A Billionaire's Heart (Erotic Romance Bundle)

by Dalia Daudelin

  She cleans off the fog on the mirror after her shower, letting down her hair and brushing it out. She's come to like the straight hair weave, though she usually prefers a loose curl. Oils go in her hair, lotions on her skin. A small dab of red lipstick on her lips and Melanie finds herself presentable enough. Wrapping herself in a robe, she walks back into her bedroom.

  Her husband is waiting there for her, on her bed. He smiles and adjusts his glasses, running his fingers through his gray hair. She squeals with joy and runs over to him, both of them flopping on the bed. The other man watches the two, still in the room just as Melanie always likes it.

  "Hello, darling." He rubs her sides as she straddles him, heat emanating from her bare pussy. She's horny and he knows it.

  "What are we doing today?" She asks him as she kisses his neck. His hands wander to her ass cheeks, and then down further. One hands strokes her soft pussy lips, a finger slipping between them rubbing against her clit. The servant watches as the two fool around, the older man fingering the younger woman's tight pussy as she humps him, her robe riding up and giving the servant a clear view of her ass and pussy. She looks behind her and grins at the tent in his pants before unbuttoning her husband's.

  Sliding down a bit, she takes his meat into her mouth, bobbing up and down on it and enjoying the manly scent. The salty precum leaks onto her tongue as she gets him nice and hard. Straddling him again, she lowers herself onto him, taking the full girth into her sopping and horny cunt before stripping off her robe so her servant can see everything.

  Bouncing up and down on the older man's dick, her servant watches her tits jiggling on her chest, her nipples hard and in need of a pinch. Every time this happens, she allows him to go to the bathroom and take care of himself. Sometimes she even forces him to let her watch. His kinky mistress turns him on so bad, and he doesn't even know why.

  He sneaks a rub on his dick while he continues to watch, diligently, as Melanie fucks herself on her husbands thick meat, her moans and cries loud and making him even more horny. He can feel his own precum soaking his pants, as she never allows him to wear underwear.

  On a few occasions, she's even spanked him or put something in his bum, a practice he enjoys greatly. The two lovers ride to an orgasm, Melanie pinching her nipples and her husband slapping her ass as she cries in ecstasy, her hips grinding down on him as he shoots his cum deep within her. A small groan, barely audible, passes between his lips. Melanie heard it though, and she liked it.

  After they both cum, Melanie stays on top of her husband, who continues their conversation as if nothing happened.

  "You have an interview at 6 and a concert right after that. It's a small one, only 600 people. A birthday party." After a few moments of kissing, they both stand up.

  "Shane?" Melanie asks before he walks out the door. "What dress should I wear?"

  "How about the white one." He smiles and waves before he leaves the room. Her help scuttles in, his brown hair bouncing a bit with his steps. Melanie watches him, his green eyes darting around the room looking to pick up the clothes she's thrown about.

  She holds the white dress up to see herself in it. The lace on the shoulders adds a bit of whimsical softness. The dress always reminds her of her childhood in Texas, and the dresses her mother wore to church. It was such a tragedy when her mother died in a car accident, leaving Melanie alone to care for Brianna and William herself. "I should call Brianna later and see how she and Will are doing in Spain. Could you remind me, please, Jake?"

  The boy nods before leaving the room.

  Paranormal Impregnation 1

  Knocked Up On The Job

  Selena Savage

  The walls in Misty's apartment were paper-thin. That meant that every time Janet and her God damned boyfriend started going at it like slavering animals, she heard every little bit of it. When she'd moved into the apartment, Janet had been one of the first people to greet her. Misty had hated her from that moment onward, and everything that had happened since then had only helped reinforce that.

  They were going at it now—Janet had a voice like a banshee when she was rutting, and it was driving Misty insane. It didn't help one bit, either, that she hadn't been able to get a date in weeks. Dave had blown her off, Jeff had left after she told him that she didn't want to see him again, Mark... she couldn't remember exactly what had happened with Mark, but she didn't care much.

