The Billionaire Boss Collection

by Penny Ward

  Like I always do when things get too intense: I walked away.

  I push it all aside to deal with another day yet when that day comes, I put it all off again.

  And where has it gotten me?

  Nowhere.

  I’m miserable and lonely and desperately want to see Clint so badly that it hurts.

  It’s like a blade straight through my heart.

  I miss him, and now it’s too late.

  I take a few deep breaths and try to compose myself. I’ve quit my mantras; they work for one week but are then hopeless the next, and they sound really stupid when I speak them out loud.

  I’ve decided that breathing techniques are the surer bet and before I know it, I’ve proved myself right: a period of calm is lapping over me like a wave gently breaking and seething across the sand…

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  There goes that tranquility.

  Argh, I can’t believe Brooke!

  She forgot her keys to the apartment again?

  That’s the third time this week she’s had to thump on the front door for me to let her in. And just when I was ready to walk out with my head held up high—slightly elevated, anyway.

  “Brooke! I don’t see why you don’t just put your keys in your purse like—” I begin to say, swinging open the door, only to find that it’s not Brooke standing there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hey,” he pants, partially out of breath. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.”

  “Clint,” I whisper, almost speechless. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” he states resolutely, like I should’ve already presumed he would be here. “I’ve told you twice now. I love you, Lauren, and I’m not letting you get away that easily.”

  “I—”

  But Clint doesn’t let me finish.

  He scoops me up in his arms ardently, slamming the door behind him with the kick of his heel before he pushes me up against the nearest wall.

  He crushes his mouth onto mine, fire and heat pouring into me, searing through me like rivets of electricity.

  I start to lose my mind, giving it up willingly, finally admitting to myself that this is what I truly wanted.

  This is what I’ve been craving for these last six months.

  This is what I’ve been yearning for since that first night he ever touched me.

  I pull off his coat and let it fall to the floor, my fingers then ripping at his shirt, its buttons popping beneath my touch. As I reach up on my tiptoes to meet him halfway, I feel the blood pounding in my veins. I want him to devour me whole, an unreserved passionate fire meeting his incredibly.

  His tongue plunges between my lips, tasting me and finding my own to twine around his, while his hands drive into my long, thick, dark hair and grab it in handfuls.

  My entire body feels like it’s melting into his.

  He drives me harder against the wall, like he needs my limber body against his, my breasts pressing into his chest as he wedges a thigh between mine.

  The need to touch and be touched nearly overwhelms me, a hunger surging inside me like a demand.

  And I need more.

  The touch of his warm hands on my bare skin sends another burst of heat straight to my sweet place, making it ache when he draws my blouse up just enough to slide his hands beneath it.

  Before I know it, both blouse and bra have been tossed away and he’s closing his hands around my waist, seeking out the curve of it and the arch of my ribs. I have never experienced such delicious torment.

  I spread my hands across the muscles of his chest, quivering when he unbuttons my jeans and slowly slips them down, removing my G-string promptly with his teeth.

  His mouth hovers over my cunt, smelling me before he engulfs it, sucking on my clit tenderly while his hands knead at my buttocks hungrily.

  I can already feel myself getting close, shuddering when his tongue changes direction, finally hits the precious spot, and stays there, the orgasm exploding as I run my hands through his hair in a frenzy.

  When I finally stop moaning, Clint stands and hitches my leg up to his waist.

  “I can’t wait any longer. I need to have you, Lauren. I’ve waited so long to be inside you again.”

  “I want you too,” I whisper, undoing his belt feverishly and releasing his thick erect cock into my hands. I stroke it slowly, delicately, loving the way it’s making him squirm, until he takes my hands away and pins them high above my head.

  I’m helpless to stop him having his way with me now.

  I cry out in joy when he thrusts himself inside, pleasure and pain becoming indeterminable as my back scrapes against the wall.

  “Yes!”

  Clint keeps a hold of my leg as he plunges deeper, both of us carping loudly at how amazing it feels.

  Six months of waiting.

  Six months of sexual tension.

  Six months of being near each other constantly and now, finally, we have accepted our fate and are fucking our way into each other’s souls.

  As we vehemently kiss again, I know that all of it had been inevitable, that everything that has happened between Clint and me has been leading to this very moment.

  I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and for the first time in my entire life, I think that he’s the one.

  Clint Townsend is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

  “You’re so beautiful, Lauren,” he gasps. “Just seeing the look on your face and how much you’re enjoying me being inside of you is driving me crazy. I’m too close. I can’t help it—I’m going to cum.”

  “It’s okay, I am too,” I tell him, and then we’re both suddenly shuddering in each other’s arms.

  Clint slams me one more time against the wall, the warm pulse of him blowing inside me as I let my orgasm flow out too, cumming together in one long, mind-blowing exhalation.

  When the feeling finally begins to peter off, we laugh and fall to the floor, breathless.

