Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

“You met him?” she asks.

  “I walked into his master bedroom as he was coming out of the shower in nothing but a towel.” The look on Scarlett’s face makes me laugh. “Nothing happened! I mean, he did zip up my dress…”

  Scarlett’s jaw drops and she’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Shut up! He did not!”

  I bite my lip, grinning. “He did.”

  “Why the hell was your dress unzipped?”

  I finish telling her what little else there was to the encounter as the night grows colder and the intensity of the party burns down to embers. We laugh and talk about nothing, and for at least a little while, my mind moves away from the debt and the problems in my immediate future. I’ll be talking to Scarlett’s contact at Club Crave tomorrow morning and possibly starting soon. But that’s a worry for tomorrow. Tonight, I’m perfectly fine with Mr. Steel dominating my thoughts. I just wish he was dominating more than that.

  7

  Logan

  My driver parks behind Club Crave’s private entrance. I step out of the car, slipping on the simple leather mask that covers my eyes and the top of my nose. Even before I had a desire to protect my identity, I always chose to wear a mask here. The thrill of anonymity and the extra degree of control always gave another layer to my enjoyment. Control. It’s what drives me. It’s what I thrive on.

  Dean is already waiting for me. Club Crave is a simple building from the outside. Unassuming. Red brick, blacked out windows, and nothing to mark it as a favorite spot of the filthy rich and filthy minded. Dean wears a mask similar to mine, but I would recognize what little I can see of his face anywhere. He smirks at me and claps me on the shoulder.

  “Logan Steel is back on the prowl. Women beware,” says Dean. “How does it feel?” he asks. Something in his tone irks me. It’s a little patronizing, maybe, but I can’t be bothered right now. I have other things on my mind.

  I straighten my jacket and tie, fixing him with a hard glare. I’m not in a mood to joke or banter. I’ve waited too long for this. My body hums with energy, cock already hard and pulsing. I have to grit my teeth to hold back the anticipation, the burning need to dominate. I push past Dean, leaving him at the entrance.

  The club is full, doms and subs on full display even in the lobby. The walls are deep black polished stone marbled with white. Flickering red candlelight illuminates the room, casting everything in a sensual scarlet color. I move past security, flashing the pin on my lapel that marks me as a member. I’ve still been paying the exorbitant membership fee all these years, despite not knowing if I would ever come back. Canceling my membership would have felt too permanent, and I think I always knew I would come back.

  A dom in an expensive suit and leather mask walks by, dragging his sub by the diamond-encrusted collar wrapped around her neck. She follows, hands folded in front of her submissively. Her dress is nearly transparent, and she wears only a thin black thong. Another dom is reclining while a sub rubs her small hand up his thigh and squeezes his cock. A blonde stands and watches them with a look of irritation. My guess is he’s punishing her for something, but the sub is doing a poor job of hiding how much her punishment is turning her on.

  I breathe in deeply through my nose. All the old heat and energy of this place seeps into me. Whether I find a sub or not tonight, just being back is good. I’ve repressed this for too long. I need it.

  I see Dean passing through the lobby of the club, toward a pretty young redhead wearing a sleek dress with deep cuts up the sides that don’t leave anything to the imagination. He leans in close, speaking to her softly as she nods her head obediently. When he walks back to me, she follows closely behind him, keeping her eyes downcast.

  “New sub?” I ask him.

  He nods. “Ava has a habit of misbehaving. We were just establishing the newer, more strict rules for tonight. I was very clear about the consequences, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she says meekly.

  Dean favors her with a light dragging of his fingertip down her jawline. The corner of her mouth pulls up in a satisfied smile, and Dean hisses in a quick breath. “Your ass is mine for that later.”

  Her cheeks redden and she bites her lip.

  Dean sighs, shaking his head, but not completely hiding the grin on his mouth. “Training this one hasn’t been easy.”