  No, they hadn't left a particularly good impression on her, but that didn't mean that Misty didn't have needs. And she sure as hell didn't need to hear Janet fucking Parker getting her "itch" scratched over the sound of her television set. Mason was always around, and there had been a time in her youth that it had seemed like it might be interesting. That they might have something to do together. The problem was that he was Mason.

  Mason was hard to explain to other people, so most of the time she didn't. It was easier that way. He had died… a hundred? Two hundred years ago? Whatever, it wasn't important. If she needed to know then she'd ask him again, and he'd lie about it again.

  "Can't you get them to stop that, Mason?" Misty's voice was low and her teeth were grinding around the words in a mixture of frustration and needing to ask for a favor from a goddamn spook.

  "You know I can't, baby doll. They're way too far gone. Can only push people in directions they were already thinking about anyways, you know that." He sat halfway inside her body, and she could feel her skin puckering. She hated when he did this shit, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. He leaned out of her, as if he needed the arm of the couch to hold him up as he watched her through the corner of his eyes. "And besides that, you know I wouldn't."

  And then, with that, he was gone. Out of the room, anyways. Where she couldn't see him. Misty smiled and imagined to herself that he was really gone, that he wasn't coming back. He'd been nothing but a thorn in her side since the day she was born, and when she was an old eighty-year-old woman, she would still be cursing him, spitting on whatever unmarked grave he laid in.

  She could hear him, though, in her head. "You know, hon, Janet's got a great body." He came back into the room. "You could work out, you're gaining a little weight."

  Misty glanced down at herself and tried to decide how much of what he was saying was to get a rise out of her. She didn't think she'd gained much weight, a couple of pounds maybe. Not having a boyfriend always seemed to mess with her eating habits, and she'd gain or lose weight like crazy. But right now, she still looked alright. It would be another three or four months before she really needed to worry about it.

  "Oh wait, someone's coming," Mason said softy. "I'd better hide."

  He stood directly in front of the door, like some sort of shining beacon of spooks.

  Of course, if the door opened, nobody would see him. Only Misty could do that. She could hear him, pretty much anywhere, too. It had been several years and a few therapy sessiosn before she realized that not everyone had a strange man following them around, trying to play malicious pranks on them.

  He was young, maybe her age now, and slender, but with a broad enough pair of shoulders. She had thought he was handsome, once upon a time, but he grated on her badly, and the more time she had to spend alone with him the worse he grated. Of course, they couldn't touch, so even if she had wanted some sort of "invisible helper" she couldn't use him for it. But that didn't stop him from watching, and unlike family pets, he didn't just sit there silently.

  Misty found it easier to ignore him when there was someone else around. Something about the spiritual presence being weaker, or some bullshit. Mason had been lying to her about spiritual things for so long that she wasn't even sure he knew what the truth was any more, if he ever had known it.

  So when the intercom phone by the door started beeping, Misty was almost surprised. She jabbed the button to talk. "Yes, who is this?"

  "Hi, my name is Henry Blake, I came about your advertisement in the paper?"

  "I don't remember putting an ad in the paper."


  She put the phone into the receiver and turned to walk away. It wasn't a second later when the phone rang again, and she picked it back up.

  "I told you, I didn't put any ad—"

  "You're Misty Reed, right?"

  "Yes, but there must be some kind of mistake."

  "I can show you the ad, if you'd like. I brought it with me."

  "Fine, but I don't know if I can help you. It must be a mistake."

  She thumbed the button to buzz him in, and opened the door, watching down the steps to see when he came through.

  Henry Blake was big, well over six feet tall, and looked strong. He looked like he couldn't have been any older than twenty five, but his hair was pulled back into a long braid that went down almost to his thin waist. His skin was a deep tan that for a moment she thought might have just been the sign of someone who worked outside, but as he got closer she could see it was more than that.