  “Well, that was certainly worth the wait,” Clint quips, still fighting for air and kissing my knee.

  “You’re telling me,” I croon, fluttering my eyelashes at him like I’m ready for round two. “I think I could make love all night at this rate.”

  “Damn, woman! Give me a breather first, will you,” he grins and folds his hand in mine. “Wait, I almost forgot I have a Christmas present for you.”

  He rises and helps me up, our hands still entwined as he picks up his coat off the floor and takes out a white envelope.

  “What’s this?” I muse, taking it from his outstretched hand.

  “Why don’t you open it up and find out?”

  I smile coquettishly and tear it open. “A postcard?” I ask, somewhat dumbfounded. “Of…Venice? I’m not sure I understand.”

  He winks. “Turn it over.”

  I do as he says and read out what’s scribbled on the other side:

  Dear Lauren, will you have dinner with me?

  I shake my head at him, still confused. “Of course I’ll go to dinner with you, but I still don’t get the Venice connection.”

  “Do you remember what you told me the first night we met? About sitting by the canal in Venice, a glass of wine in your hand, looking out at the sunset?”

  “Yes…” I utter, the picture already forming in my head.

  “Well, that’s my present to you, gorgeous. Dinner in Venice anytime you want, courtesy of me and my private jet.”

  “Are you serious?” I say jubilantly. “Clint, that is…literally the best Christmas present anyone has ever given me.”

  “So that’s a yes then?”

  “No, that’s a hell yes!” I squeal and throw myself into his arms, kissing him wistfully, so in love with him and the moment.

  When we finally come up for air, he looks at me peculiarly.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” he asks, narrowing his flawless eyebrows at me.

  “Getting ready for what?”


  “Colorado.”

  Shit. I completely forgot about my flight!

  “Oh my God,” I cry out. “I’m going to miss my plane! What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock on the dot.”

  “You’re kidding?! My plane leaves in thirty minutes! I’m not going to make it!”

  “Good,” he smirks, nuzzling my neck.

  I smile but brush him away. “No, I can’t. I told my dad—”

  “Lauren,” Clint interrupts, holding me by the shoulders. “It’s all right. We’ll take my jet. I can have it ready in an hour.”

  “We?” I ask intriguingly, my eyes beaming at him wildly.

  “Yes, we,” he smiles, folding me up in his arms again. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You’re coming with me?” I repeat.

  “Of course. I want to meet the man who raised such a beautiful, smart, and witty young woman.”

  “You are class through and through, aren’t you?” I quip, kissing him again with fervor, happiness closer than it has ever been.

  “I am,” he smirks. “And as it turns out, you’re not a gold-digger either.”

  I laugh as I remember back to the first time we met – Clint saving me from nose-diving into the pavement as I stepped out of a New York cab.

  I gaze out the window and watch the light begin to tremble, the city skyline bathed in a ruby glow as the night begins to creep in.

  I see my life bright and magnificent out there: a pale blue dream with Clint by my side, everything and anything within our reach.

  The last six months may have been some of the most confusing and trying of my life, but if I’ve learnt anything from all that, it’s to have patience, to never lose hope, and to also never judge a book by its lavishly sexy yet egotistical billionaire cover.

  Why, you might ask.

  Because underneath the cover, there’s usually more to the story than what you can see with a naked eye.

  There’s a decent person parading in the tailored Armani suit, a person who is worth loving and fighting for.

  And what’s in store for the billionaire and his PA as they take New York by storm?

  Well, that’s another headline entirely…

  END

  The Billionaire’s Assistant

  By

  Emily Cooper

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S ASSISTANT

  After being dumped by my boyfriend – on my birthday and in front of all my friends – I went looking for a little fun. I had never done anything like that before, but I needed something…

  I found everything that I was looking for – I found a man that took my breath away. Knowing that our relationship was only going to be for one night, I embraced the passion, and he that took me to another place.

  It was amazing. Wonderful. Spectacular.

  I spent one incredible night with a man that I would never see again.

  Or so I thought…

  Chapter 1

  Usually, I hated picture day.

  I dreaded the thought of it for months before.

  But I remember that day when I was twelve, looking in the school bathroom mirror and realizing that I might actually be pretty after all. A wave of calmness flushed over me the moment when I began to accept myself for who I was.

  I washed my hands, made sure my hair looked great, and checked my makeup. I wasn’t wearing much, but this was the first day that my Mom allowed me to wear clear eyeliner, mascara, and a tinted lip-gloss. I remember being so thrilled. My new pink dress was perfect and so were the one inch pink glossy heels that donned my feet.

  When I asked her that morning to let me wear makeup, I was asking to wear foundation.

  “Absolutely not!” she’d replied. “Then you’ll cover up that adorable face. You’re too young and your skin is too flawless to have to wear that stuff,” she said in an understanding tone that rattled my nerves.

  That was just her way of telling me that I couldn’t get what I wanted.