  I nod distractedly, eyes scanning the room. I still remember when I was first introduced to the lifestyle. I learned early the most important element of a dominant and submissive relationship is communication of desires. The line between enjoyment and abuse is an easy one to cross, and it’s a line I don’t take lightly. I’ve always been careful, which gave me all the more reason to be pissed when Lana claimed I had abused her.

  What a bunch of bullshit.

  I’ve never found enjoyment in causing pain. When I punish a sub, it’s not her pain that turns me on. I’m driven by the complete trust required for a healthy relationship between a dominant and his submissive. When a woman gives complete trust and control to me, the power is like a drug. All I want to do with the power is explore her limits and bring her to new levels of pleasure she’s never found. That’s what it is for me. Just like I enjoy pushing myself to the absolute limit in my business, I like to bring women to theirs in the bedroom. I like to watch them learn what they’re capable of and love every second of it.

  I move away from Dean and his sub, drawn toward a young woman near the edge of the lobby, where a dark hallway leads to some of the public pleasure rooms. I can tell from her outfit she’s new and uncomfortable. Fresh. The thought sends a burst of predatory excitement through me.

  She’s talking to Madam Montpierre and nodding her head obediently as the Madam explains something in her slow, elegant way. I slowly move closer, ears straining to hear the conversation.

  “...will under no circumstances do anything to damage the atmosphere. No matter who you are out there, here you play a role. You are a submissive. They say, you do.” Madam Montpierre pulls a white set of dangling earrings from her bag and hands them to the girl, who takes them questioningly. “Put these on. They make it clear to our members what you are and aren’t comfortable with. White means you’re new to BDSM and aren’t interested in any hard bondage, scat, bloodplay, or most of the other more exotic tastes some of our clients may have.”

  The girl swallows, turning slightly and giving me the first clear glimpse of her face. Emmaline? It’s the same woman from my party who wandered into my bedroom. Fuck. My already hard cock twitches. I wanted her from the moment I set eyes on her. Having her just a few feet away from my play room was almost too much temptation. But if she was an employee like she said, I wasn’t going to risk getting involved, no matter how badly I may have wanted to, even though I was fairly sure she was bullshitting me.

  She wore a relatively modest dress at the party, only giving me the slightest glimpse of her cleavage and the smooth curve of her hips. Her clothes tonight are equally modest, and are bordering on offensively conservative in this setting. She wears a red dress that’s entirely opaque and only dips slightly in the chest. The dress ends a few inches above her knees.

  “I thought I was just here for show,” says Emmaline. The way her voice is full of hesitation and fear makes me want to reach out and put her at ease. “You make it sound like…”

  Madam Montpierre tilts her head slightly. “Our clientele is not accustomed to the concept of something being out of reach. Our guests typically bring their own partners and will leave you alone unless you are out of line. Cases of guests wanting more from employees are… rare, but not unheard of.”

  Emmaline nods, but her chest is heaving. I love the way she gets breathless so easily. If I had her in my play room, I would blindfold her, lay her out naked, and bind her to my bed. I can imagine how her chest would heave with anticipation as I teased and tempted her, the way her nipples would harden into nubs for me. Fuck. I have to have her.

  “What if I’m not comfortable. I mean,
what if one of them wants to do something with me and I don’t want to?” asks Emmaline.

  The Madam smiles reassuringly. “You’re always in control. Remember that. But keep in mind, we’re selling the fantasy that you’re not. Do your best to go along with whatever a guest wants to the best of your ability. That’s all I ask.”

  Emmaline nods, licking her lips. I watch her little pink tongue flick over her lush lips and almost can’t contain myself. I need to have her.

  “What did you mean when you said they would leave me alone unless I got out of line?” asks Emmaline.

  “Like I said earlier, avoid eye contact. Do not move too close to members. Assume submissive posture. Only speak when spoken to. All guests should be addressed as Sir or Ma'am unless they instruct you otherwise.”

  “Right,” says Emmaline.

