit against one’s will and act as if you were the property of men was another story. Nothing about being obedient aroused her.

  The leather tails of the riding quirt dragged along her back. She fell quiet. She completely forgot her protests and arguments against obedience from a minute ago, yielding to the caress.

  Next, the heat of his forearms landed on either side of her spine. He placed his fingertips on the shoulders. He dragged his forearms downward. His hot skin, his supple fingertips and the scratch of the diamonds affixed to the suede cuffs, completely overwhelmed her with sensation. She let out a soft moan.

  He matched her with a groan of his own. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  Her body responded to Master Steele’s ministrations. He wielded his tools with finesse and skill. This was an art form—an act of pleasure meted out by an artisan. He seemed to know how much intensity to inflict, before offering her soothing comfort.

  When he reached her ass, he withdrew.

  An aching longing replaced the convergence of sensations.

  The whip smacked her back, focusing her attention on the biting sting it inflicted.

  She hissed. Grinding her teeth, she arched her shoulder, wriggling away from its annoying touch. For a second, she thought of punishments inflicted upon innocent people in Iraq. She reminded herself she wasn’t in Mosul any longer. In fact, her time there already felt like a dream. This was her new reality. It confused her. It aroused her. Her body became infused with narcotic sensitivity.

  The quirt handle was shoved under her bra strap.

  “Take this off.” Master Steele’s strangely enhanced voice dripped with potent sexuality.

  She reached behind and unclasped the tiny hook.

  The straps fluttered from her body, leaving her exposed in this roomful of strangers. She hugged her arms close to her breasts, even though they were tucked under her prone form. Her skin prickled with nerves. Silence stretched for several long minutes.

  A zipper rasped.

  Someone gasped.

  Master Steele’s breathing grew ragged. His boots scuffed the floor near her head. Then, he squatted, his knees on either side of her.

  His strong musk met her nostrils.

  His breath quickened, accompanied by the swish, swish, swish of palm to cock. He let out an agonized groan but didn’t come, as far as she could tell.

  Another woman moaned.

  He slid the crop under her chin and guided her head from the floor.

  Keeping her gaze pinned to his boots, she squeezed her arms around her breasts, doing her best to shield them with her palms.

  “Exquisite,” he whispered.

  Shame rolled over her in heavy, heated waves. It was matched in equal parts by arousal.

  “Look. See this? Eyes right here.” He pointed to his crotch.

  Before her, hung the thickest, heaviest, longest erection she’d ever seen, being proffered before her by Master Steele’s grip. She studied it, not daring to lift her eyes to his. It was the most beautiful cock she’d ever beheld.

  Veined, ruddy and swollen, it reminded her of the stallions one of her foster parents raised. They’d wander into the paddock, fresh from mating, uncaring of the heavy weight hanging between their legs in plain view.

  He’d waxed or shaved. A tiny mole marked the left side of his cock, near the base. She focused on that mole, trying to forget where she was and who she was pretending to be.

  Is he…is he going to make me suck him? Her stomach churned with unease. Sucking off strangers was not in her go-to book of good times.

  “That’s enough. Head down. Hands behind your back.”

  She did as she was told, lowering her head, and resting her hands, palm up, along her ass.

  His erection nudged the top of her head as he leaned-in to stroke his large hands along her back and tender forearms. His fingers made circles along her palms.

  “What’s he doing?” someone whispered. “Why is he being so gentle?
”

  He softly dragged his fingers along her sides, to her neck.

  She shivered against the whispery sensation.

  His hands withdrew.

  Savannah stilled yearning for his touch. She kept her head pressed to the floor. She didn’t dare look up. The entire exchange left her feeling completely and utterly transformed, on fire with the need for more.

  Something rustled. The zipper rasped again.

  “This one’s trainable. I’ll see to her again.” Master Steele’s boot-steps struck the floor with a solid, weighted gait, as he departed.

  The audience clapped.

  “Wonderful, Naeva, wonderful,” Ambrosia called over the applause.

  “I could have done that,” Monique whined.

  Savannah grabbed her top. Uncomfortably warm, awash with need and self-consciousness, she kept her back to them, as she donned her garment. What’s next? How can I resume any sense of dignity? She rose to her feet, then forced herself to turn around. Her legs shook as she made her way toward Ambrosia.

