Lucky Bunny

by Eva Luxe

  “Then what’re you waiting for. This isn’t the time for foreplay,” I said, reaching the back of his neck.

  “Wait, I want to taste you first,” Gordon said, going down my body and kissing all along the way.

  He trailed his lips all the way down until he got to my tender hot core.

  His tongue flicked over my pussy and a shiver rocked my spine. Gordon took his time eating me out, making me suffer and begging to cum.

  “Ahh! Ah, Gordon, right there,” I begged, my breathing ragged and deep. I squirmed around his bed, grabbing at random parts of his sheets and wrapping my legs around his neck.

  “You’re so sweet down here. Your taste can’t be matched,” he muffled against my pussy, sending me over the top.

  “Damn it, Gordon, fuck me,” I demanded. His eyes flickered up to mine and he met my demands. “Fuck, I’m gonna—ahh!” The hardness of his cock pierced my pussy’s hot dripping flesh, tunneling its way down until it couldn’t go any further.

  Gordon hissed as I gave him that wonderful pussy grip of death as he thrusted hard into me.

  “Give me your baby, I want to have your baby,” I moaned as he fucked me hard and fast. My tits bounced up and down to the rhythm and I pinched my nipples to add to the pleasure. Gordon noticed and helped me out with the other breast, pinching the other nipple as he drilled me.

  “Good, I want my seed to grow inside of you,” he grunted.

  Soon he filled me up with his juices and left me limp as a noodle, soaked in sweat on his bed.

  He fell down next to me and chuckled dryly. “You’re going to be pregnant.”

  “I bet so. Maybe even with triplets,” I breathed out, catching my breath.

  ***

  The morning came, and I snuck off into the shower before Gordon got up. I kept thinking about where to host the wedding. Today we had to make things official, meaning I owed it to Stacy and Willow to let them know.

  “Lindsey?” Gordon came into the bathroom naked and looking for me.

  “Hey, I’m in this huge ass shower of yours.”

  “Ah, let me join you.” Gordon yawned and slapped his feet as he walked over to me in his huge shower room. That was what I called it. A huge shower room. This thing had enough room to hold about ten people.

  “Sure, jump in, husband.” I slid the black glass door to the side to let him in.

  “Not gonna call me ‘rich guy’, anymore?” he asked, soaping up a loofah.

  “I think hubs is much better.”

  Epilogue

  Lindsey

  This was it.

  I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  I was a housewife now. An ex-stripper.

  I stood at the entrance of Bar Seven, in my wedding dress, looking at my husband, surrounded by new and old friends. The whole place was done up in flowers and still had that bar vibe going for it. All the workers were invited, including my other fellow strippers that worked alongside me. Even Eliza came to see the wedding. Me and Gordon were going to go down as one of her most successful relationship stories.

  Remember that traditional wedding music? Yeah, no. Not at this wedding.

  I nodded my head and the music began. I danced down the aisle in my dress that was a cute asymmetrical cut. Long as hell in the back, but raised in the front. Even my fishnet stockings were showing.

  “Wow, all the weddings, huh?” Stacy said to me as I approached.

  “I know, right?”

  Willow was our officiant, and she stood proudly on stage with her bible.

  Willow cleared her throat.

  “Gordon, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Gordon smiled, “Yes.”

  “And Lindsey, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Willow turned to Gordon. “Well, hurry up, you may kiss the bride!”

  We kissed, and everyone cheered.

  That was when I learned, love doesn’t need permission to come into your life. It will walk up into your shit whether you invite it in or not. In the end, you are going to thank your lucky stars that it did.

  Thank you for reading.

  If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review. If you would like to be on Eva Luxe’s ARC team, please send a screenshot or link of your review to evaluxe@mail.com.

  Sign up to our mailing lists and receive a free steamy romance book!

  You’ll also be the first to know of new releases on 99 cent deals for a limited time,

  and lots of free books and giveaway. Love, Eva and Juliana

  Click here to sign up!

  Sold as a Fake Fiancée: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance

  Copyright © 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved

  Chapter 1 – Veronica

  Wanted: Beautiful Young Women.

  Are you a stunning, intelligent woman? Billionaires request your companionship. The compensation is just as amazing as you are. Call The Exchange Club at 555–1212 to learn more.

  I sigh as I place the Student Gazette in the center of the table.

  “Can you believe this crazy ad?” I ask my friend Stacy, as we finish up our chicken sandwiches in the student union cafeteria.

  I point it out to her with my finger and she glances at it from across the table.

  “I can’t believe the college lets someone run this ad. If it’s even real. Do you think it’s even for real?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Stacy says, her mischievous grin spreading across her freckled face.

  I giggle nervously. I know there’s no way I would ever call that number as she’s suggesting. I’m too shy. Stacy is more the type to do such a thing.

  I wouldn’t know how to entertain a billionaire. Even though I’m a freshman in college, I’ve never even had sex. I’m sure that if these billionaires are paying so handsomely, they would expect some nookie in return.

