Paid For Three Times: A Dark MFMM Romance

by Madison Faye

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  Sugar & Spice: A Billionaire Romance

  Sugar & Spice

  A little bit sweet and a whole lot of naughty.

  Colin:

  She shouldn’t have been there that night. She never should have lied her way into that club and stepped into my world.

  She’s off-limits – too pure, too sweet, too innocent – too good for a man of my tastes.

  But she did, wearing that dress, wrapping her sweet lips around the straw of the cocktail in her hand, and looking at me like that. Just a taste of that pure, innocent sweetness, and now I HAVE to have her.

  I have to own her – dominate her, make her scream and make her beg for more.

  A man like me shouldn’t be anywhere near a girl like her - but that’s why I want her. That’s why I want to bend her over my knee and take her every way I please.

  She’s been very, very bad - and bad girls get punished

  Isabella:

  I know I’ve been naughty. A good girl like me had no business in a dark and dangerous nightclub like that. No business flirting with a man like that.

  But I’m tired of being good. For just one night I wanted a taste of something else – something toe-curlingly bad and deliciously sinful. So I let go completely and let the gorgeous, rough stranger take what he wanted from me, piece by piece.

  Except now, the man who stripped me of my reservations, my hesitations, and my innocence is standing right in front of me.

  In his office. Hiring me.

  Bringing me into his world.

  Telling me there are rules.

  And good girls follow the rules...right?

  Sugar & Spice is a hot, steamy read involving a very dominant and totally obsessed alpha hero – hell bent on having her submission. This one’s a little bit nice and a whole lot of naughty – so make sure Santa isn’t watching! A very sweet HEA, plenty of steam and heat along the way, and no cheating!

  Happy Holidays

  Copyright © 2016 Madison Faye

  All rights reserved.

  Editing: Sennah Tate

  Cover: White Rabbit Creative

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.

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  1

  Isabella

  “We abide by rules in this house.”

  His voice was honey and scotch; the deep pull of a haunting cello. Clean and crisp, it resonated against the lush wood, leather, and marble of the room.

  I swallowed heavily and nodded.

  There were nine of us in the richly furnished, darkly lit study. Me, seven other college-aged girls just like me, and him.

  Despite being just one of the nine people in the room, he took up ninety-nine percent of the air in the room.

  His lingered over each of us as he purred the words. “Is that clear?”

  One of the girls, a brunette standing a few applicants down from me, nodded quickly.

  “Absolutely Mr.—”

  “Sir.”

  His words sliced through the room, cutting her off and making her lips snap shut before she frowned and turned to him.

  “Wait, seriously?”

  I felt something inside of me clutch up at her casual tone, and I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to open my own mouth and tell her, “Shh! That’s not how you speak to him!”

  Because I knew. Maybe the rest of the applicants thought I was just another stranger to him — just one more vaguely anonymous applicant.

  Except I wasn’t. We were not strangers.

  Well, we were — to an extent — but that’s not to say we didn’t know each other. Not in the usual sense, at least. I didn’t know what his favorite color was, his favorite song, or what type of books he read.

  I knew his drink was scotch, but that was just a tip of the iceberg.

  Because in that room, with the seven other applicants, I was willing to bet I was the only girl that knew how Colin Kensington’s cock tasted.

  I was willing to bet I was the only one who knew how he fucked.

  And he knew I knew that. He hadn’t — not at first when he’d first strode into the study to address the potential au pairs. God, I didn’t know who he was until he recognized it. How in the world could I have ever imagined that that man, from that night would be him? Colin Kensington, famously secret billionaire investor.

  Famously secret billionaire investor and my potential employer. The interview was set up by Dr. Rice, my freshman academic advisor at Harvard. That’s who I’d thought I was meeting this evening at his lavish townhouse up on Beacon Hill. The wealthy friend of my economics professor who needed someone to watch and care for his children for the holidays. One with a strong educational background, a valid passport, and fluency in French.

  That’s who I’d expected.

  What I had not expected, was him. Him being the man from the nightclub a week before. Him being the dark, dominant, arrogant and panty-meltingly gorgeous stranger that made me throw away all reason.

  I was five minutes into a very important job interview, and I wanted to sink into the floor.

  And he knew it.

  He’d stepped into that study, started speaking, and my heart jumped into my throat. He’d closed the door, asked us all to stand in a line, and stepped in front of us. His eyes moved over each of us until for one single second, something in that armor of his cracked when his eyes landed on me.

