Sold To The Billionaire: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  Mom felt that way. I know she did. It’s not like I don’t understand it, the way that Dad is. It was just a little fling. Nothing serious. Less serious than whatever Luke and I have, and that’s nothing serious.

  She never managed to have one warm thing to say to me. I’m not going to subject any child of mine, or even any future child, to the kind of contempt that my mother had for me. I’m going to accept what I have to accept, and in this case, that means that I have to accept that I’m pregnant, like it or not.

  I push myself up from the bed. I’ve still got to change. I should shower. I feel nasty. But I can’t make myself get undressed. It’s not that I wouldn’t be able to stand, or that I couldn’t stand imagining myself undressed, or something silly like that. No, I just can’t make myself feel like there’s any reason to get undressed.

  I can just keep on feeling gross. I’m a gross person. A thousand ways out of this situation, and I refused to take any of them. There’s more to it than that, of course. But I could have avoided it easily. If only I’d been smart enough to try.

  So instead I shrug my shirt off and start going through the drawer. The half-hearted folding job just reminds me that I tried to get out of here yesterday.

  I tried, and I failed, and now I was always going to fail. Even if I succeeded, what would the point be? Was I going to be a single mother? I’ve heard the horror stories, and I know how that works out.

  It works out with me working 80 hours a week, and even still I can’t keep my kids fed. Meanwhile they grow up without any parents at all. One is away, working and making money and doing stuff that, frankly, the child doesn’t care about one bit.

  The other never existed in her life in the first place. Just walked away before they even knew what the difference was. Before the child could know how much it would screw them up in the years to come.

  All they’d know, their entire life, was that nobody cared about them. That was an experience that I have more experience with than I’d like to think about, and I don’t want to ever, in my entire life, put a child in that situation. I’m not a perfect person, but I can at least make sure that I don’t raise a kid as fucked up as I am.

  There’s a noise in the door. I jump suddenly, my new shirt hanging between my hands where I left it when I started to let myself get distracted. Luke strides in and pulls me into a kiss without a word. I melt into it.

  “You’re not doing so good, huh?”

  I pull him tight against me. It’s not a real relationship. We’re never going to be in love, not really. Because he’s always going to look at me as a burden. But I can at least feel like he cares about me for a minute, and that’s going to have to be good enough for a while. It’s not like I have another option.

  He pulls away after a moment and pulls me into another kiss. Steps into me and forces me to take a step back. He forces another step out of me, and then my legs are pressed against the mattress. I let him push me down onto the bed. There’s no camera this time. No masks. I look up into his eyes and they’re burning.

  His hand moves in a blur and he claps his hand against my breast with a loud ‘slap.’ The pain shoots straight to my brain and sends a shiver of pain back down as an automatic response.

  “You don’t feel good? I don’t know what’s wrong,” he says softly. “But I know how to help with it.”

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about that response. I don’t know if he’s making up an excuse for doing whatever he wanted to do, or making it sound less personal that he’s trying to help. I don’t know that it much matters which it is, as long as I get what I need from it. He looks like he’s ready to give me what I want.

  Another slap. This one is back-handed, but gentler. Across my face. The reaction is instant this time, a sense of pleasure. Of certainty about our relationship.

  “Is this a problem, slut?”

  I shiver at the word.

  “No, sir,” I say. I know I shouldn’t do anything. I should let him do whatever he wants. That’s the game. But I can’t help letting my hand drift up and rub across my cheek. It burns where he struck it.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. It’s not a question, but I know that there’s an implied question at the end. He’s asking me if I’m going to tell him not to, and I’m not. I’ve never told him not to do anything, and I’m not going to start now. It’s not my place, and I don’t want it to be.

  He reaches onto my dresser… his dresser, I correct myself. I’ve just got clothing in his dresser. In his room. We’re in his bed. There’s a bottle on there, nondescript and clear. The liquid inside is clear, too, and he pours a little on my mound, above my entrance, making a pool of oily liquid.

  He rubs some of it and then moves down into my pussy, working two fingers in at once. It’s tight, after two days without making love, but with the lube, they slip in easily in spite of the stretching that my body has to do. I start to feel it immediately, my head clearing as thoughts make way for open pleasure.

  I accept it happily. He was right. This was exactly what I needed, because I’m not ready to tell him yet. I still don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. Never mind what he’s going to feel about a child. He’s got a life, and I’m just a burden to him. I pay for my time here with my body, but that’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough, as far as I’m concerned.

  He adds a third finger; my walls squeeze them so much that it forces them into the tightest space possible. It’s already stretching so much that it hurts, and yet, I know that it’s not nearly as thick as his cock is going to be.

  He moves roughly, deliberately. His thumb circles my clit, but he’s not doing it for my pleasure. None of this is. He’s just getting me ready. The thought makes me feel like a slut, like he keeps calling me. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have liked it. But now I don’t know how I made it this far without that feeling. This is what I was made for. What my body was built to do.

  When he enters me, he fits inside me like a lock and key. I wasn’t completed until he started to fuck me, no matter how much I thought that I would hate it. Now matter how much he thought so.

