“I would love to fuck you, Daphne.” Oh my God. Is that what my whole name sounds like from him? I didn’t know my name could sound so naughty. “What do you think I’ve been thinking about ever since meeting you?”
“I dunno. What?”
He lifts up against me, his cock sliding against my thighs. Doesn’t matter if it’s tucked in those tight jeans of his. I feel every damn inch!
“I want to fuck this prissy perfect girl streak out of you. I want to fuck you so hard and good that you forget who you are and why you care so much about your image. Get me? You’ll be squirming on my cock and begging for things that good girls don’t know exist.”
I’m melting in his arms. He’s almost got me. I’m halfway to spreading my legs wider so he can do that to me.
Then I open my eyes and see his determined look turn into that smirk I despise so much.
“Fuck,” I whimper, embarrassed that I said anything at all. To his chagrin I crawl out of his lap and momentarily curl up on the edge of his bed. My eyes catch a glimpse of his erection in his pants. Do you know what I want to do to that thing? Go on. Take a guess. Obviously it has to do with unleashing it and seeing what kind of power it really holds. “This isn’t supposed to happen.” I was supposed to give him a piece of my mind… not my ass.
He follows me off the bed and attempts to take my hand. He fails.
“I should go.” Where is my purse? Right. On the floor in the main room. I go there now, fixing my blouse along the way. I hazily take in the apartment around me. Clean. Masculine. Definitely a designer’s work, but it’s been well cared for. A tasteful painting of a half-naked woman in the living room reminds me of what almost happened.
I need to leave before I make a huge mistake that I’ll regret.
“Scared?” comes Logan’s voice from the bedroom doorway. “One kiss, and you bail? Didn’t think I was that frightening.”
I try to ignore him as I pick up my purse and finish straightening out my clothes. Am I decent? I have to be decent when I leave his place. It’s bad enough I’m still thinking of the way he kissed me. Owned me for those brief seconds. I clear my throat. Shake my head. Anything to make the images go away. I refuse to carry them with me on the way out of here.
Logan approaches, but it only makes me move faster. I don’t want him hearing the erratic pounding of my heart.
“Bye,” I say, putting my hand on the front doorknob. I glance over my shoulder and see him looking anything but pleased. Sure, he thought I would end up in his bed, ass up in the air and begging him to fuck me until I couldn’t scream anymore. Even so, I told him I wanted him to fuck me… but at least I kept some dignity.
He’s behind me. Not trying to touch me, but an easy distance from me. “Bye, Daph.” He looks away. “I’m sorry about the magazine. Really.”
I slightly turn, taking in his half naked body and the somber expression on his face. Is he really sorry? This is the most mature I’ve seen him ever, let alone in real life. Logan Dean’s reputation for being an unrepentant playboy is unprecedented. Nevertheless, I reach up and lightly kiss him on the cheek.
Just a small gesture. God, I’m a wreck.
I rush out after that, not wanting to take my chances around him again. As I fly down the stairs, I realize I could have easily turned that situation back there into something way more… more.
Never. I can never let that happen. Not just for my own reputation, but for the sake of my poor Daddy’s heart. I’ve disappointed him enough so far this year. Falling for a bad boy would absolutely kill him.
Chapter 5
LOGAN
The door slams shut. I stand here, totally gob smacked over what just happened.
I had her. Right there, panting in my bed, begging for my touch and kiss in a way that seemed too good to be true. Apparently it was. Just when I thought I was going to fuck the girl of my dreams, she bailed on me with hardly an explanation.
For the second time Daphne DeMarco has left me with a stiff cock and no one to take care of it. I swear, she’s going to drive me to extremes.
After another – cold – shower, I attempt to go about my day. First I hit up the grocery store, instantly reminded of Daphne when I see the lobsters. Not just because she pinches like the devil, either, or because she gets lobster red when she’s furious. It’s what she ordered on our double-date, not that she stayed long enough to enjoy it.
