ROMANCE: Billion Dollar Question (BWWM Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (African American Alpha Mail Order Bride New Adult)

by Aisha Brooks

  When they considered me, they saw my potential and gave me a chance. Lucky for them that they did, because I have doubled the worth of company’s share. But I am not here to talk about work and business. I am here to tell you about the one thing that terrified me and almost shattered me, and how I got there. And here it goes:

  As the driver opened the door of the limousine for me, I stepped out of the car. Like I said, I knew how to make an entrance. It was one leg at a time, so even getting out of the car was a tease show. The club I loved was frequented by celebrities, elites, socialites, etc., and the paparazzi were permanently staged outside at night. I was not making headlines in the People magazine, but there were several social magazines that I graced weekly (and not always in a good way), but I knew what the rule of the scene was: ‘any publicity is good publicity.’

  As I walk in to the doors, the guards step aside and let me in, then quickly get back in position and block the entrance. I hear an insult or two hurled at me by the people waiting in line, but my motto has always been, ‘Bitch, I am too cool to care!” And it has served me well.

  I make it straight to the bar and order a bottle of vodka. I am practical girl, I deal with all sorts of people in office all the time, but other than work, I literally can’t stand people. The only people I can stand include my brother, my driver Lebovitz, and a few intellectual and well-mannered friends.

  Hey, do not judge me! I can be on the scene and be smart at the same time. So, I do my usual, take shot after shot until I am numb enough to put up with the sort of crowd on the scene. As my mind starts to go numb, I head toward the dance floor.

  On the way to the dance floor, I pass by the white trash girl who talked shit about me. The second person I see is my ex who cheated on me. It is most definitely a coincidence, for me at least.

  His face lights up as he sees me, but I pretend not to see him. Remember the other rule, drink only enough that you are numb and can put up with bullshit, but ‘never’ ever drink enough that you would lose your game even for a second.

  I walk right past him. I realize he is walking my way and I do not want to have a conversation of any kind with him, so I head straight up to the black college guy who has been eyeing me since I sat at the bar, and has even taken off his shirt to show off his abs, and lock lips with him.

  Walking straight up to a guy and locking lips with him will not work for everyone, and, in this town, there is a 99% chance of rejection if you are walking up to a black guy. This town is not racist, but black girls are what black guys generally go for here. And I happen to be the black ‘it’ girl that has every black guy falling all over her. I lock lips if I want to, and it works like a charm.

  We dance for a while and I turn around and grind my Beyoncé ass against the college boy. I usually do this to get an idea about the package, and walk away if I see I am in for a disappointment. I feel his cock, not much in length (7 inches, average) but definitely thick, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my ex still waiting for an opportunity to come talk to me. So, I turn around, grab the college boy by the waist, put my lips close to his ears, and ask:

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Mine,” he says.

  We make-out our way to the car. The boy sure is getting frisky with me. The driver is already there with the door open, and I slide in on my back and the college boy jumps in over me as the driver closes the door and gets back in his seat.

  “Where to, ma’am?” ask the driver.

  “Where to?” I ask the college guy, kneeing his cock gently.

  He tells the address and brings his mouth back to mine.

  Chapter 2: Regular, Occasionally Horrible Mornings (Life – 2)

  It is about 6 in the morning when I wake up. The sun is shining in brightly through the dorm room windows. I squint to see better, and feel a heaviness in my chest. Then I realize the heaviness is not in my chest, it is on my chest. The college guy is naked, I am still dressed (minus the undies), and his cock is still pressed against my clitoris. Boy, the last night sure seems hazy.

  I slide out carefully from underneath him. I want to be out of the dormitory before anyone here wakes up and sees me. I reach into my purse and take out a pre-written sticky note.

  “Thank you, I had so much fun.

  I really have to go.

  Love,

  V.”

  I stick the note on his mirror, and then fix my hair before I leave. I take one last look at myself, realize he has cummed all over my Dior dress, curse him silently, and slip out.

  Luckily, I keep an extra pair of my work clothes in the limo. I tell the driver to head straight to Starbucks, get me my coffee, and then head straight to the office. I change in the car and relieve my hangover with the coffee on the way.

  My mornings are like this now. They were not always like this, but since I became junior executive, I have been partying a bit too hard, although I have been partying hard since college since the day I realized I can party hard and keep up my grades at the same time.

  So, there are a few different types of mornings I have. There are mornings when I wake up, look at the guy I am with, get turned on, have him fuck me again, then lie in his arms until I have to leave for work. Then there are mornings when I wake up, look at the guy, and leave. And, finally, there are mornings like this one. They are less like mornings and more like mistakes, so I leave before the guy wakes up.