  He doesn’t waste time moving slowly inside me. My thighs move up to mesh with his hips and he grabs my shoulders to pull himself in forcefully, every thrust hard enough to make me wince.

  My voice starts to come, but I’m not worried about anything. There’s nothing for me to be worried about, not any more. His cock is the only thing I have to think about, and I can barely even make it that far before my mind starts to go blank with pleasure.

  I hear his voice, grunting as he thrusts. I feel his fingers tightening on my body as he starts to get closer and closer to the impending orgasm. The way that he takes me drives me wild. Builds up the tension in my stomach to a fever pitch.

  His thrusts become ragged as he starts to approach his end. His breaths come hard and rough and sounding more and more like moans to harmonize my own with every moment, until his fingers dig into my skin so hard that it starts to hurt bad. It’s going to leave a bruise in my shoulder, but he thrusts into me as deep as anything has ever been inside me, and then I feel his cock twitching inside me as he cums. Once, twice, three times.

  His breaths come hard and he presses a kiss onto my forehead.

  “God,” he growls. “That was good.”

  Thirteen

  Luke

  I don’t know precisely why I keep going back to the table. It’s not like I have a lot of history with those three guys. Hell, now that Bill is persona non grata, I only know two of them. There’s another third guy now, Clint. He’s got good instincts. Good enough that I don’t know if it’s a totally, 100% smart idea for me to keep playing around here.

  If I’m going to win some and lose some, then I don’t have any problem. But if some shark’s going to come around, then I’m not really interested in playing. I don’t just love eating big losses, after all.

  Plus, perhaps worst of all, it gives me ample opportunities to r
un into the wrong sort of people. The sort of people who squelch on their debts and try to leave me with their daughters, instead.

  I walk into the house quietly. There’s a long moment of doubt, where I’m not sure what I’m going to be doing here. It’s not exactly a good idea to be here at all, for the reasons I already explained. And on top of all that, it’s never as fun as I wanted it to be. I thought it would be light-hearted, and some of the guys can make it that way. Not me, in spite of myself. I make everything too serious, too much of a challenge.

  This time, though, Tom’s not looking too pleased when he sees me. I run through my mind if I’ve done anything to piss him off lately. And no, I haven’t. Hell, I even let him have a big chunk of my money.

  “Hey, Luke.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Not much, man. Uh, hey. You want to go, I dunno, grab a pizza or something? Maybe a couple beers while you’re at it. We’re running a little low.”

  Looking around at the house, with it’s heavy dark-stained wood look, all of it very real and very solid wood, I blink. Tom’s never been low on anything as far as I know.

  “You have to let me see him,” I hear from the other room. It’s a thick wall and a thick door, so he must have been shouting to get through them at all.

  And then Tom sinks. “Last chance, Luke. You really ought to go for just a few minutes, okay?”

  He’s right. I ought to go. Even as heavily muffled as it is, I can hear the voice clearly. I recognize it.

  “What’s Bill doing here precisely?”

  “He showed up. I don’t know, Luke. We didn’t want to upset you, after that shit started last month, so we took him aside until we could get him out of here. We’ve got it under control, alright?”

  “What, does he want to play or something?”

  “He says he needs to talk to you. Says it’s important.”

  I frown. “Yeah? Important how?”

  “He won’t say.”

  The whole situation starts playing itself in my head. What’s the worry? The worry is that I’m about to walk into some down-the-rabbit-hole bullshit, and after all the other stuff that Bill Ashley’s put me through I’m not exactly interested in hearing more of it.

  But I can feel an itch at the back of my head that I might actually be able to pop him one right in the back of his head this time, and I can’t deny that I’m interested in seeing where that goes.

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  Tom’s expression doesn’t change, which I suppose means that he already figured that I would. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I know that I don’t really give a shit at this point. One way or the other, I’m going to get this guy out of my hair.

  “You’re sure?”

  I wouldn’t have liked to have been Tom with the scowl on my face. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

  He makes a face, and notably, doesn’t say anything. Certainly doesn’t move. I wait for a long moment. It’s his house. He can do what he wants.

  “Yeah, okay. Let me go in first and warn then.”

  “I’m not going to do anything,” I grumble. I don’t know that to be true. But I’m not carrying anything that would make whatever I did more dangerous than a punch in the mouth.

  “I’m sure you’re not. And I’m sure he’s not. But I’d rather everyone were ready in advance, you get me?”

  I shrug. He goes in, I wait. It’s the best I can do, either way. A minute later, he comes back out. He’s rubbing his shoulder like he just did something strenuous. That, or it’s a stress response. I take a note of it. If I can get a leg up on Tom, then it might help me to at least slow the tide of Clint’s absolute domination of the table.

  “Everything good?”

  “We’re good,” he confirms. I don’t know if it’s true, but I’ll accept it either way.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” I say. I don’t know that to be the truth, but I’m going to make sure that it is, because I’ve got control of myself. That, and I’m not going to do anything to upset Kate.

