Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Claire Adams

  Xavier stopped before a long, blank wall. It was conspicuous, since so many walls in the White House were adorned with decorations. “What is it?” I whispered to him.

  And he reached up, then, and grabbed a small latch. He tugged at it slightly, allowing his muscles to tighten. And then, he pulled an entire bed from the wall.

  My jaw dropped. He controlled it steadily, allowing the massive, king-sized bed to fall to the floor. It was made perfectly, with these silky, gleaming sheets. I sighed and laid on it, nearly on accident. “Wow,” I breathed. “What is this magical place?”

  And he laid down next to me, stroking my face with his fingers. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. His eyes looked so lazy, so sexual. I leaned toward him and caught his lips with mine, instantly making my pussy so wet, wanting him so bad.

  He pushed me on my back on the mattress, then. He began to unbutton my dress, one, two, three, four—all the zippers. My breasts bobbed from my bra and he caught his mouth around the nipple, tapping his tongue against it. He tugged my tights from my legs, leaving me completely naked on the bed before him, even as he continued to stand in his perfect, presidential suit.

  “Stand up,” he whispered.

  And I did. I stood up on the bed as he stood beside it. He brought his hands around and caught my ass with his fingers. He tugged my pussy toward him and stuck his tongue inside it and then on my clit, pumping it against me and making my back arch, forcing my breasts to the sky. I called out, and grabbed his hair. And still: he wouldn’t stop. He put me through so many levels of pleasure, of play. Right when I was about to come, he pushed me back on the mattress. I grabbed my pussy with my hand and fingered myself roughly, with such sexuality, feeling my juices flowing as he undressed himself.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” he said then. I allowed him to enter me from behind, and I wrapped my hands backwards, around his neck as he fucked me this way. I called out, imagining that the entire White House could hear us fucking, could hear this wall bed slamming around.

  His dick was so wide, so hard, and it penetrated me precisely, creating unbelievable pressure. I sighed and allowed his hands to wrap around my breasts, squeezing the nipples so hard. My screams came in small spurts now. My mind was a rolling mess of ecstasy.

  Then, he pulled himself away from me. I placed his dick in my mouth—rest for him, rest for me. And I rubbed my tongue against the baby-like skin, loving the way his face changed as I blowed him. I allowed him to rub my clit as I did it, and with every lick, I let out a long, high squeal. This man: this man was everything.

  He caught his hands around my cheeks and watched me do it for a moment, watched the way my soft mouth held his wide dick. “God, baby. This is too good,” he murmured. “God, this is good.” His words were simple and his face was so youthful, so pure.

  I fell back on the bed, then—on my back. I opened my legs wide, showing him my pussy—so deep, pulsing before him. And he clambered over me, sticking his dick so deep inside of me, I could feel the physical passion of it deep in my spine. My nails inverted themselves into his back, and I called toward the ceiling. I felt tears fall from my eyes. I felt like the world was ending, but it was all happening at once.

  He fucked me like this for a moment, allowing his eyes to penetrate mine. We were on the precise same wavelength in that moment; we were the only two people who had ever existed on the earth. Certainly, he’d never felt this with his wife. Certainly, I’d never felt this with any other person. My thoughts were nowhere else. They couldn’t belong to anyone else. They were solely rooted in his body, in his mind.

  He jolted into me over and over. He grabbed my tits and he whispered in my ear. “Baby. I’m going to come.”

  And I wanted him to. I felt his dick pulsing in me, like it was the end of something. I clutched his shoulders and told him it was okay. That this was his only chance. And he shoved himself in me with one voluminous crank.

  He came all at once, allowing his eyes to open wide as he did it in such shock. The pleasure of it seemed to roll through me and force my pussy to feel, to know. I felt the orgasm begin in my clit and then move toward my brain, forcing my eyes wide open to meet his. We came all at once, like this: facing toward a future that we couldn’t comprehend. This was our life, now. This was our forever.

  But it could only last so long. We laid together on the satin sheet bed for several moments without talking. We held hands in the center, both of us just listening to each other’s heart beating as we breathed. The ceiling up above us seemed lined with cracks, and momentarily, I was very worried that the entire building was going to come crashing down.

