Billionaire Bad Boys

by Holly Hart

  So, without further ado, here it is:

  Charlie turns his head slowly.

  There’s a light in his eyes: a fire. I can tell what he’s thinking. Did she really just say that?

  “Run that one by me again,” he says, eyebrow kinked. “Just so I know I didn’t hear you wrong.”

  “You didn’t. I want to spice things up,” I say.

  My cheeks immediately adopt their usual blushing heat. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over my awkwardness about sex. That awkwardness, though, is only skin-deep. The truth is, I’m mad about Charlie. I’ve never met a man like him.

  Some couples claim they never argue. I don’t know if that’s true about Charlie and me. We argue. Sure, from time to time he does something that just grinds my gears.

  But the one thing we never have is resentment. We argue, and then – like a spring squall – the irritation is gone, never to return.

  And the sex.

  Oh, boy – the sex.

  I guess some girls like to shop around before they settle down with a man. The truth is that I never needed to. The first time Charlie Thorne made me come, I was already his wife. A year has gone by, and he still hasn’t stopped.

  “No, really,” Charlie says, a slow grin beginning to creep across his face. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  I shoot my lover and husband a scowl. “Shut up. You heard exactly what I said.”

  Charlie takes a step towards me. He glances over his shoulder, just checking that Tilly’s not about to walk into the kitchen and interrupt us. She’s in her room, packing her rucksack ready for a full day of school.

  “So,” he growls, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. I trace the movement with my eyes, already feeling the telltale signs of arousal beginning to come on inside me. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Later,” I whisper anxiously, glancing down the hallway.

  Tilly might have just passed her twelfth birthday, but that’s still no kind of age to be hearing her father – and adopted mother – discuss the kind of naughtiness that I have on my mind.

  “You’re killing me, Pen…” Charlie groans.

  I wink back at my husband. “It’ll be worth the wait…”

  “You’re not taking Tilly to school today?” I tease the second Charlie’s daughter disappears behind the closing elevator doors.

  The lift’s mechanism whirrs into action, spiriting Tilly down forty floors in a matter of seconds.

  I catch a glimpse of Charlie through my dancing red fringe. What’s he doing –?

  I don’t have to wait long to find out. He drives towards me, a look of single-minded, lustful intent on his face. I take a step back, but Charlie’s too fast. His hands settle on my hips, and he presses me forward, carrying me until my back meets the cool glass of the penthouse wall.

  For a second, memory fills my mind.

  I remember Charlie doing this the first time we were alone together. I glance at my shoulder, and see the same sight – New York falling away beneath me. The sprawling city induces the same sense of dizzying vertigo now as it did then.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, biting my lip as Charlie’s palm grazes the side of my torso.

  “I want to know what’s on your mind,” he growls. “What are you thinking, you minx?”

  Charlie steals my breath away.

  He still looks at me with exactly the same awe as he did the first time I told him I was a virgin. I’ve never felt the way I do when I see this particular light in Charlie Thorne’s glittering gray eyes.

  It’s a light that tells me there is absolutely nothing other than me on my husband’s mind. It’s a kind of power in its own way, I guess.

  I turn my head away, hiding a half-smile. “Now I come to think of it,” I say, fighting against my breathy lungs. “Maybe we’re spicy enough. Don’t you have –?”

  Charlie scrapes his morning stubble against my neck and kisses me where it stings. “Don’t you dare say work, Penny. I’ve cleared my schedule. I’m home all day. Ella’s under strict instructions not to disturb me And you know why?”

  “Why?” I whisper, still feigning disinterest.

  I already know the answer. Charlie’s not going to let me play him. Not today. He’s burning up with desire. I feel the heat of it on my cheeks, even from the warmth of his breath as it tickles against my neck.

  “Because I’m going to fuck you,” Charlie says, a look of wicked, delighted pleasure creeping across his face. “Tear those pajamas off your perfect, freckled skin. Pick you up against this glass, if I have to, and bury my head between your legs.”