  I step into the room. Bill’s seated at a chair and Seth’s hand sets on his shoulder. Bill tries to stand, and Seth’s arm stiffens only slightly. Bill apparently decides better.

  “Seth,” I say softly. He looks at me blandly. Friendly guy.

  “Luke?”

  I look down at Bill for a moment, and then finish taking the lay of the room. Clint’s not here yet, or he’s gone off somewhere. Presumably he didn’t want to deal with this drama, and frankly, I don’t blame him.

  “What are you doing here, Bill?”

  “I had to talk to you. I’ve got a problem.”

  “Your problems aren’t my problems,” I say. But I pull aside a chair and sit in front of him. “You want to tell me what this problem is, so I can get out of here? Or you can get out of here?”

  “I don’t know if…” He looks up at Seth. “You know what? This was a bad idea. I’ll, uh… I’ll give you a call some time.”

  “You don’t have my phone number, Bill, and I screen my calls besides.”

  “You’ll take my call, won’t you?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, Bill, at this point I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. So you’re going to have to try a little better.”

  He looks up at Seth again.

  “You know what’s on his mind?”

  The other man shrugs. “No idea,” he says. “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk in front of me, I guess.”

  “Is that it, Bill?”

  He gives a look as if he’s weighing his responses. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  It’s obviously the problem. “Well, Seth’s a good friend of mine, so if you want to tell me whatever it is, you can do that, but know that I’m just going to tell him later.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  It’s a lie, sort of. I’m not particularly close with Seth. But hey, he doesn’t need to know that, right?

  “So do you want to get on with it, or are we just going to grow old and die here?”

  He tries to stand again, and again Seth’s hand on his shoulder presses him back down into the seat. “You can talk while you sit, right?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he says. He gets a halfway smile and laughs nervously. I don’t have an overabundance of patience for it, but I keep waiting regardless.

  “Get to it.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “Get to it. I feel you.”

  “If you feel me then, I hate to repeat myself, but, uh… ‘get to it’ kind of makes the point.”

  “So how’s Kate doing?”

  “Is this the trouble you’re in? You’re worried about your daughter? She’s doing great. You saw her not even a week ago.”

  “Yeah,” he says, smiling distantly. “I guess I did see her, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did. So you want to tell me what this is really about, or should I just keep guessing?”

  He suddenly looks real surprised at the question. “I guess you’re right. Sorry. Just, hah, nervous.”

  He looks shifty. As shifty as I’ve ever seen him. The nervousness has been playing out on his face the whole time. He could never hide it. He at least knew well enough, most of the time, not to try to bluff me.

  “I just, kinda, uh… I need some money.”

  I stay seated through the comment, even though my knee-jerk reaction is to stand and start howling at him. “Don’t you already owe me money?”

  “Yeah, I know. But, I mean… you, you’re a solid guy. Upstanding kinda guy, right?”

  I raise my eyebrows. I always thought of myself as a decent guy, I guess, but it’s a surprise to hear the words coming out of Bill Ashley’s mouth.

  “Sure, why not, Bill? Spit it out, will you?”

  “Well, I owe some guys some money.”

  “That’s a real surprise. You always pay your debts so promptly.”

  “I know. I was surprised myself. But, uh, these guys…”

  “Not the kind of guys you wa
nt to piss off?”

  “Right,” he says, settling into the chair more deeply. “You get it. I’m glad.”

  I take a deep breath and focus hard on getting the words to come out smooth and even. “What makes you think I’m the kind of guy you want to piss off, precisely?”

  Fourteen

  Kate

  A voice in the back of my mind tells me that I wanted to get out of here. I’ve got all the time in the world now, and nothing has really changed. There’s the baby, but that’s still a big question mark on my future. It’s an even bigger question mark with Luke around, I think.

  I look down at my belly. I should be out the door, but I don’t know. I don’t know that I can leave even if I wanted to.

  More than that, I don’t know if I’m interested in being that “secret baby” type of woman. Do I really want to walk away from Luke knowing that he’s not going to ever know, his entire life, the baby’s entire life, that he’s the father?

  If I walk away now, I’m not coming back. I shouldn’t come back. It’s the right decision. At least, I think it is. But I don’t know if it’s a fair decision, which is a totally different question. One that deserves special consideration.

  I let out a long, low breath. What am I thinking? Why am I even considering this? I could walk away without a single problem, and it’s exactly what I should be doing. I don’t think Luke would follow me if he thought I didn’t want to be followed.

  I close my eyes. There’s plenty of time before he’ll be back. He plays every week, and he’s rarely home before midnight. If that holds up this week, too, then he won’t be home for another five hours. I’ve got plenty of time. There’s no reason to rush into any decision, no matter which way I go with it.

  So instead I head downstairs and turn on the television. It’s been a month, and I still don’t know what would happen if I tried to watch television without him, if he found out about it. I probably should have tried to just see. I could turn on the TV with him in the house but not with me, see how he reacts.

  But I haven’t. I’m still not sure about testing any boundaries with him. I’m just a burden to him. Watching television would just be even worse. I’d be making noise that would irritate him. Neither feels smart.