  “I’ve heard about these escort agencies that act like they’re only for dates but really they’re for prostitution,” I tell Stacy. “I bet you anything this billionaires’ ‘Exchange Club’ is a place like that.”

  “Sounds exciting,” Stacy says as she dips her fry into some Polynesian sauce. “And I bet those girls really rake in the money. I laugh. Leave it to Stacy to be humored at something I’m horrified by. I can’t imagine selling my body. Sure, it would be intriguing to be with a billionaire. I bet an older, more experienced one would be perfect when it comes to losing my virginity. He would certainly be better than any of the guys around here I’ve tried to date. All my dates have been so lame.

  The last one I went on, the guy asked me if he had to pay for my dinner— after we had already eaten and the waiter had brought the check. This is after he had spent half of the second semester asking me out every day in biology class. You would think he would’ve saved up some money by the time I finally agreed to go on a date with him.

  The only reason I said yes was because I was bored and I was thinking it may be time to give up my V card. But not to him. I really regretted saying yes just to dinner.

  I told him we could split the bill, and I didn’t make a fuss over it, but then he had the nerve to tell me that even though he knew I was a big girl he didn’t know I would eat so much. While I’m plus sized, and I like a burger and fries as much as the next girl, I hadn’t even ordered that much food. It’s these kinds of things that makes me want to swear off dating forever.

  At least a billionaire would have money to pay for dinner. And at least he probably wouldn’t make crass remarks. But I’m sure there has to be more than dinner involved at this “club” that the student newspaper is advertising. And while I’d like to sit here and fantasize about an older, much richer man having his way with me for my very first time, I can’t imagine actually doing it.

  “I bet you’re thinking about what it will be like to lose your virginity to a billionaire,” Stacy says with a laugh. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

  I blus
h and shake my head, but my smile betrays the fact that she has guessed correctly.

  “I’ll go do it with you if you want,” she says. “Check out this billionaire club. Sell my time, or my body, or whatever it is these old rich dudes are wanting to pay for.”

  “You would,” I tell her.

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Stacy asks, throwing a french fry at me.

  I catch it and then put it in the bag with my garbage.

  “Just that you’re a lot more adventurous than I am,” I tell her. “And that’s a good thing.”

  “Yeah you really need to relax and let go sometimes,” she says. “At least go on this blind date with me next Saturday night. You know I’ve been dating Scott and he wants to set you up on a double date with his friend Jerry. He’s a football player. I’m sure he’s a stud. All of Scott’s friends are.”

  “I’m kind of burned out on dates right now.”

  “Oh please,” Stacy says. “I’m setting a new rule right now. Either you have to go on this blind date with Scott and me or you have to go on a date with one of these billionaires.”

  She points her finger at the Student Gazette on the table in front of us, which is still open to the ad about the billionaires’ Exchange club.

  “Well in that case, my decision is easy,” I tell her “I guess I’ll be joining you on the blind date. And this guy better not think that I’m eating too much just by ordering a burger.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that you’ll come,” she says, as if she had given me a choice in the matter. “I know that with everything going on with your mom…”

  She doesn’t finish and I’m glad. My mom is part of the reason that I both do and do not want to go on dates with random people who probably won’t turn out to be suitable date material.

  My mom was diagnosed with cancer a year ago and her progression has been rather downhill. So, going on dates is a welcome distraction to take my mind off things but then when they don’t turn out well, I’m left feeling even more depressed than I usually am.

  “I know you’re just trying to be a good friend,” I tell Stacy, because she looks regretful that she brought up my mom and I don’t want her to feel bad. “I appreciate your help and I’ll go on this date that you want me to go on. As long as you stop bombing me with french fries.”

  “I promise I’ll stop,” she says, solemnly. “And not just because I’m out of fries. But I don’t want you to think that I’m pushing you too much or making fun of you. You’re a beautiful girl and the world is your oyster. You should be out there having fun and experimenting and exploring. But I also can understand why you’re hesitant. Especially after the crappy date with the cheap guy from biology class.”

  “So, you think I’m a beautiful young woman?” I ask her, batting my eyelashes in mock flirtation. “But what about stunning and intelligent? Those are the requirements to be with these billionaires.”

  I point again at the classified ad in the Student Gazette.

  “I deftly think you would qualify,” she says. “And you might as well be making lots of money instead of having to spend it on your own dinner with a guy who insults you.”

  “Speaking of biology class, I better get going,” I tell her, standing up and picking up my bag.

  I’m partly changing the subject but partly realizing I need to hurry to class for real. I really hope I don’t have to see that guy I went on a date with. I’m going to ask the professor if I can change seats.

  I scoop up the trash on the table so that I can throw it away. But when I pick up the Student Gazette, I don’t add it to the pile of trash. Instead I slip it in my backpack along with my cell phone which was also on the table. I’m conscious enough of this fact that I stop and think about why I did it.

  I guess a part of me is intrigued. But not intrigued enough to call that number.