  He had a newspaper folded under one arm, and as he walked up he pulled it out. "Misty Reed? I'm Henry Black, like I said. I came about your ad in the paper. You're a psychic, right?"

  Misty's lips pulled into a wide grimace before she knew what was happening, and her eyes narrowed. God damnit. The right thing to do was to tell him that she couldn't help him. That she wasn't Misty Reed, that she wasn't psychic, that she didn't know anything about it.

  It was mostly true, anyways. She was Misty Reed, and technically she was a psychic. The worst sort, practically not at all. She just saw Mason, and could talk to him with her mind. It was hard, and she didn't usually bother. He could hear her talk, just like he could hear anyone. When he talked to her mind, it was him doing the hard part.

  But, she thought, if she told him to leave, told him that it was a misunderstanding and a prank and she couldn't help with whatever he needed, then he would leave, and he'd take his deep brown eyes and chiseled jaw with him.

  She looked over her shoulder at Mason, who gave her a bright smile and a thumbs-up. Like he was so fucking impressed with himself. An instant seemed to stretch into infinity as the decision lay before her. Did she let him down easy, or did she see how deep the rabbit hole went?

  Misty turned back to look into the infinitely deep pools of Henry's eyes. He was more than just handsome, there was something about him that looked different. Like he knew more than he should. Whatever it was, it turned her on.

  "Oh, right. Of course, I'm sorry. I submitted the ad months ago, they just got around to printing it. It slipped my mind completely."

  She and Mason were going to need to have a talk later, that was for sure. It wasn't immediately obvious how he was involved, but it never was. It was safer to assume that whenever anything went wrong without explanation, he was behind it. Saved time, too.

  "So," Henry said as they drove down the interstate. She was in his passenger seat, and Mason had himself draped across the back seat like a dog. "You've heard of rain dances, right?"

  Misty looked at him and watched in silence. If this was a joke, then she didn't want to jump in and make herself look like some kind of idiot. But as the seconds ticked by, she decided he wasn't kidding. "I mean, I'm aware of the idea, sure."

  "Well, it's a little more complicated than just that, right? But the gist is, everyone dances, and it's a good time, but one guy, he's special. They take him away and prepare him for days, and by the time the ceremony is here, he's not himself. He's…I dunno, it varies. Look, I'm not trying to convert you, but the idea is, spirit comes down and takes residence in the boy's body for a few hours."

  "Okay," Misty said, unsure where she came into the equation.

  "Well, when they do that, then it pays the way for the rest of us, and we get rain for the crops, we get good fortune, whatever we need for the season."

  "Yeah."

  "The problem is, the past six ceremonies, it hasn't worked. Eighteen months straight of nothing."

  "I can see how that could be a problem." Misty was beginning to regret getting involved in this.

  Sure, worries about ghosts were something she could try to alleviate. Mason had dealt with it before. But this was bigger than she was ready to deal with. The whole religion thing was weird, for one. More than that, wasn't it like…sacriligious or something for her to get involved?

  Misty shook her head and enjoyed the feeling of her hair moving around her. Whatever, she thought finally. She'd figure it out or she wouldn't, but until then she'd just have to enjoy herself.

  Her hand started worming its way across the divider; she wasn't entirely sure if it had been an accident at first, but then she was sure it wasn't. She tried her best to maintain deniability, though, until finally her hand was sitting on his thighs. They were thick and powerful and Misty gave it an experimental squeeze.

  Henry chuckled, but said nothing, letting her explore. Misty wasn't exactly unused to the game, and it seemed like Henry was willing to see where thigns went as well. That suited her just fine. She let her hand explore up and down, from his hips to his knees, feeling where the muscles bunched and separated through the thick denim of his jeans. She was almost surprised when they stopped.

  "Had enough exploration," he said in his thick, rich baritone, "or should I just take a lap around the block?"

