by Kami Kayne
His, a Claimed by the Billionaire novella
By
Kami Kayne
Published By Novel Mind Books
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2013 Kami Kayne
All rights reserved
Books by Kami Kayne
Sweet Surrender
Sweet Seduction
Falling for Angel
Staking His Claim
Yes, Daddy
Naughty
She’s No Angel
His: A Claimed by the Billionaire novella
So Wrong 2: The Ultimate Taboo Box Set
About the Book
Open your legs, Allison. Open them now. I want to see what’s mine.
Eighteen year old Allison loves her disabled mother. In fact, Allison would do anything for her, especially now that she is wheelchair-bound. But she has no idea her love and commitment are about to be tested…in a BIG way. Her virginity is part of her mother’s new employment agreement, and Ryan Sharpe, her mother’s demanding new boss, likes to do it hard. When Ryan makes his expectations clear, how far will Allison go to save her mother's job and their future?
Warning: This 10,000 word erotic novella contains explicit descriptions of sex between a curvy eighteen year old virgin and an alpha billionaire with a secret agenda. Intended for ADULTS ONLY, this story contains scenes of graphic, rough sex; orgasm denial; spanking; and a hard deflowering.
Sample
“Open your legs, Allison. Open them now. I want to see what’s mine.”
His? I was his?
Oh my God.
My body was his. Even the parts down there.
Especially the parts down there.
The authority in his voice was so sexy. This was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Sure, I was a virgin…who hadn’t ever sucked cock…or done a lot of other stuff before. But I had made out with my share of boys.
Boys. That was what they were.
Mr. Sharpe was no boy. He was a man. Strong. Domineering. Powerful. There was most definitely a difference.
“Allison.”
I turned sideways so my body was angled toward him and leaned back, knees bent, feet resting on the seat.
His gaze was so hot it scalded my skin. “You heard me.”
I nodded.
He grabbed my wrist, fingers clamped tightly around it like a cuff. “On your knees. Now. Lay over my lap.”
Shocked by the sharpness in his voice, I slid to the floor then rested my upper body on his thighs.
What was he going to do? Spank me like a naughty child?
“P-please…” I whispered.
His hand caressed my naked ass. “Silence.”
BBW, billionaire, curves, virgin, creampie, breeding, spanking
Chapter 1
When I was a kid I used to dream of meeting a real prince, like Prince William. He would take one look at me, fall madly in love with me, beg me to marry him, and we would live happily ever after in his castle on a mountain. Just like Cinderella.
And why shouldn’t that happen? I deserved to be happy, right? Especially after the crappy life I’ve led so far.
Ten years of watching my mom’s health decline.
Ten years of food stamps and disability, of scraping to get by.
Ten years of clinging to hope when reality kept telling me I was being a total idiot for even imagining my dreams might come true.
All this time I’ve been waiting, anticipating meeting him. Meeting my prince charming.
It happened.
Today.
On my eighteenth birthday.
He was tall. His shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight of the world. His features were striking and masculine and everything I’d imagined. But his eyes were different. Instead of soft and gentle, they were sharp. Piercing. The color of steel. And, like steel, they sliced right through to my soul, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable and unsteady on my feet.
He wasn’t a royal from a distant country. Based on his very American accent, I would guess he was one hundred percent American. The prince of an industry. A business tycoon. With power and money.
And he was older than I’d expected. At least thirty.
“Honey, this is Ryan Sharpe,” my mom said as she motioned toward the intimidating man standing next to the limousine parked outside our dingy bungalow. The car looked out of place on our narrow street, packed with beaters and broken down trucks. Just as the man himself, wearing clothes that fit as if they’d been made just for him, looked out of place standing on the cracked, tilting sidewalk, littered with broken toys abandoned by the kids next door. “Mr. Sharpe offered to take you out to dinner for your birthday.”
“That’s very kind of you.” It felt surreal, extending my hand to shake his. Was this really happening? Was I meeting a genuine billionaire? “Thanks. But…”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” He motioned to the limo. “Please.”
Mom rolled her wheelchair back slightly, and suddenly I realized what she’d said, you. She’d said, take you to dinner.
Not us.
“Mom, I thought you would be coming too.” I hesitated. Something was wrong. I knew what Mom had told me earlier. I remembered it clearly. She’d said that the boss at her new temp job had found out about my birthday and he had invited both of us out to dinner to celebrate. While she’d spent more time helping me pick out my outfit than her own, I still had expected her to come with us.
Mom shook her head. “I’m not feeling well. Are you too disappointed?”
I was disappointed.
And a little confused.
I had thought Mr. Sharpe had invited us out to dinner to get to know my mom better. She was closer to his age than I was, thirty-six. She was beautiful, with long, thick mahogany hair and huge blue eyes. She was single. She was thin and petite and graceful, even though she was sick, while I was tall and curvy and awkward. And, after Dad had run off ten years ago, after she’d been diagnosed with MS, she deserved her own prince charming as much as anyone. Actually, she didn’t just deserve a prince charming, she needed one. Especially now that she was no longer able to walk.