Then I have an appointment at the barbershop. I listen to the chatter of the guys around me, congratulating one another on either their most recent conquests or the trips they’re taking with their current girlfriends and wives. When the guy doing my hair asks about my recent dating life, having already read my interview, I simply say that things are heating up. What I wish I could say is that I scored with someone like Daphne DeMarco. For some reason, I’d feel bad about mentioning her name. I’ve done enough damage already. Irreparable? Fuck me. I think so.
I can’t stop thinking about her no matter where I go. I replay what happened in my bedroom. The way she straddled my hips, teasing my cock with her poor pussy trapped in clothing. Does she know she left a wet spot on my jeans? That was almost hotter than the thoughts of fucking her.
Her breasts had rubbed against my chest. Her lips were as eager as mine to kiss and suck. They wanted punishing. Everything begged to be punished with my body.
My whole week is like this. Every day I wake up thinking of Daphne. Not just her body or how she felt against me, but the sound of her voice, whether she’s giving me a piece of her mind or laughing at something Ashleigh Lee said. Her smile when she thinks I’m not looking. The fact that she’s so fiercely protective of who she is. That woman has a ton of confidence for someone raised to be a spoiled princess. I’m not used to that. I’m used to girls like Ashleigh, or girls who think they’re confident.
So consumed are my pathetic thoughts that I don’t fool around with another girl. I’m given plenty of opportunities. I could call one up from my address book. Or I could nail a waitress behind a restaurant. Maybe that hottie at the bar Angus and I go to for a few beers. I bump into a supermodel at my mother’s apartment. She’s older than me, but I can tell she’s ready to teach me a few things. I decline.
Angus invites me to a club, which would almost ensure a lay with a star-struck girl. I don’t go. If my goal isn’t to get laid, I find little appealing about the clubs.
All I do is mope like a loser. I haunt the Facebook app on my phone, trying to see Daphne’s private profile which I’ve sent a friend request to. (She never responded.) Staring at her photo doesn’t help me much. It only makes me crazy to see her again.
The lowest I sink is buying a local fashion magazine so I can check out pictures of her. The only ones I find are some candid shots of her having lunch with Ashleigh, wearing a vintage floral dress and those big cat-eye sunglasses. She looks so perfect, even when she’s not posing. For once her lips aren’t pouty. They’re smiling widely.
Daphne probably hates this photo, because it shows a more realistic side of her. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Daphne, it’s that she wants to be nothing but picture perfect. She’s building a brand with her image. What she’s doing with it, I have no idea. I don’t pretend to understand the scrutiny girls like her are under.
One night, while I’m staring at these photos like a stalker, I receive a phone call from my mother.
My mother and I have an okay relationship. We don’t talk much since we’re both busy people, but she’s never been anything but nice and cordial to me. Even so, she doesn’t call me unless she has a reason.
“You’ve got your invitation to my film premier, right? You never confirmed with my agent.” Of course that’s why my mother is calling. “It’s important that you go! You missed the last one, and the trash the tabloids came up with… saying that we’re estranged… don’t do that to me again.”
“What? You’re a supporting character. Who cares?” I lean back in bed with the magazine smacked against
my face.
“Who… Logan! It’s a series of vignettes with an ensemble cast! Everyone’s a main character! Come on. You have to see me star in a movie with Richard Gere. It’s been my goal to be in a movie with him for the past ten years.”
I sigh.
“I know you hate that sort of thing. Do me a favor though, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t be smart with me. This is Oscar bait and I need you in New York to support me.”
I pull the magazine off my face and stare at the candid collage of Daphne and Ashleigh. Mostly Daphne, of course. Okay, all Daphne.
While my mother blathers, I read the caption. “Rich socialite Daphne DeMarco enjoys lunch with fellow heiress Ashleigh Lee. Ms. DeMarco is relaxing during her summer break from college, although rumor says she has a packed week in New York planned.”
New York, huh? Daphne’s going to be there?
My mother’s movie premier just happens to be in New York… such a fateful city.