  “However,” she continued as she hurried to her vanity. “You might finally be old enough to wear mascara, eyeliner, and this lip-gloss.”

  I stared at the contents in her hand and smiled - I was old enough to know how to quit while I was ahead.

  After a final bright practice smile in the mirror, I left the bathroom and headed down the hallway towards the auditorium. That’s when people began to stare, that’s when I heard everyone’s giggles, and that’s when Matthew yelled out, “Nice panties, Rebecca!”

  Those words would haunt me for years to come.

  The entire hall erupted with laughter.

  In a panic, I checked my clothing to see what was going on. My dress was tucked into my pink heart cotton panties.

  I was sure that I would never live it down.

  At that moment, I thought life wouldn’t be cruel enough to subject me to a more embarrassing situation than that one.

  Surely not.

  Unfortunately, I was wrong.

  This moment, right now, is so far beyond that.

  It makes my twelve-year-old experience feel like child's play.

  And I guess it was child's play.

  I’m twenty-three now, it’s my birthday, and I’m getting dumped.

  But not only am I getting dumped - I’m getting dumped in front of all of my friends at my favorite restaurant.

  Yep, this certainly sucks.

  “I just don’t want to be with you anymore, what part of that don’t you get?” Jason asks me with a tone of amusement.

  From the look on his face, I can tell that he’s enjoying the humiliation that he’s putting me through.

  “Do you really have to do this right now?” my face turns red and I fumble with my hair, “Let’s wait to talk about this later.”

  My voice is whispering as I try to hold in the tears.

  “There is nothing to say, I’m done with you. Don’t call me anymore.” He gets up from the table and I watch my boyfriend, now my ex-boyfriend, leave without even paying his part of the bill.

  My best friend Angela hops up from the table and goes after him.

  I hope and pray that she doesn’t cause a scene.

  Please, let him leave. I can’t take anymore of this.

  It hurts a lot that he chose to break up with me that way, and now I have eight people staring at me with pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity. Hell, it only embarrasses me more.

  Jason is an asshole, and always will be, so I’m part relieved that he gave me an out in the relationship.

  I could have walked away anytime I wanted, but something kept me from doing it. I’ve never believed that I deserved better than him. I’m still not sure if I will find someone better than him, but I don’t care.

  He took any and every opportunity to tell me how worthless I was and everyday I had to combat those words in my head. He doesn’t even have a job. He sits at home playing video games in his mother's basement while I work my butt off.

  I’m better off without Jason, but a small part of me wishes that he’ll call me later and beg for forgiveness.

  Maybe he’ll see the error of his ways and apologize.

  Maybe I will finally have the courage to tell him to go screw himself.

  I want to be the one that finally wins.

  Good riddance, you prick.

  Chapter 2

  I really don’t want to emerge from my room.

  I’m not in the mood to see anyone, but Angela refuses to stop knocking on my bedroom door. I love my best friend, but she can be extremely annoying when I need some peace and quiet.

  That’s the trouble of having an extrovert for a friend and you’re an introvert.

  “Rebecca! Open the damned door! You’ve been in there all day. Come out before I call Tim over to take your door off the hinges. You know he’ll do it, he loves me.”

  “I’m not in the mood,” I call out, “Please just give me some damned space.”

  “If you scared me, I would walk away but you don’t. Open this door right now
or I swear I’m going to call Tim and I’m going to tell him that I think you’re suicidal. He will kick this door right in!”

  I quickly get up and swing open the door. “You wouldn’t.”

  She grins knowingly, her dimples making a grand appearance on her angelic sweetheart face, “Now I don’t have to.”

  She pushes open the door, walks in, and plops on my bed.

  “Get dressed, we’re going out,” she smiles.

  “No, we’re not going out. I’m staying inside and watching the rest every romantic comedy movie I can find.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she replies as she pulls her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder. Ignoring me, she stands up and walks over to my closet and pulls out dresses.

  “Oh, now this blue one is hot.”

  “Where in the hell do you want to go? That blue dress is club-wear. I don’t feel like going to out at all, and certainly not to a club.”

  “We’re just going out tonight. We don’t have to go anywhere in particular. We will go where ever the wind blows us,” she says dramatically and closes her eyes, swirling like the breeze.

  “I swear, I have a genuine psycho for a friend.”

  “No, you have a pure psycho for a best friend. Now get in the shower, clean that running make-up off your face, and I’ll pick out what you’re wearing.”

  I don’t want to argue anymore, resistance is futile.

  When Angela sets her mind on something, there’s no point in talking her out of it.

  So I can either do what she says or listen to her bitch all night. I’m choosing the former for the sake of peace.

  An hour later, I’m regretting my decision to give in to her demands.

  “I look like a streetwalker,” I say unenthusiastically as I look into the mirror.

  “Now you’re the one that’s crazy. You look stunning, that dress is clinging to all of your beautiful curves. You are a gorgeous lady that deserves the best. Do you know what I would give for a body like that?”