  A knock clattered against the door.

  Everyone quieted.

  Ambrosia stood. She clasped Savannah’s shoulders, her eyes gleaming. “You’ll make my Liam so happy.”

  She released her and tottered to the door.

  This is so disturbing. She wants to witness how she expects me to perform in bed with her son? Savannah nearly fell to the sofa, landing next to the simmering Monique.

  After sliding open the slit in the door and listening to whoever spoke, Ambrosia whirled around. “Naeva, dear?”

  “Yes,” Savannah said.

  “Let’s go meet your fiancé, shall we? Liam’s sent word he’s ready to see you.”

  Savannah couldn’t think of a worse idea. All she longed to do was find Master Steele. But then again, did he report into Liam? How sick can this club be?

  6

  After her humiliating exhibit of obedience, coupled with her confusing arousal, Savannah headed toward the exit of the Diamond Strumpet’s club, ushered along by Ambrosia. The whole experience left her muddle-headed and bewildered, mixed with the throbbing between her legs. She needed some space to sort it out and resume her professional role. I thought I’d hate the whole submission piece. So why did it leave me so wanting?

  Still wobbly from drink, Ambrosia lurched toward the door and flung it open with a bang.

  Adam stood stoically against the opposite wall. His head whipped toward Savannah as she stumbled into the hall, yanked by Ambrosia.

  “Eyes to yourself, young man.” Ambrosia waggled a finger at Adam’s face. “What happens in the Diamond Strumpet’s room is top secret. Isn’t that right Naeva, dear?”

  Savannah glanced at Adam and shook her head.

  His eyebrows stitched together, yet he said nothing. Instead, he fell into step behind them, as they made their way along the soft, carpeted corridor.

  Ambrosia clutched Savannah’s forearm. “Oh, this is so exciting. Liam will be so thrilled. Your performance back there…oh my,” she gushed. “Let’s simply say Liam will be a very happy man.” She sniffed. “I so wish your mother could be here to witness this.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Mrs. Weathersby would want to watch, too? These people are sick.

  Ambrosia prattled on. “She died in such a tragic way. I know we all told the press it was cancer, but…”

  Savannah frowned and glanced at her. But, what?

  “Help me with the stairs, dear,” she said, as she approached a grand staircase.

  “Allow me,” Adam said. He stepped to her side and put his hand under her elbow.

  Ambrosia looked up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Such a gentleman. You have a bodyguard with manners. How refreshing.”

  “Yes,” Savannah said. “He’s a keeper.”

  “You’ll probably have to get rid of him once you and Liam are married,” Ambrosia said as if he was a non-entity. “Liam has his own staff.”

  Savannah’s stomach twisted into knots. Life without Adam? I don’t think so. He’s the one person I can call family. I can’t imagine having a better brother. She caught his gaze behind Ambrosia’s back.

  He made a subtle shake of his head.

  She needed to get back a sense of control. Her emotions were a rollercoaster. To perform her intended mission of gathering intel about an upcoming heist, she couldn’t afford to have any emotion cloud her judgment. I must assume my role and not let this place affect me. “Ambrosia…” Savannah’s hand landed on her fake mother-in-law’s forearm. “I need to use the ladies’ facilities. Would you show me where they are?”

  Ambrosia blinked. “Oh! Certainly. And call me Mother, won’t you?”

  She gave Savannah a warm smile.

  “Okay…Mother.” The word tasted foreign…odd…kind of like sampling a food you’d always wanted to try.

  Growing up without real parents, Savannah had often wondered what it would feel like to have one…wondering if she’d be different today, had she had what most people had—a real mom and dad. She returned the warm smile, then caught herself. Don’t kid yourself. This whole place—everything—it’s all make-believe. The heavy weight of being here in a pretend role as someone’s daughter fell back into place, replacing her moment of happiness with responsibility.

  When they stepped from the last stair, Ambrosia pointed toward a door in an alcove. “There’s the restroom. I’ll wait here with this handsome man.”

  She reached over and stroked Adam’s groin.

  His eyebrows bunched together. Plucking her hand from his hips, he said, “Ma’am. I’m here for Naeva.”