  “You’ll be fine, honey. Just remember, you’re here for atmosphere primarily. Circulate the room. Be responsive when guests engage with you, and relax. Oh, and don’t dress so modestly. You can grab something from the back for tonight. That dress won’t do.”

  Emmaline looks down in confusion. I love the way her forehead wrinkles with worry. She tucks her silky black hair over her shoulder and licks her lips nervously. “Okay…”

  I watch as Madam Montpierre leads Emmaline through the hallway and toward a back room. I realize Dean has slid up beside me.

  “I know that look,” he says. His sub is a foot behind him, eyes down and hands clasped in front of her.

  “It’s her first day,” I say.

  He whistles appreciatively. “She’s sexy in an innocent sort of way too. You may want to move fast before someone else breaks her in.”

  I growl under my breath.

  I try to keep my mind open for the next hour. I let Dean talk me into watching a public scene in one of the play rooms. A thin, willowy woman with blonde hair lets two masked men strap her to the ceiling by her wrists and ankles. They take turns with her, drawing out her pleasure inch by inch, making her shake with anticipation before they finally plunge inside her. My mind is elsewhere though, and threesomes never interested me. I’m drawn to the intensity that can only exist between two people. Two minds locked in the delicate play of domination and submission, pushing and pulling to reach the perfect balance where pleasure, fear, and pain all become one.

  The woman is moaning loudly when I see a flash of gold pass by the hallway outside. I’m up and following before Dean can say anything to stop me. I step into the hallway, feeling my breath hitch when I see her. Emmaline. She’s wearing a sequined gold dress with a transparent cutout that goes wide from her shoulder blades to a narrow point just beneath where the crease of her perfect ass begins. My cock hardens immediately, already aching painfully from so much pent up desire and no release. I move behind her, evaluating how she’s holding her head too high and her back too straight. Too confident. Her eyes wander the room boldly, begging for someone to pull her aside and punish her.

  She stops just inside the lobby and turns, eyes meeting mine directly.

  Someone needs to teach her a lesson.

  8

  Emmaline

  A masked man in a grey suit and black undershirt stands in the hallway, watching me. He wears a half mask that covers his eyes and part of his nose, but I can tell from the little of his face I can see that he’s breathtaking. The suit fits him unbelievably well, emphasizing the lines and form of his masculine frame. His eyes bore into mine and I realize a split second too late that I was staring. Do not make eye contact or a guest may deem it appropriate to punish you. My hands clench at my sides and I slowly turn, trying to walk away before he has time to decide to punish me for my boldness.

  I’ve only taken two steps when a strong hand grips my arm, turning me around.

  He’s standing inches from me, looking down with an unreadable expression. “Come,” he says simply.

  You may refuse any request that makes you uncomfortable. Madam Montpierre was very clear about that, but I find my curiosity overpowering my fear. There’s a power to the moment. A power to him. It’s something tangible and thick. It’s undeniable and as irresistible as ice cold lemonade on a hot day.

  So for once in my life, I don’t resist. I let the current take me. I let him take me.

  He leads me by the arm down the dark hallway to the back and up the stairs. Toward the private rooms. My throat goes dry. What is he planning? I know there is security stationed throughout the building, and nothing can happen to me I don’t want, but the knowledge doesn’t stop fear and panic from rippling through me.

  He says nothing until we’ve reached a private room and stepped inside. He closes the door behind me and I’m left with nothing to do but take in the scene. Leather straps dangle from a hook in the ceiling. There’s a table that looks like it came from a chiropractor’s office, a rack of whips, paddles, chains, handcuffs, and silk ties on one wall. Another wall displays butt plugs, clamps, spreaders, and other devices I can’t begin to guess what they are used for.

  He steps close to me, caressing my cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes drop to my earrings.

  “White,” he says thoughtfully. The way his voice rasps in my ear like gravel sends heat blossoming from my chest to my core. It’s a vaguely familiar voice, but I can’t place where I’ve heard it. He exudes control and power, and my body responds to it. “Someone needs to teach you your place.”