  I whispered to him, then. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  He leaned over on his elbow and blinked at me, his face so open. “What do you mean?”

  I caught his lips in mine, still feeling my pussy so wet for him, wanting more. Perhaps later? I chugged forward with my words. “I mean. What’s going to happen to us? We’re so—you’re so…” My words were cascading from my mouth. I wanted to tell him I loved him again. That was the only thing I could think of, in that moment.

  Luckily, he did it for me. He kissed my nose and smiled that perfect, tooth-filled smile. “Baby. I love you,” he whispered. “And we’re going to get through this together. I promised you a good future, without even knowing this was going to happen. And I still mean that.”

  His words seemed so sure, so trusting. I bit my lip before telling him a very quiet: “I love you too.” But then, I remembered Rachel’s words. How could I actually love him if I didn’t respect him enough to carry my problems, to help me through this terrifying event in my life. I in haled slowly and closed my eyes.

  “What is it?” Xavier asked me, folding my hair over my ear. “What’s going on?”

  But a single tear had emanated down my cheek. “Um. Xavier. I can’t—I can’t live without telling you this anymore.”

  Xavier laughed, almost half-heartedly. I think he could tell something was really wrong. “What is it?” His thumb traced my cheek, and I wanted to stay together like this for the rest of my days.

  But I knew that Xavier would help me; Xavier would get me out of this mess. Perhaps he would even put Jason in jail—or send him off to Bora Bora. Whatever! As long as he and his photographs were out of my life, not sure to ruin my entire existence, my entire career.

  I swallowed. “Okay. It’s a doozy. Are you sure you’re ready?” I asked him. My eyes blinked wildly.

  He nodded. “I’m ready,” he whispered. He winked at me, even, warming me up. Assuring me it was okay.

  “Okay. Do you remember the first time we did this—the first time we got together?” My voice was so meek, lacking any sort of certainty.

  He nodded, grinning. “How could I forget.”

  “Right,” I whispered. “Right. But what if I told you—you weren’t the only one who knew about that rendezvous?”

  He sat up on his elbow, now—higher. Alert. “What’s that?” Clearly I wasn’t telling him anything he wanted to hear. “Someone knows about that time? About us being together?”

  I nodded, feeling another tear course down my cheek. Suddenly, I was so worried. But I’d already come too far to turn back—I’d already given him too much information. I swallowed. “It’s just. Someone was spying on me for some reason.” My voice cracked.

  Suddenly, Xavier was up. He sat upright on the silk sheets. Nothing on his face illustrated that he’d just had the most pleasurable, beautiful sexual experience of his life. He blinked. “Please tell me. Who was spying on you?” His voice sounded so presidential, so curt. I wanted to run away, to take it all back. I wanted this to be beautiful again.

  I sat up, as well, feeling like an alien in my own body. “He put the cameras around my apartment,” I whispered. I felt my tongue lolling around in my mouth. “He put cameras in my apartment, and they—they ruined everything.”

  “Who did this?” Xavier asked again. �
��I don’t have time for this, Amanda. This needs to be dealt with.”

  This was all wrong; it was going all wrong! I knelt my chin down to my chest. “Jason. Jason did this. He—he wanted to take advantage of me, to know what was going on in my life. He sensed that we were seeing each other.”

  Xavier didn’t say anything for a long time. I suddenly felt like we were strangers.

  “He’s taking advantage of you?”

  I nodded. “He—he makes me—he controls me.” But already, the words were losing steam as I watched the anger grow in Xavier’s eyes. He righted himself on the floor and reached toward his clothes, shoving his muscled legs into his black suit pants.

  “I don’t know why the fuck you didn’t tell me about this before, Amanda. I hired you to be my campaign manager. You’re supposed to be my fucking eyes and ears out there. You aren’t supposed to be the problem.”

  My eyes grew wide with the words. Suddenly, he’d transitioned into being my employer; he was reprimanding me about my job. I tucked the silk sheet over my breasts and blinked at him, feeling like a very small child. “I know,” I whispered meekly. “I know.”