There she was, the picture of feminine beauty, sitting in that stupid wheelchair, more or less shoving me out the door, encouraging me to go out with the man that should be taking her out.
God, she was at it again.
When she had first come to the realization that she would spend the rest of her life in that damn chair, she’d become withdrawn, depressed. I thought she’d given up on life. But lately, when she’d found the temp job at Sharpe Industries, she’d seemed to have come alive again. She talked nonstop about her job, her coworkers, her boss. I hadn’t seen her this happy in ages.
But now she was backsliding again, falling back into a depression.
“Um,” I mumbled, not sure what to say. With her big, pleading eyes and tip of the head, she was encouraging me to go without her. Why? “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry. You can bring something back for me later.” Mom jerked her head toward the car. “Go. Please. I don’t want to ruin this night for you. It’s your birthday.”
“But we’ve always celebrated our birthdays together. You and me. Always.”
“I’ll make a cake. We’ll celebrate just like we always do.”
I glanced at Mr. Sharpe, who was waiting patiently beside the car. He didn’t deserve to be stood up after having made such a generous offer and going to the trouble of hiring the limo and everything. I nodded. “I’ll bring you something back.”
“Thank you, honey. Go, have fun.” She gave me a little shaky-handed wave and I returne
d it before brushing past Mr. Sharpe to duck into the car.
I’ve see what limos look like on the inside, but only on TV. The reality was so much better. The leather of the seats was so soft and it smelled amazing. Sitting inside the huge car, I felt luxurious. As the vehicle prowled the crowded street, I watched the people sitting on their porches staring and pointing. It was as if I were in a parade.
“Would you like something to drink?” Mr. Sharpe asked. He was sitting beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body warming my arm. I was trying hard not to notice how amazing he smelled, too, or how sexy the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw made him look. This guy was almost old enough to be my dad.
“No, thanks.” I turned to watch as he helped himself to a bottle of water in the vehicle’s refrigerator. “Thanks for taking me out for dinner. I’m sorry about my mom. I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to get stuck having dinner with a kid.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He lifted his glass. “For one thing, you aren’t a kid in my eyes. You’re an adult. A woman. A beautiful woman.”
My heart literally stopped. For at least a second or two.
Was this guy…was he coming on to me? I opened my mouth to respond, but no words would come out. What the hell was I supposed to say? That he was supposed to be saying those words to my mom because she was prettier than me, skinnier than me? Was I supposed to point out that he was too old for me?
Maybe he wasn’t too old. Now that I’d gotten a good, close look at him, I guessed he was younger than I had originally thought. Maybe late twenties. Ten years. There might be ten years between us.
Was that too many?
Watching me closely with those penetrating eyes, he swallowed some of the water he had poured into a glass. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Good.” Sliding closer, he lifted his left arm, draped it over the back of the seat, and twisted to face me.
The hairs on my nape stood on end. My face was getting hot. I could feel it. I couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. Not when he was this close. So I stared down at his shoes. They were nice shoes. Polished. They looked like they’d never stepped outside of a shoe store. Mine, on the other hand, were worn and scuffed.
What was this man doing with me? A guy like this could have dinner with any woman he wanted. Right this minute he could have been going out with a woman with perfect hair and a perfect body. A woman like my mom…ten years ago.
“Allison.”
I lifted my head but I stared at his chest instead of looking him in the eye. His crisp shirt was wrinkle-free. Perfectly pressed.
He grasped my chin. “Allison,” he repeated.
Damn it. He wasn’t going to let me keep staring at his chest. I dragged my gaze up. It skimmed up his neck, over a square jaw sprinkled with stubble, over a perfect mouth with lips that looked extremely kissable, along the narrow blade of a nose and finally stopped at those intense eyes of his. They reminded me—he reminded me—of Christian Grey from my favorite book, Fifty Shades of Grey.
“There you are. Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his lips curling up at the corners.
“No, of course not.”
“Good. Then what’s wrong?”
“I just…it’s the compliment. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Why?” he asked, still holding my chin. “Don’t you believe you’re beautiful?”
Without knowing it, he’d hit the target dead in the center. Bulls eye. Did I believe I was beautiful? Absolutely not. I was normal. Average. Acceptable. “I believe…my mother is beautiful.”
“Ah.” His brows rose. Did any guy in the world have more perfect eyebrows? “Yes, she is. She is a stunningly beautiful woman. But…”
“But…?” My heart twisted. Had he decided he wasn’t interested in her anymore? Why? Because she was in a wheelchair? Did that make her less than a woman to him? Less than perfect?
What about me? I wasn’t perfect either. I wasn’t a living fashion doll, a size zero. I didn’t have money for expensive pedicures and manicures or dye jobs. I came from the wrong side of town. I didn’t go to a fancy private school for girls. I didn’t know which fork to use if there was more than one. “But she’s in a wheelchair?”