  This does not include the mornings I have at my own home. At home, I have breakfast with Jackson (whenever we are both home), but mostly one of us is at some stranger’s place, and the other has a stranger at home. This works well for both of us, because these navy guys literally know how to fuck the shit out of someone, and if he has a date, I do not want to be home and up all night to hear it.

  Finding a date is not hard for my brother, because he is handsome, gorgeous, well-endowed (according to all my friends who had sex with him), and in the navy. Since this is a navy town, there are plenty of navy guys, and we have all heard of the extensive trainings they go through and the massive stamina they have.

  All chicks here dig the navy guys, but not me. It would be awkward if I end up leaving a note to a guy whom my brother knows or turns out to be friends with. I avoid the navy guys, and so far I have managed not to have sex with any of them.

  After another hectic day at work, I went home to take a shower, changed my outfit, then went to the same club again. I had downed half a bottle of wine already, had a cute guy interested in me and eyeing me up, and was about to go home with him. But then I realized it would be my 4th night in a row, and although it is not something that bothers me, I sort of felt like I just wanted to be home. I wanted to spend a night in my bed without a cock up my pussy. I was exhausted and bored from the redundancy of my sad routine. I had to break the chain, which was what I did every few days. So, I texted my brother.

  “Hey, Jackass, coming home tonight?”

  “Ver, hiiii, already home. Sup, darling?”

  “Nothing much, the usual. Got a date?”

  “Ah, no. Wasn’t feeling like it.”

  “Yeah, me neither. I am coming home.”

  “Alright, see you soon, sis.”

  So, I pulled the guy into the restroom and we made straight for the stall. He pushed me down on the seat and pulled out his cock. The entire 7.5 inches standing at attention. I looked up at him and saw him look at me quizzically.

  “What?” I said.

  “Suck it, baby” he said, getting all macho.

  I grabbed his nuts and gave them a little squeeze, “That’s not how it goes with me, baby. I am the boss.”

  I pulled him down and locked lips with him. He pulled down my pants, rolled on a condom, spat on his cock, and slowly entered me. He pressed me against the wall and started fucking me slowly.

  In less than two minutes, he turned into a fuck machine, was panting heavily, sweating, and fucking me hard. Then he moaned, pulled out, and the whole thing was over in less than 7 minutes.

>   “See you later,” I said as I exited the stall.

  “Wait!” he said.

  I heard him, I heard him all right, but I am too good at pretending not to hear. And I was not planning to see him again either. So I exited the restroom, made for the bar, downed a drink, and asked for the bill. I usually pay with the card but I could not wait to go back home so I paid in cash, left the club, and asked the driver to take me home.

  “Calling it a night early, huh?” said Lebovitz. That was the driver’s name.

  “Yeah, feel like not partying tonight,” I said lazily.

  “One of those days… hmm,” he said.

  Lebovitz was sort of family. He had been driving me since I joined the company, and when I got promoted, I specifically asked for him. In a way, he was family. I could talk to Lebovitz about anything without having to explain, because he pretty much knew about everything in my life, what I did, where I went, etc.

  Chapter 3: One of Those Days

  I get back home and decide to ditch the usual microwave dinner and cook a proper meal for Jackson and myself. By the time I serve the meal, Jackson is already in bed watching T.V. I literally drag him out of the bed and push him to the table so that we can have dinner together.

  The original plan was to spend quality time with my brother, but having to drag him along to the table has left me exhausted and him feeling rather awkward. I try forcing a fake conversation but it fails, so we eat in silence. After a while, he speaks.

  “So, what’s the occasion, what are we celebrating?”

  “Nothing really, just wanted to be home and have quality time with the only family I have,” I say.

  “Oh, one of those days, huh?” he says.

  He helps me clear up the table, and while I do the dishes, he shows up with a pack of beer.

  “Care to join me?” he says, bowing all the way down.

  “Yeah, sure, what’s the occasion?” I say, and then add, “Sure, why not.”

  I stop doing the dishes and we go to the garden in the back of our house and sit on the steps. He opens a can of beer and hands it to me, and then opens one for himself.

  For a while we just sit there, drinking beer, enjoying the silence, watching the night, the stars, and enjoying the breeze. Jackson takes hold of my hand without looking at me, and we sit like that for another while. He lets go of my hand.

  “Here we are…” he says, staring at the tree in front of him.

  “Here we are…” I say.

  “How far have we come?” he says, “Pretty far, huh?”

  “Hey, we have done very well.”

  “Do you ever think about it?”

  “About…?” I ask. I know what he means. He is talking about the accident that killed our parents, but I still need to hear it. Hearing it from him somehow makes it real for me, tells me that it actually happened. I somehow forget, or make myself forget, and keep myself busy with work and partying to not be reminded of it.

  “You know what,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “So, do you think about it?”