“I’ll be there.” I interrupt my mother, already planning how I’m going to find and approach Daphne DeMarco. Throwing that trash into my interview was a good way to get her in my apartment, but it ultimately failed at getting her in my bed – or at least naked and with her legs spread wide open so my cock could explore her waiting hole. Great, Logan. Think about these things while on the phone with your mother, why don’t you? “I got the invitation. I’ll be there. We’ll take some pics for the press…”
“Oh, I know you’re busy,” my mother tersely says. “Don’t worry. I’m in the first vignette, so you can leave soon enough. You don’t have to stay for the whole thing.”
“Great, yeah. I’ll be there. Love you, bye.” I hang up on her before she has the chance to reply. My brain is going five-thousand miles a second, coming up with as many ways I am going to finally seduce Daphne DeMarco. I won’t be able to function until I see how far this attraction goes.
You hear that, Daph? You’re relaxing for now, but when I’m through with you, you’ll be a panting, writhing dirty girl unable to keep her legs closed around me. I’m not just taking you in my bed. I’m taking you everywhere.
Prepare yourself. I’m coming to devour you.
Billionaire Bad Boy Part 2: Teasing the Heiress
Chapter 1
LOGAN
The guy looking back at me in my mirror is damn fine.
It’s been a long day, and this evening will prove to be longer, I’m sure. After flying into JFK earlier this morning, one of my mother’s drivers took me from one tailor to another. My mother insisted after seeing that picture of me in the magazine. “You will not show up to my premier looking like the shaggiest kid on the block. At least get it trimmed?” Didn’t matter I just had it cut back home. Nope. Had to go to my mother’s favorite New York salon so some guy named Felipe could fix it.
Then it was off to pick up my tux for the evening. My mother arranged that too. Funny. A lot of things had been arranged for me even though there was no guarantee I was coming. But I have to hand it to my mother: she didn’t pick a bad tux for me at all. Valentino. Nice and Italian. Just like Daphne.
I’m going to be in New York for a few days, but I picked the day of my mother’s movie premier to come here. As soon as today is over, I’m going into woo Daphne DeMarco mode. I received confirmation that she’s in town when I saw her picture in a daily newspaper. With any luck, she’ll stay a few more days. Plenty of time for Logan Dean to work his magic.
My driver for the evening calls and informs me that he’s waiting downstairs. “There are some flies buzzing around,” he says. Good to know. I dab on some cologne before grabbing my wallet and heading downstairs to meet him.
“Logan!” A light flashes right in my face the moment I step out of the apartment building. “Logan, is your mother with you? Are you excited about tonight’s premier?”
The driver wasn’t kidding. There are some serious flies buzzing around my mother’s New York apartment. I pull down my sunglasses, even though it’s dusk. If nothing else, it’ll keep that incessant flashing out of my eyes. I do throw them a few friendly waves. It’s the least I can do.
As soon as we’re at the premier venue, I’m greeted with more damn lights. Way more. The cameras are so bad that an assistant pounces on me the moment I step out of the car and the driver zooms off to park until I need him again.
“This way, Mr. Dean,” the assistant says, pulling on my hand to get me to the red carpet in a timely manner. Already there are half a dozen big name stars milling about, posing for photographs and answering questions about their recent news and the movie they’re about to see. My mother is nowhere to be seen. Didn’t she want some pictures together for the press?
“Logan! Over here! Logan Dean!” I’m recognized. The carpet is barely beneath my feet, and already I’ve got a flock of vultures trying to climb over the ropes and get in my face. Security pushes them back with some stern words. These paps are ridiculous. Does security think a few choice words are going to keep these predators at bay?
The assistant abandons me. I see her standing only a few feet away, ready to do whatever I ask her to, but right now the focus is on me and how many dashing smiles I can shoot the cameras popping off around me. Good thing it’s something I’m a natural wonder at. The paps are content with a few poses this way, then that way, my smile never faltering and my choice words regarding my mother’s movie – the title of which I can never remember – nothing but glowing.