  “But you don’t know,” he continued. His voice was loud, and it echoed throughout the small space. Faux bedroom. “You don’t even fucking know how to clean this up. I knew better than to fucking hire a new girl, twenty-nine years old when everyone else was better qualified.”

  The words stung. I righted myself, blinking wildly at this man—this man I had thought I could love. But suddenly, he stuck his hand out to the right, toward the door. The finger led me there. “Leave, Amanda,” he retorted, without giving me a chance to explain myself. “You must leave.”

  I grabbed my clothes and rushed out, naked, feeling the tears rush down my face. In the movie theater, An American in Paris was still playing, and it gave me such a false sense of security as I hurriedly pulled on my clothes.

  Beneath the Eiffel Tower, they danced on and on. Meanwhile, I rushed from the White House, feeling like Cinderella, after the ball.

  POWER #4

  Chapter 1

  I tossed myself into the night, away from the shell of the White House. I felt my tears riding hot and heavy down my chest. The president’s voice seemed to echo in my head. His words: “I knew better than to fucking hire a new girl, twenty-nine-years-old when everyone else was better qualified,” were ringing and ringing in my ears. God, those words. They broke me in that moment. Everything I had thought I’d worked for had been taken from me. The president had reduced me to his sexual object—the woman who would ultimately ruin him.

  Why had I told him, anyway? I had wanted things to be beautiful between us, and yet this was what I ultimately got. I got mistrustful glances and angry retorts; I was spurned from his bed and shaken out into the cold world. I wrapped my coat around my shoulders and hailed a taxi, knowing I looked like a crazy woman. The yellow car coursed up and I swept into it, shivering wildly. I told him Rachel’s address, knowing that my own address was completely out of the question. I couldn’t allow Jason to see me cry. I couldn’t allow him to eat his Doritos and watch the true emotion wretch from my body.

  The taxi pulled me through Washington once more. I paid him quickly, my eyes nearly closing as the stress took hold of my brain, and then I climbed the steps with forceful footfalls. I tapped at the door and Rachel opened it swiftly, her eyes wide. She didn’t expect me home so soon, if at all. Her words were on her lips in a moment. “What happened?” she whispered.

  I knelt my head to her shoulder and began to weep. My body was quaking. Rachel brought her hands to my shoulders and rubbed at my spine, at my very bones. I could feel her small fingers attempting to loosen the strain and tension in my back.

  Finally, she drew me to the couch. She leaped up and poured us both a glass of wine quickly, noting that I was continually staring at the floor before me listlessly. I accepted the wine and guzzled it back, trying to retreat from my feelings. But they stayed. They stayed.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” she whispered then, across from me in the chair by the window. The moonlight glistened against her red hair.

  I smacked my lips slowly—what a satisfying sound. “You know. It didn’t exactly go according to plan.” I felt a laugh escape from me now, forcing Rachel into a worried smile.

  “Sure. Nothing ever does,” Rachel whispered. The silence hung between us for a moment. “So you told him?”

  I nodded calmly. “It was a beautiful evening. One of the better we’ve ever spent together. I started to feel, you know, like we were linked in some way—like we were meant to be together. That perhaps it could even work out; that I could hold onto my career and still be with him. What a silly thought, no?”

  Rachel just furrowed her eyebrows, then. She didn’t say anything, allowing me to push through the story.

  I cleared my throat. “Anyway. I told him about Jason. Sure, I didn’t tell him so well. The story was sloppy and ill-conceived. It sort of came out of nowhere. But I told him, all the same. And he kicked me out of the bedroom. He essentially told me he should have never hired an inexperienced girl like me.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “He said that?” She knew that this attack on my career was greater than anything else; but she also understood that I was so assuredly falling in love with this man.

  “And then. He kicked me out,” I nodded. “He told me to leave. I’m not surprised if I’m fired. But I can’t be sure.” I sighed, taking another sip. The wine was bitter, and it fit my mood. Everything seemed to be folding together into this grand, bitter scheme.