  And then he knew.

  And he’d grinned.

  And now here was this other girl, questioning him? I wanted to laugh. Because I knew what speaking to him like that would bring out. I knew the dominant, demanding way that man got exactly what he wanted.

  I’d thrown away every last bit of my reason with him a week before at that nightclub. My reason, my caution, and most importantly, the last cloying shreds of my innocence.

  “Excuse me?” The crisp English in his accent was edged in steel as he paused, turning slightly to look at the girl who’d spoken up.

  The girl immediately looked like she’d realized her mistake. It was too late, of course.

  “I will be addressed as sir,” he purred, moving to stand directly in front of her — towering over the small gi
rl and leveling that steely sharp gray gaze at her.

  “I— Yes, of course,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor in front of her. “You’ll be addressed as sir.”

  The corners of his lips turned up slightly in a smile as he nodded. “Yes. But not by you, I’m afraid.”

  She looked up quickly. “What?”

  “Andrew will see you out.”

  She blinked as the rest of us and quickly looked straight ahead. “Oh, I—”

  “Now.”

  He nodded at the door to the study behind us, and she almost looked like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she whirled around and ran for the door.

  That’s what speaking to him like that would bring out, because Colin Kensington got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it.

  And again, I knew this, because of the weekend before at the nightclub I had no business being at. The nightclub where he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from me in the stall of the women’s room. And though I’d given it to him, he’d taken it from me, gasp by gasp, and whimpered moan by whimpered moan.

  He’d demanded it from my body and left me begging for more.

  The door shut on the girl who’d spoken out, and he turned. “Now then, shall we continue?”

  Sure, why not. Let’s continue with one of the most important interviews of my life with the man from that night.

  The man who’d whispered those filthy things in my ear. The man who’d stripped me of my reservations and hesitations. The man who’d taken the last bits of my reason, my caution, and my innocence.

  Oh, right.

  And the man who’d taken my v-card, seven days ago, in a nightclub bathroom.

  What the hell was I getting myself into?

  2

  Isabella

  “As I was saying, we abide by rules in this house. Is that understood?”

  My breath drew in as he paused right in front of me. I couldn’t look up — simply couldn’t. I couldn’t look into those eyes, because I knew if I did, I’d be melting for him all over again.

  “Is that understood,” he murmured, this time directly to me.

  I nodded, still not looking up at him. “Absolutely, sir.”

  I could almost feel him smile slightly before he moved on past me, and the breath I’d been holding inside came rushing out when he did.

  “I do apologize if I seem overly formal but this is, after all, a job interview is it not?” His voice was crisp, resonating, and staunchly accented in a sharp English enunciation born of high education, which caressed it with a gilded edge of wealth and prestige. I looked up then, thankful that his eyes were moving over all of us instead of being leveled at me. He raised an eyebrow, with the smallest glimmer of a smile in the corner of his eyes, before he finally did turn and look directly at me.

  I felt myself flush under his unblinking gaze, feeling the charge of his presence reach out and touch me through the air between us. I swallowed again and shifted slightly in the heels I wasn’t used to wearing.

  “Formal is the way I was raised, and it is a state in which I have lived my life, and the way in which I intend to further raise my own children.” He strode to a side table against one wainscoted wood wall and pulled the stopper off a crystal bottle with a small pop. The amber liquid spilled into a tumbler, the smell of smoky scotch hitting me from across the room. He swirled the glass as he turned, bringing it to his lips. His eyes never left mine, fixed on me, unmoving, as he brought the glass to his lips.

  “So, as I was saying.” His eyes drew me in, his voice soft like velvet. I felt myself unconsciously leaning forward, waiting with bated breath on his words. I wanted to think it was my own silly imagination thinking he was talking directly to me, but he actually was — ignoring the rest of the applicants, looking right at me.

  “Yes, sir?” I found myself saying, as if we really were the only two people in the room.

  “Rules. We hold them in high regard in this house, and I would expect anyone who desires to work and live under this house to keep them in the same esteem.” His smile faded as he took another sip of his drink, languidly twirling the rich liquid around the inside of his glass as his eyes moved on to the rest of the girls in the room.

  My head swam in the dim light. The rich smell of old books and the steel gaze of my potential employer sitting across from me was a potent combination. I’d never in my life felt an ounce of the nervous, electrically charged excitement and titillation I felt in this room, alone with him. His eyes moved back to me, and that hint of a smug grin returned to his lips.