  I nod my head before I know what I’m doing.

  “Yes,” I say. The word escapes my lips like a whispered moan. “Yes, do that.”

  There’s no embarrassment on my cheeks now. There’s heat, though. The heat of burning desire. Charlie’s description of what he wants to do to me is all that I can think about.

  Charlie drags his palm back down my side, shaping his fingernails into a soft, teasing claw. He uses it to scrape my skin beneath the thin cotton fabric of my pajama top, then drags it lower, between my legs, and grinds his palm against my burning slit.

  “Not until you tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmurs. He leans forward, nibbling my earlobe, and I feel the heat of his breath licking at my ear. It tickles. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” I whisper.

  I exhale slowly, trying to figure out how to say this. The idea has been on the tip of my tongue for the last couple of days. Charlie’s body is still as magnificent as it was a year ago – almost to the day I met him.

  He makes me come every night, and sometimes every morning as well.

  But I want more.

  Charlie Thorne has unlocked something inside me – a devil, driving me on. I want to experience things that would’ve made me blush just weeks ago. I want to set my soul free.

  “What would you do to me?” I ask, unable to tear my mind away from the touch of Charlie’s palm against my mound, or from the heat of his skin against mine. “If you could do anything, what would you do?

  “That’s not fair,” Charlie groans, tipping his head back and rolling his neck. “You first.”

  The heat of embarrassment returns, just for a second, flushing my neck and cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s the only way I’ll be able to do this.

  “I want you to tie me up,” I admit.

  My knees go weak as I say the words.

  “You want me to do what?” Charlie chokes.

  For a second, I can’t figure out the tone in his voice. Is he disgusted, or –

  “Oh, yes, Penny,” Charlie growls. “Fuck yes. You read my mind.”

  “And –”

  I squeeze my eyes shut again, turning away. The embarrassment is real now. It feels like a person right here in this empty penthouse with us. If anyone heard me saying things like this, I’d want the ground to swallow me up, right then and there.

  “And?” Charlie’s voice teases me, throaty with desire.

  “I want you to talk dirty to me,” I say.

  Hell, by the time the words come out of my mouth, my voice is weak. My voice cracks like a boy going through puberty, but I do my best to push on.

  “I already do,” Charlie says. He sounds surprised. “Don’t I?”

  I nod my head vigorously. “You do,” I whisper. “But I want more. I want you to, to –”

  I feel Charlie move a couple of inches. Then the heat of his breath on the side of my neck. I feel him lean forward once again so his lips near my ear.

  “You want me to treat you like my little slut, don’t you Penny?” Charlie growls. He sounds like he barely believes his own luck.

  My knees go weak, and I lean on the glass behind me for support. Charlie’s the only thing holding me up.

  “Yes…”

  I freeze.

  “Where are you?” I whisper.

  The silk blindfold blocks out every l
ast scrap of light. I have no idea where Charlie got it on such short notice – or the silk rope that binds my ankles and wrists.

  Is there a billionaire’s concierge service that deals with weird requests like this? I should ask –

  “You’re going to be my little whore, aren’t you Penny?” Charlie growls.

  His voice is powerful and commanding. Right at the start, I think I detect a slight hint of apprehension before he says the word “whore.”

  It fills me with happiness. I know that Charlie would never treat a woman this way unless – like me – they downright begged for it.

  Even then, he’s too good a man to do it without just a second’s hesitation.

  I nod.

  “Use your words, slut,” Charlie says.

  My eyes are covered, but I can imagine the wicked smile that’s creeping across his face as he says it. The truth is, the image of Charlie Thorne my mind conjures up isn’t even close to being as sexy as the real thing.

  “Yes,” I groan.