Making one’s way down a red carpet is both mind numbing and a total blur. You have to shuffle your way down, giving everyone their due attention that they crave. At the same time, it goes by so quickly that it’s like you blink and miss it.
Not today. Today, the red carpet walk is taking forever. Or at least that’s what it feels like the moment I realize who is standing in front of me in this molasses line.
Daphne. DeMarco.
Time stops. The clicks and yells of the paps fade from my hearing. I see lights, but all they do is illuminate her in front of me. A regal princess. Pure, untouched royalty.
She’s wearing a dark pink gown that’s skintight on top and effortlessly flowy on the bottom. It would be perfectly respectable if it weren’t for the naughty slit showing off her toned legs. You know, the kind of legs that beg to be touched and stroked. I had felt them straddling my body not even two weeks ago. They had felt fantastic then. How great would they feel now?
Her light brown hair spirals on top of her head in an intricate twist sprinkled with sparkling gemstones. Diamonds and rubies, it looks like. They match her diamond teardrop earrings and the ruby necklace wrapped around her white throat.
Her throat is too white. You know what it needs? Some love bites from my famished lips. Now that would be a delight for the press, don’t you think?
“Fuck,” I mutter in awe. Daphne is easily the most beautiful girl here. There are Hollywood starlets heralded as the second coming of Marilyn Monroe present, and yet it’s some heiress who is only famous for being famous that has me speechless.
“Logan! Who has your attention, Logan? Who are you looking at?”
Dumb fucks! Who does it look like I’m gawking at? Am I the only one who sees the stunning beauty traipsing up the red carpet? Idiots. All of you.
For years my mother has warned me to keep my more serious relationships private. She learned the hard way that the media will chew up and spit out any rumor it can latch onto. In my case, I rarely have relationships that I consider serious enough to keep away from the press. If I’m caught necking with some hottie in Miami, it’s no skin off my back. I probably don’t even remember her name.
This. This is different. Ever since I met her, Daphne has consumed my thoughts. Daphne DeMarco. How could I ever forget a name as beautiful as that? The girl of my dreams is standing before me. I don’t think she’s noticed me yet. Good. That means she can’t take off right in front of the cameras.
They’re snapping a million pictu
res as I approach Daphne from behind. Something has tipped her off, for she slowly turns, eyes widening as she takes in my form. She doesn’t move.
“You are radiant tonight, Daphne,” I say that low enough so no one but her can hear me. Her lips twitch into a little smile. Snap! Snap! Snap! So many cameras going off. We’re going to be the main talk of the premier. My mother will riot, and I don’t care.
“You clean up nice.” There’s a bite to her voice. Love it. Love her blooming smile even more.
“What are you doing here?” Does Daphne know someone in the industry? Of course she does. Who, though? There are dozens of A-list stars here tonight. She could know any of them. Or maybe it’s her father who knows them, and she’s here to represent the DeMarco Empire. She bears that responsibility well.
She cocks her head at me. “I was invited.” What? Does she think I’m accusing her of crashing the party? Because she knew I would be here? She had to have known that I would be here. My mother’s in the damn movie! “It’s good publicity.”
Good publicity for what? Her brand, probably. I can think of a few other things that would look great with her brand. Ahem. I mean me. “Would you like to sit with me? I’ve got a great view of the screen, being one of the headliner’s sons and all.”
Something sparks in her eyes before quickly dulling again. An assistant is politely asking us to keep moving. So we do. We take small steps toward the end of the carpet while more guests pile up behind us. I do not touch Daphne, but I’m sure the people around us are getting quite the show while we dodge each other’s looks and pretend that there is no sizzling sexual attraction between us. I can see it in her eyes. That hunger, returning.
“I thought our seats were assigned,” Daphne says.
“My mother’s a movie star. I can pull a few strings.” I’ll pull every string in the world if it means Daphne sitting next to me for two and a half hours. And here I had planned to bail after my mother’s vignette was over!
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 42