  Chapter 2 – Isaac

  It’s cold when I enter my father’s house. The cheap bastard never did like to pay to keep the heat on. But I thought old age would soften him somehow, let him give in a little bit to the luxuries— or even just basic comforts— he hadn’t let himself indulge in his entire life. I guess I was wrong.

  As I walk up his creaky old stairs, my phone buzzes with a text message. It’s from Dan, one of my best friends.

  You coming to The Exchange tonight? It asks. Hear there’s gonna be some hot ass there.

  I lean against the railing and roll my eyes before responding, which is more than Dan deserves because I’ve already told him “no” a billion times.

  Not my thing, I text him back.

  I’ve never paid for sex or a woman’s company. Ever since this new club— a local branch of a national chain— opened up on Ace Boulevard, my buddies have been trying to get me to go. It’s not like it’s just a strip club— although I here you can buy lap dances if you want. It’s a club to indulge in every man’s deepest darkest fantasies. Whatever you want, you can find a girl willing to sell it to you.

  For Dan and my other buddies, this is a dream come true. They’d read about these clubs that are popping up nationwide and they even wrote to the owner of The Exchange so that we could get one in Miami.

  I understand the allure of it: paying a girl to have her do what you want, owning her because you have the money to buy her. But I think it reeks of desperation and I don’t see the need to throw away so much money on something I can get for free.

  I’ve never had a problem getting women. As I stare at my phone screen, I notice a case in point: all the other texts next to Dan’s are from women. They’re telling me what a fun time they had the other night at dinner or how they want me to fuck them again with my huge cock. They talk dirty to me, they talk sweet to me, they do anything I want and I don’t even have to pay them.

  Sure, I know they’re into me because of the money, at least in part. I can take them to the Keys for a fancy party or we can ride around on my yacht or in my private plane. I can buy them fancy dinners and take them on expensive shopping trips.

  But it also helps that I have dashing good looks—or so everybody tells me: a full head of hair which is rare at my age and a toned, sculpted body I make sure to keep in shape at the gym. The size of my cock and all the things I can do with it are selling point as well.

  I suppose I take pride in my other assets besides just my bank account. I don’t really mind when a woman wants to be with me for money because I get how human nature works and I also find that it cuts down on some of the BS when we both know exactly what we’re wanting.

  I think that girls let me do things to them that they wouldn’t let any “normal” guy do and I have an insatiable appetite for what others might call kinky or even disturbing desires. I like to tie them up and leave them begging me for more. I’m not sure they’d be so into it if it wasn’t for all my money. And that’s fine with me.

  They also know it’s just temporary, and I’m not looking for commitment. I just do fun, and adventure, and things that only rich guys can do with a girl. I don’t fucking do relationships.

  I’m not going to waste my money by going to a club where the explicit purpose is to buy girls who are probably there for some desperate reason. I would feel I was taking advantage of their vulnerability.

  I would feel that there was an unequal nature of our relationship even more so than when a girl dates me just because she knows I’m filthy rich. So I’ll let Dan and my other buddies have fun at the new club and hear all about their exploits later.

  I have plenty to do to keep me busy in the meantime. I’ve been trying to understand my father’s business because I plan to take it over. But numbers and spreadsheets have never been my strong suits. I already listed my strong suits above and they only include things below my waist, not up in my head. That’s always been fine by me but now I have to get serious and start understanding how businesses work.

  Right as I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket, I get another text from Dan.

  I have a feeling you
’ll change your mind, it says.

  Then he sends me some screenshots. Apparently, the owner of the club posted pictures of the girls on a private webpage to show off some of the goods in advance.

  Sure, the girls are hot but a bit too skinny for my liking. I like some meat on their bones that I can hold onto while I fuck them from behind. And their platinum blonde hair looks very fake. I like a natural girl who’s not afraid to be herself.

  So, I don’t even bother responding to Dan again. I finish making my way up to my dad’s bedroom where he’s in bed with a cold press on his head. I guess his caretaker had come by earlier but there’s no sight of her now.

  “How you doing, Dad?” I ask him, as I enter the room and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Good,” he says, sitting up and coughing a bit.

  But he doesn’t look good.

  He has liver failure and the doctors don’t expect him to live longer than six months. Hence why I have to hurry and get up to speed on the family business. Even though my old pa and I have never gotten along, it pains me to see him this way.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head at me and looking disgusted. “You can get yourself a wife.”

  “Not this again, Dad,” I grumble, sitting down in the chair beside his bed where his caretaker usually sits. “Can’t you just let me find a wife in my own good time?”

  “No,” he says, “Because you never will. You’re my son and I know you.”

  I chuckle because old dad is right about that one. But I can’t let him know.

  “Geez, Dad, how do you know?” I ask him. “Maybe I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready.”

  “I know because, like I said, you’re my son. Therefore, you’re part me. And this particular part of you is very much the same as I was. Imagine how much of a fortune I could have amassed if I had gotten serious earlier on in life and really cared about the business.”