  I press my legs together, trying to do what I can to encourage the fire building between them without the use of my bound hands.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes…” I say, scrabbling around the furthest reaches of my mind. What does Charlie want me to say? Then, like a bolt from the blue, I realize. A memory from right after we first met. “Yes, boss…”

  “Better,” Charlie says with approval.

  The bed’s silk sheets hiss as Charlie kneels down on it. I feel my body shift, falling into the well Charlie is creating with his thick, muscular weight.

  “You’re a hot little slut, you know that Penny?” Charlie whispers, scraping his fingernail down the front of my body.

  “I am?” I moan.

  Charlie moves his finger excruciatingly slowly. I’m wearing nothing but the sluttiest pair of panties and a bra I could find in my wardrobe. After a year of living with my husband – and of receiving the hot little presents he likes to give me – that particular wardrobe is pretty full!

  I arch my back up, straining to touch Charlie, to make him touch me.

  “Tell me what you want, Penny,” Charlie says, whispering into my ear.

  His voice is hoarse and gruff. He is acting completely in control – and truthfully, I’m impressed with his self-restraint – but I know my husband well enough to hear the desire his tone is laced with.

  “You,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut even beneath the blindfold.

  “Me what?”

  “I want you to – lick me out,” I yelp.

  I hate it when Charlie makes me give voice to my desires like this. Hate it – and love it.

  Even after all this time, I still feel like the same awkward, nervous little virgin Charlie married. The truth is, I’m anything but. We’ve done things together – naughty things – that I never knew existed. Hell, he’s fucked me up against this very glass wall, for all of New York to watch.

  If they were looking that is. Through binoculars…

  “Good,” Charlie says. His voice hums with lust. “Good girl.”

  He strokes my stomach with approval. I want to curl up and die right then and there – because I would die happy. In any other context, from any other man, I’d recoil from a comment like that with disgust.

  But from Charlie? The man I love? The man I can’t stop desiring? It makes my desire explode, like a wall of flame coursing through my veins.

  “And you know what good girls get,” Charlie says. He scrapes his fingernails down either side of my torso, and I moan with delight.

  “Their reward.”

  Charlie hooks his thumbs underneath my red lace panties. I picked them out specially to match my hair. I know they are his favorite.

  I wish I could watch, but my prison of darkness adds a layer of spice to this that I have craved for so long. I’m on edge, straining. Waiting. Desiring.

  I’m forced to rely on my other senses: the faintest hint of Charlie’s spicy, floral aftershave that wafts through the air, the feeling of my husband’s heat radiating against my skin, the sound of –

  A snip.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as I feel a looseness around my hips.

  “Your ankles are tied together,” Charlie replies, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So I had to cut your panties off…”

  My mouth drops open. I hear a second snicking sound, and then the cool kiss of air conditioning against my pussy. I squirm, pressing my legs together. Suddenly I feel so vulnerable, so exposed. Charlie’s got me exactly how he wants me: tied up, powerless, completely at his mercy.

  It’s a terrifying thought.

  And very, very exciting.

  “Tell me what to do,” Charlie says.

  My eyebrows kink underneath the soft silk blindfold. I have no idea what Charlie means –

  – And then I do.

  He kisses the slit between my legs first. I part my still bound legs to make space. My knees bow outwards like the hole of the hand-carved rowboat.

  But Charlie doesn’t move.

  He stays there, his lips barely grazing my wetness. I arch my back once more, and my hips rise slightly off the silk sheets in my desire to experience the magic of my husband’s tongue.

  But Charlie doesn’t move.

  I moan with protest, practically begging him to touch me. And then it strikes me. Exactly what Charlie wants me to do.

  Tell him what to do.

  “Lick me,” I moan, my cheeks burning red. “From bottom to top.”

  Charlie does exactly as he’s ordered. He licks my pussy from bottom to top – slowly, so slowly every nerve ending cries out with pleasure in turn before he moves. The heat of his tongue mixes with the heat of my desire.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”

  Charlie doesn’t. He stays there, like my own personal sex robot, my own personal slave. His tongue moves with metronomic, well-trained precision.