  “Of course, you are.” Ambrosia waved his concerns away, appearing unapologetic for her forward behavior. “We’ll be right here, dear.”

  Savannah nodded. She slipped through the bathroom doorway. Inside the elegantly appointed washroom, she made her way to the sink, grasped both sides of the porcelain, and took several calming breaths. Her body surged with longing, having been awakened by Master Steele’s quirt. She wanted to find him and ride him to completion until she fell into satisfied bliss.

  She shook her head. You’re being stupid. Projecting all kinds of nonsense onto that sadist. Lifting her head and straightening her shoulders, she gave her reflection an imperious glare. You’re on a mission. Anything you experienced with Master Steele is part of the role. Don’t let it get to you. It was an act, and nothing more. Use this sense of arousal to seduce your mark.

  She seized a tissue from a silver box on the counter and dabbed at her eyes, removing tiny smears of mascara. She needed to look perfect for Liam. She had to play her part, win him over, get the information they needed to thwart the heist, and get the job done. She figured she had plenty of experience in the “fuck and run” department, what with her relationship track record. How would this be any different?

  Turning on her heel, she exited the bathroom, looking every bit a Weathersby.

  Ambrosia stood clutching Adam’s elbow. “There you are. Ready?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. She lifted her chin toward Adam, allowing a haughty expression to emerge.

  He allowed the barest of grins to form on his face.

  “Lead the way, Mother.” Savannah took Ambrosia’s arm.

  Ambrosia indicated a doorway off to the right. Savannah strode with elegance through the entrance into a dimly-lit room filled with plush leather chairs and wealthy people.

  A band played smooth jazz from a small stage in the corner. Couples held each other and danced on a gleaming, polished, wood floor.

  She held her head high, exactly as she’d been instructed.

  “There he is,” Ambrosia whispered in her ear. She pointed toward the opposite wall at a man sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. “Liam! Liam!” she called over the music. “She’s here!”

  When Liam turned, Savannah’s body tensed. She’d expected him to look somewhat delighted.

  Instead, he gave her an icy glare, before turning his broad back to her
. He lifted his finger toward the bartender and then pointed at his glass.

  Ambrosia hustled Savannah across the room. She glanced over her shoulder at Adam and said, “You can wait over there.”

  She swished her hand toward the wall near the bar.

  Adam nodded, and his arm brushed Savannah’s back as he strode past her, making his way to stand in the shadows.

  Savannah smiled at the reassuring touch.

  When Savannah approached her so-called fiancé, Ambrosia chided him. “Liam. Don’t be so rude. It’s Naeva. Your wife-to-be.”

  He swiveled on his bar stool, not meeting her eyes. Proffering his face to his mother, they greeted one another with air kisses to both cheeks.

  “Mother,” he said, in a deep voice. “How are you?”

  Dressed in a Cerulean-blue, open-collar polo shirt that looked as soft as kitten’s fur, and charcoal trousers, he looked like everyone here at the Club—expensive. His dark hair had been pushed back from his forehead, giving Savannah a glimpse at a face far too handsome to be real.

  Ambrosia seemed to vibrate with anticipation. “I’m excited, that’s how. What’s happened to your manners? Greet your wife-to-be.” She lifted her bejeweled fingers to her chest, resting her palm on the huge diamond dangling from her neck.

  He turned his ice-blue eyes toward Savannah, barely glancing at her.

  “Naeva,” he said, with a chin nod. He lifted his glass and let an ice cube slide into his mouth. Then, he proceeded to suck it between his sculpted cheeks.

  “Liam!” Ambrosia’s violet eyes flared.

  “What? I see her. She’s here. She’s not the big deal you made her out to be.” He hefted his crystal tumbler once more and took a long swig.

  Savannah glared at him. What’s wrong with me? I’m not horrible looking.

  Her mouth pressed into a prim line. “I’m not impressed either, Mother. I thought you said he’d be handsome.”

  Liam glanced over his shoulder at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “Oh, I get what this is,” Ambrosia said. She let out a high-pitched laugh. “When I first met his father, he told me I was too tall for him. And look at us now. If not for an errant bullet, we'd be married twenty-seven years in May.”