  He pauses, and I realize it’s his way of making sure I want this. He’s giving me a chance to back out, to escape. I could smile politely and slip out right now with no harm done, but I don’t want to. The tingle of electric excitement across my skin has me more than curious. It has me hungry. I already feel something I’ve never felt before.

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “Someone should teach me.”

  He bites his lip and I’m transfixed as I watch his bottom lip flick back out from beneath those white teeth. I want to feel those lips against mine. I want his heat.

  “Red means you want me to stop, yellow means slow down. Do you understand?”

  Safe words. Yes. He’s giving me the safe words. The thought that things might get so intense that I would need them sends a fresh jolt of excitement through me. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good.” He moves to the wall with paddles and whips, walking slowly as he drags a finger along them. He settles on a paddle, unhooking it from the rack and flipping it once in his hand before nodding with satisfaction. “This will serve,” he says.

  His eyes meet mine and I nod, sucking in long, ragged breaths. My heart pounds and I’m already so wet I can feel it soaking my panties. I’ve never been so turned on and he has barely even laid a finger on me.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

  I find myself obeying without question, as if his words are as strong as his hands, forcing me into submission. My palms slide up the smooth wall. I’m still playing mental catch-up, replaying the last hours rapidly, trying to put my finger on the precise point where my relatively normal life took such a strange turn. I push down the thought that I’m selling myself. Five grand a week and I’m willing to enter a private room with a stranger and become the object of his desires?

  It’s not just about the money though. Money may have given me a push in this direction, but the reason I went through with it was deeper than that. I’ve spent my life watching my relationships fall to pieces because sex feels like a joyless exercise to me. When Scarlett described the club, a deep longing rose up in me. A deep, irresistible curiosity that I had to sate. I needed to know if this was the missing piece.

  My thoughts are ripped back to the present by the touch of the rubber paddle being dragged from my neck down my spine to my bottom. His fingertips graze my thigh, pulling my dress up over the swell of my ass. Goosebumps prickle across my exposed skin. My fingertips dig into the wall and I squeeze my eyes shut, biting my lip hard. I’m putting myself at his complete and total mercy, letting him have control, and it
feels good. Fuck. It feels fantastic.

  His lips brush my neck, hot and wet, making me gasp. Smack! I jump, pressing my cheek into the wall as the circle of pain pulses on my ass where he hit me with the paddle. He soothingly rubs his hand over the spot, melting away the tingle of pain with his warmth.

  “That was for making eye contact,” he growls into my ear.

  I whimper, fighting back the urge to turn my head and look into his eyes, to kiss his lips. Giving in feels too good. It feels so right that I don’t want it to stop.

  His hand slips between my legs, cupping my wet panties. “So fucking wet,” he says, voice full of lust. “You would love to have my fat cock inside you, but you don’t deserve it. Not yet. You’ll have to learn to behave first.”

  I hear him walk away and wait, every nerve on my body tingling in expectation. At first I think it’s a tease. I think maybe he’s just dragging this out to make me want it more. It’s working, you beautiful asshole.

  There’s a long pause but I’m afraid to look. Then I hear his quick footsteps pass me and the door opens. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me trembling, dress hiked up over my hips. I step away from the wall, confused and hurt.

  What?

  I follow after him, but he’s already at the other end of the hallway, stepping down the stairs when I leave the room. I follow toward the lobby and see him leaving the club without looking back. He just left? Did I do something wrong? I spend the rest of the night sulking around the club in a haze, wondering what I could have done to make him leave.

  “I’ve never felt like that,” I say to Scarlett as we pack a box full of onsies. This shipment is going to Florida, and it gives me chills to think my business has grown so far already. Those chills are followed by something verging on nausea when I realize how quickly I could crumble beneath the weight of it all if I don’t keep working at Club Crave.