  A flash of pleasure, before it recedes.

  Another flash, and another.

  Slowly my breathing changes. It becomes more ragged. Goosebumps break out across my skin like the first seedlings of spring. I picture myself from above – blindfolded and bound, red hair streaming like a brush fire on the cream silk sheets.

  “Now faster,” I moan as my pleasure begins to build like a rising tide. “And –”

  Charlie freezes, awaiting my next command. I can’t let him stop. I’m so close to the edge. Every nerve ending, every muscle is screaming out for release. I’m so tense, my body wound up like a spring. I’m ready to explode.

  “Squeeze my ass,” I yelp.

  I have no idea why I asked Charlie to do that, but I do. It just feels right. I can’t see, but I can imagine every hair on Charlie’s head, even the look of desire painted on his face.

  I want to feel him squeezing my ass, pushing it up and into his face. I want to feel the heat of his lips and nose and cheek pressed right up against my pussy.

  And my wish is Charlie Thorne’s command.

  He slides his hands up the back of my thighs – slow, steady, but hard and unyielding. He squeezes my ass, digging in with his fingernails, and presses my weight upward like it’s nothing, like my entire body is a feather.

  “Keep going,” I moan. “Don’t stop!”

  Charlie does. And he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

  My hands are bound at the wrists, they rest on my front. I pick them up and place them on Charlie’s head.

  If I could, I’d dig my fingernails into his hair. But this is the next best thing.

  My head tips back, I arch my body and push my hips into Charlie’s face.

  “I’m going to –”

  Come.

  A blackness overtakes me. And yet fireworks as well. Both, all at once. Every inch of my skin feels like it’s on fire.

  “That was your turn,” Charlie growls. “Now it’s mine.”

  “What are you going to do?” I whimper.

  All the tension h
as drained out of my body. The orgasm has left me feeling light as a feather. I feel like I could rise up like a balloon and just float off right here and now. Hell, it’s hard to even think. Little aftershocks are still crackling around my body.

  Between my legs.

  Around my nipples, which stand like two proud mountains atop my heaving breasts.

  Even deep inside my core.

  “Whatever the fuck I want,” Charlie laughs. “It’s your turn to be my little slut.”

  “Good,” I whisper.

  God, I love Charlie’s dirty talk. This isn’t the first time he’s talked rough in bed – but he’s certainly never called me something like his little slut before!

  I love it.

  It makes me feel filthy and wanted, all at once. It stokes the flames of my desire; it makes me desperate to do whatever it takes to make my lover come.

  I can’t describe it. I know it shouldn’t be the case. I should be a proud, strong feminist. I should recoil when someone uses a word like that. But I don’t. I’m not going to. Because when Charlie says it, he says it with love.

  What I’m thinking, Charlie’s moving.

  “Turn over,” he says.

  I’m still processing his gruff, commanding voice when I feel the warmth of his hands on my hips. Charlie flips me over in one. The impact of my breasts meeting the mattress knocks the wind out of me.

  “What are –?”

  I stop talking. It doesn’t matter what Charlie’s about to do. Because whatever it is, it’s not to me: it’s with me.

  My last orgasm is still wriggling around my body when Charlie grabs my hips once more. He pulls me back, so my ass is in front of him.

  The darkness begins to irritate me. I can’t see where my body is, or where Charlie’s making me go. I can’t see the desire on his face. I can’t even see the mattress in front of me!

  But I know better than to ask him to remove my blindfold. In fact, that’s the last thing I want. The darkness is intoxicating. It adds another dimension to all of this.

  Charlie’s belt clinks. I jeans falling down his legs. Damn, I wish I could see it. I love watching my husband undress. Every day, he just gets sexier. I don’t know how I got so lucky.

  Charlie reaches forward and thrusts his fingers between my legs, probing my soaking pussy.