  He was toying with me, and we both knew it. He knew exactly who I was — the silly little girl with a bit too much champagne in her who’d let him pull her into the women’s room. The girl who’d let him shred the panties from between her legs, and run his fingers over her dripping wet, eager pussy. That’s who he saw me as. And the fact that that girl from that night was now standing in his study looking for job watching his children was probably downright amusing to him.

  His eyes seemed to drink in my hesitation, and he smiled thinly at me. Dammit, I thought to myself, steeling my nerves. This man was not going to best me. It was clear I wasn’t getting this job, but that didn’t mean I had to stand there cowering under his gaze. Heck, all the more reason not to. He’d taken my body that night — he would not take my dignity on this one.

  I stood up straight, and took a deep breath. “I agree completely, sir,” I uttered out loud — again, addressing him as if we were alone in the room. “Without rules, without discipline, and without a firm hand to wield them both, there can really only be chaos and disorder.” I smirked inside, keeping my face a mask of professionalism.

  He raised a single eyebrow at me, almost in amusement, as he slowly nodded.

  “And of course,” I added. “Disorder has no place in any house.”

  Yeah, nailed that. I mentally patted myself on the back. The way he allowed himself to smile slightly only verified it.

  “Excellent, Ms. Wilder.”

  I froze.

  He obviously had our names for the interview, but it was that cocky look in his eye that gave it away. That smug look that said he’d simply been biding his time to let me know he put a name to my face. That the girl from the other weekend who’d clawed at his back and muffled her cries of pleasure in his neck, the girl who’d moaned hungrily as she’d willingly sunk to her knees in a bathroom stall to swallow his cock, was now known to him by name.

  The air was still in the room as we locked eyes, that fire behind his gray gaze burning fiercely as he took another sip of scotch. Finally, he looked away, and his mouth opened.

  “The rest of you may leave. Thank you for your interest in the position.”

  There were a few sighs, and more than a few curious and angered looks my way as the other girls gathered coats and purses and slowly filtered out of the room. The door shut with a heavy thud behind the last of them, and I shivered.

  “Isabella Wilder,” he mused, letting my name roll over his tongue.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Sir, I—”

  “Doctor Rice had nothing but praise for you. He says you’re ambitious, intelligent, driven, and responsible, which of course is why you are currently here in my home.” He tilted his head and frowned slightly. “I’m assuming Dr. Rice isn’t aware of your more, shall we say, reckless nocturnal activities?”

  My face went hot with a blush and I dropped my eyes to the floor, wishing I could just disappear into it. “That’s not me,” I said quietly. “Sir,” I added quickly.

  “I’m curious what brings a girl such as yourself to a place like that to do that,” he said evenly.

  “I could ask the same about a man like you.”

  My heart jumped into my throat and my mouth snapped shut as soon as I said the words, but they were already out there. I glanced up, my eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to say—”

  “How old are you, Ms. Wilder?”

  I
swallowed. “Twenty.”

  He nodded, stroking his chin. “And how often might a girl such as yourself be found in the ladies’ rooms of nightclubs with a man she’s just met?”

  I shook my head quickly, my cheeks burning hot. “Never, sir!” I said, my hands twisting together. “That was my first time.”

  I froze, shivering slightly before I opened my mouth again. “The first time, I mean, doing that.”

  He knew who I was. He knew what I’d let him do to me in that bathroom.

  He did not need to know that he’d taken my virginity that night.

  His jaw tightened. “Ms. Wilder, I’ll be blunt.” His voice, deep and richly smooth, resonated through me. “While your intelligence and your obvious personal drive are both impressive, and indeed, one of the primary reasons you appeal to me for this position, I’ll refer back to my first point.”

  He leaned against his thick wooden desk, hands steepled, eyes dark.

  “There are rules in this house. And my children are my pride and joy, Ms. Wilder,” he said stiffly. “They are smart, witty and sharp, obedient, and delightful. And while I could continue to heap a father’s praise on my children ad nauseam, I will also add that they are indeed a normal six and four year-old, with all that comes along with that. The job obviously entails both looking after them as well as a fair amount of travel over the course of the next month or so of your employment.”

  He leveled his eyes at me. “Are you up for the task, Ms. Wilder?”

  That steely gaze, that voice, that hint of flirtation in his words; it wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

  But was he actually still offering me the job? After what— well, after what we’d done?