  “I try not to. If I remember it somehow makes me feel unhappy and empty inside. It’s like realizing all of a sudden that you have been missing an arm for a decade.”

  “But it does not have to be that way,” he says. “You can look back at it fondly. Wasn’t that our motivation? Wasn’t that what made us come so far in life?”

  “It is, it is. I know. But when I think about the future…you know, I am never getting married. That thing has been taken away from me. I can’t walk down the aisle, because I know I won’t have a father to give me away. And I will never have children of my own, because I don’t have a mother to learn from, to turn to for advice.”

  “Ver, you have it all wrong. I don’t want to give you that ‘this is not what they would want…’ speech, but, really, is this what they would want?”

  “I don’t know. Can we talk about something else?”

  “No. Ver, I see you, I see the life you live, and I see how empty you are inside, like a massive willow tree that is completely hollow inside. It won’t survive the storm.”

  “Don’t you feel that way too?”

  “I don’t, Ver. I used to be like you, but navy changed me. It changed the way I look at things. I was dead inside, but when you are in the service, your life is on the line, and there are times when you ask yourself, what if I don’t make it through this? What if I die? What will I miss? And, for me, that is you.”

  “What do you say we do?”

  “I don’t know…be more like a family?”

  “Like what? Start having dinner parties?” I say.

  “Yes. Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, “Kurt is coming tomorrow. I have invited him for dinner.”

  “Is this the BUDS Kurt that you have always called your best friend?”

  “Well, yes. He is my friend, a real badass, and he is a Basic Underwater Demolition Seal (BUDS). And he is going to be in town for a while.”

  “Alright,” I say, “Let’s do it.”

  We linger for a while discussing Kurt and dinner plans, and then Jackson heads back to bed. He has those habits, going to bed on time, waking up early, etc. I sit and ponder over what he said as I down the last can of beer. He did make sense, I mean the only reason I came home tonight was because I wanted to be in bed. I wanted to be home. Without Jackson, this place is just a house. And I know Jackson will settle down at some point, and I will be left with a house only. Is that what I really want?

  Chapter 4: Kurt, Hello!

  I come straight home from work the next day. I sort of miss going to the club and pour myself a drink. I find myself horny, craving a cock, as I realize I won’t be getting any tonight. Work and Sex are the only constants in my life, things that happen on daily basis. Good sex, bad sex, but sex. Always.

  I prepare the tub for a long bath, and once I am done, I decide to masturbate. I really need some action tonight, right now, some really good sex, but before I can do that, I look at the time and realize I do not have much. I have to prepare the dinner.

  I get out of the tub, dry myself up, then look at myself in the wall length mirror in my bathroom. I admire my own dark body, my D cup breasts, my pointy nipples, my freshly shaved pussy. I spray on some perfume, put on a dress, ditch the underwear, fix my hair and make-up, then make a run for the kitchen. It doesn’t take me long to prepare the meal and setup the table. Jackson brings out the red wine and the glasses. The bell rings the moment we finish setting up the table.

  Jackson gets the door as I wait at the table. A moment later, Jackson and Kurt walk in. Jackson looks like a gnome standing next to Kurt. Standing at 6’4”, this 34 year old is a total hunk. He is wearing a white tee shirt, his pecs, abs, bicep muscles all clearly visible and ripping out of his shirt. He is also wearing short shorts (who wouldn’t, in this summer heat), paired with flip flops.

  I have never been into white guys, but something makes me want to rip into his clothes and dig my nails into his flesh. The moment he walks in, the power shifts. His dominance is clear in his manner. We all pull back our chairs and get seated.

  When he speaks, it feels as if we are seated on Queen Elizabeth II’s table. I have never seen a man so refined, yet so rough and dominant, ever, in my entire life. He eats with grace and elegance, polite and alpha at the same time. There is the polite greeting, some intro, some basic conversation, but I realize that if I need to get through this meal, I will have to be sipping wine constantly.

  I catch Kurt staring at me every now and then, his steel blue gaze piercing me, clear as crystal, seeing through me, and cold as ice, chilling me to the bone and making me wet. I find myself craving him, and when we both reach for the wine at the same time, our hands touch briefly. His rough skin against my velvet soft skin, his white flesh against my ebony. We both look up at the same time, at each other, and maintain eye contact for like 10 seconds. It becomes clear he is hot for me too, but I need more than that.

  Jack
son excuses himself to get some more wine.

  “So, Vertasha, tell me about yourself,” asks Kurt.

  I am relieved to finally get some alone time with him. “Well, I work at…”

  “I know where you work at,” he says, cutting me off. “Jackson has told me all about it. I want to know more about you. What do you do?”

  “Why do you ask?” I say, rather flatly.

  “Just want to know…”