  Misty looked up and saw that he'd parked in what looked like a small town. Specifically, she was outside of a laundramat.

  "Where are we?"

  "Home," he answered. He flicked his eyes upward, and she saw that over the laundramat was what looked like a row of apartments. He got out and she followed him up the stairs. He took his coat off and slung it over the arm of a tacky-looking sofa as she came in.

  The room looked like a mess, she thought. The furniture was obviously bought whenever was convenient with little thought to creating a cohesive set, and there were several inch-high stacks of paper on the small card table that sat in the middle of the room, with a single wooden folding chair.

  "It ain't much," he said softly. "But you'll probably need to be out here a couple days. I can pay you for your time, of course."

  Mason had waited behind so that he could dramatically enter through the closed door, and now that he saw the inside of the room he was doing a poor job of muffling his giggles, every so often commenting aloud about the patterns on the sofa or the ostentatious carving that was only on one side of the television stand. As usual, Misty tuned him out.

  The first night was more than a little bit odd. Misty had long since gotten past her fear of putting out on the first date. She wanted something, they wanted something, and usually with the crowd she hung around with that something was the same.

  There was something about Henry she couldn't put her finger on, though. He was clearly interested, and he was more than happy to let her explore. Whatever interest he might have had, though, he pushed away easily. When she slipped into bed, pressing his hand against her full breasts, she smiled sadly and rolled out of bed.

  "I'll take the couch," he added as he grabbed one of the several pillows piled into the corner. "I'll see you in the morning."

  That was the last of it. Misty knew better than to push it. She would look downright desperate, and if she was ever sure of anything, she was sure that she wasn't going to act desperate. She could get by without him, without his muscles, and without his…attention.

  So when she laid awake, naked under a thin blanket, with an itch deep inside that she wanted badly to scratch, it was a surprisingly welcome distraction when Mason started talking again.

  "You know, this place is pretty shabby," he said offhandedly.

  They'd been in the apartment for hours, and Misty had quickly grown used to the poor decor, so the comment struck her. "And?"

  "And what's more, it feels weird."

  "It feels fine, stop messing with me."

  "Misty—" Mason sounded annoyed, which was unusual to say the least. He spent most of his time being as pleased as punch with his stupid pranks and practical joking. "I'm serious, okay? Something's off around here. Wha
t was he saying earlier? I wasn't listening."

  "Something about spirits not possessing people for some weird mumbo-jumbo religious dance, I dunno."

  Mason went silent, and for the briefest moment, Misty wondered if he was being serious or not. It was too dark to make out his face, but he was being far too calm for any of this to be a typical joke. He'd had years, decades, centuries to perfect his approach to his peculiar form of absurdity—but he didn't have the ambition or the brains for a long game. If he seemed serious, he usually was.

  And he seemed serious.

  She waited, and waited, and waited. And eventually, she realized the truth of it. Whatever the hell was on his mind, he was gone now. Whenever he was ready to tell her, he'd do it on his own damn time.

  "I don't know what I expected," she said aloud, to nobody in particular. Then she rolled over and tried to ignore one more thing than she had before. Hours later, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  "Hey, Missy?" She hated that nickname, and Mason knew it, but it never stopped him. She didn't respond, or even show that she'd heard the comment.

  "I'll take you to the grounds. We've got a boy there now, okay, but you need to swear to me that you're not going to do anything to him. Don't even talk to him. If you think you need to, tell me, and we'll talk about it."

  "Fine, jeez. Whatever." Misty pushed the hair out of her eyes. It seemed as if she'd never gotten more than a couple of minutes sleep before her eyes opened again in the dark.

  She'd roll over, close her eyes, and then another twenty minutes later they'd be opening again. As if her mind thought that the sun was going to rise any minute now and she needed to be damn ready for it. It made putting on a nice show hard. The overbearing buzz of arousal that filled her head only served to make it worse.