“No.”
“No?” I echoed, trying to understand what this man was thinking. “Then why the, ‘but’?”
“She told me she can’t have children. I want children.”
“Children?” I echoed, having a hard time wrapping my head around what was happening. How had the topic of children come up between my mom and her new employer? Had it been a casual conversation? Or had they discussed it more directly, like a couple considering dating or eventual marriage? “Exactly what is the relationship between my mom and you?”
“I would say we’re friends.”
“Friends?” I echoed, not sure whether I believed him. My mom had never said she was involved with this man. She hadn’t gone on any dates that I’d been aware of. And I would definitely know about that. Not once had he shown up with a limo, before today. So jumping to the conclusion that they’d been romantically involved was probably a little hasty. But still…they’d discussed having children? Why?
“Let me explain something to you,” he said, probably sensing my doubt. “I don’t have many friends. Friends help each other. They support each other. So often I’m in the position to help someone else. And I don’t mind doing that. I do it all the time. But it isn’t often that someone can help me in return. And when that person is not only able to help me, but willing, I call that person a true friend. Your mother is a true friend to me.”
“Why? What could she possibly do for you?”
“She’s helped me with a problem that has been plaguing me for a long time.”
“What problem is that?”
“We can discuss that later. For now, I would rather enjoy our evening together. Get to know each other.”
“Is this…a date?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I began to question whether I’d confused generosity with something else. I opened my mouth to rescind my question, but his answer cut me off.
“Yes, Allison. Yes, it is a date.”
Chapter 2
Holy crap.
Holy shit.
Holy…what the hell?
A date? I was on a date with my mother’s boss?
I didn’t know what to say. His confession shocked me. My mother had set me up on a blind date with her boss? And she hadn’t even told me about it?
Why?
She’d made up a story about him inviting us out to dinner to celebrate my birthday. Why had she lied? She’d never lied to me before. Never.
Why?
If anything, that was the one issue I had with this whole thing—that my mother had lied to me. Nothing else bothered me. Mr. Sharpe’s age was not a big deal.
He was handsome. Rich. Sexy.
Maybe she’d lied so I would give him a chance, get to know him a little, rather than assuming he was too…old/rich/whatever for me?
Maybe?
“You’ve become very quiet,” he said. He was still sitting right there, next to me, his arm draped over the back of the seat. And those cold, hard eyes of his were drilling into mine.
“I’m okay. Just a little confused.”
“About what? You’re a beautiful woman. I’m a man. I wanted to get to know you.” The car stopped just as I was about to respond, so I didn’t. “Ah, we’re here. I don’t care to eat out often, but when I do this is my favorite place.”
I peered out the window. The sign said, Entrepôt. With the little squiggle over the O, I figured it must be some kind of foreign word. Entrepôt. Never heard of it.
But that wasn’t much of a shock. Considering the fact that Mom and I considered a trip to McDonald’s a luxury, any place that a man like Mr. Sharpe would dine would be way out of our league.
The driver opened the door for us. Mr. Sharpe had me exit first.
He followed. I was fully aware of him as he stepped up behind me. I felt his heat simmering over my skin. He placed one hand on the small of my back. “This way.” His voice was a low, intimate rumble. The sound sent little tremors quaking through me.
I let him steer me through the door. Inside, we were greeted by a young hostess and promptly paraded past the waiting patrons lounging on the benches lining the walls of the entry, and through a maze of tables in the cavernous dining area to a room in the very back of the large building. It was small, compared to the high-ceilinged, wide-open space we had passed through. And it was empty.
“Is this okay, Mr. Sharpe?” the hostess asked, knowing his name even though he hadn’t spoken a word to her.
Clearly, he had some clout in this place. I had to admit I was impressed. She slid me a glance while she waited for his response.
“Yes, thank you,” he said.
She bobbed her head and scampered off, stealing one more glance over her shoulder before turning the corner.
“Wow,” I said as I sat. He pushed in my chair for me like a gentleman. No guy had ever done that for me. “Now this is service.”
“I prefer privacy. I hope you don’t mind dining back here, alone.”
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
A waiter arrived, so silent I hadn’t realized he was there until he was standing next to Mr. Sharpe. The waiter displayed a wine bottle, and at my date’s nod, he opened it and poured two glasses. Then he ran off without speaking a word.
Mr. Sharpe lifted his glass. “To getting to know each other.”
Wondering if I should point out that I was legally too young to drink, I lifted my glass and tapped it to his. “To getting to know each other.”
Not knowing what to expect—I hadn’t tasted wine before—I sipped. It was strong but tasty. I took another drink. Oh, yes. Very good.
“Do you like it?” he asked, after swallowing some.
“I do. I wasn’t sure whether I would or not. I’ve never had wine before.”