  But Rachel placed her hand on my knee from across the coffee table. Her thin wrist twisted a bit as she did it. “You’re going to get through this, Amanda. Come on. You’re a fighter. That’s how you got into this position. Not for any other reason. Not because you’re beautiful, because anyone can see that. But because you have balls and brains.” Rachel’s face was so grim. Her mouth was a flat line between her fine cheeks. In that moment, she noted that I was out of wine, and she re-filled us both, bringing us into the next stage of this drunken reality: away from sad drunk and more toward angry drunk.

  “You know what we should do?” she asked me, midway through her second drink. The evil gleamed in her eyes. “We should tell his wife.” She nodded succinctly.

  I tossed my head back, shaking it. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Camille? No. No, no.”

  “But think about it?” Rachel asked, flashing her palms toward me in a curious move. “He won’t be expecting it. She’s not the public, certainly, and she won’t want this to get out. But it will offer the perfect retribution for all he’s put you through. He’ll have this hellacious woman figure in his life, and he certainly will rue the day he ever misaligned your career like that.” She smiled in that grim way once more. “It’s beautiful.”

  I laughed, but I wasn’t so sure. “What about going to the media?” I asked, playing along with her words. “I could tell them that I was the president’s little plaything for a while, that I have secrets to the ways in which he handles other countries and world leaders.” I thought for a moment. “You know, it’s actually kind of true.” I winked at her.

  Rachel laughed, nearly spinning her wind with the joyousness of it. “You’re wicked, my girl. Wicked. We could ruin him. We two in this room. We have more dirt on the president than anyone in the world.”

  Rachel reached toward the cell phone on the coffee table, then. I paused from my laughter, my eyebrows high. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  Rachel shrugged. “We have to start somewhere, don’t we? The Times? Someone will be awake, typing away in these late hours.”

  But I shook my head, a grim expression exhibiting itself on my face. “Not tonight, Rachel. A couple of drunk ladies calling into the New York Times? I don’t think that would work so well.” I winked at her, but really, my heart was quaking in my chest. In these moments, I hated the president with a sure passion. However, I knew that
deep inside my soul, I actually cared for him a great deal. Even loved him, although I hated to admit this to myself. Threatening Xavier from afar was making me feel ever better (and the wine wasn’t hurting, either).

  However, ruining Xavier’s life also meant something else. It meant that I was exposing myself as his “bimbo”—something that Jason was attempting to do, all this time. And that meant that I couldn’t ever tell anyone. I couldn’t allow my identity to be revealed. I couldn’t allow all that I had worked for to be burned at the stake, so to speak, only for my anger and jealousy. I was much stronger than that.

  Thusly, a few hours later—near sun-up, when Rachel went to bed—I laid in my guest bedroom and listened to the cars as they whizzed by the apartment complex. I thought about the life I’d always wanted: the powerful one at the top. I thought about how lonely that one was: that if I ever found anyone to share it with, that would truly be a beautiful thing. But my need for that life still obliterated everything, almost even my deep passion for the president. And thus: all my decisions had to keep my career in mind. If that ultimately meant that I needed to leave the campaign in order to resist the president and get away from his lying, scheming self—the man who had pushed me back out into the dangerous world, even after I had told him all that had happened to me (the blackmail, etc.), then so be it.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, I stretched myself from bed, unsure if I should go back into work. I could remember the scorn from the president’s lips so well in my ears, and I didn’t want to return to that mockery. I didn’t want to go see those eyes—those eyes that had provided such comfort, such humor in the previous days—and know that they ultimately hated me, now. It was too much to face.

  However, the White House had become my home, in many ways. As I tapped from the guest bedroom in Rachel’s house, I noted the cold, slickness of the floor; I wrapped my sweater around my shoulders. I didn’t feel like myself, as I did in the White House. Instead, I felt like a foreigner. I could hear Rachel getting ready for work in her larger bathroom, and I knew that I needed to head out the door, as well. What was I going to do at home all day—in Rachel’s home? Read romance novels? Watch talk television? Dream ever about reaching the heights of my career, without really pursuing it in a realistic sense?