StepShifter 1
Alpha Billionaire Lover
A NYC MMA SEAL BBW BWWM MMF Ménage Paranormal Quickie Romance
Book One – Christmas Eve
Ophelia Sikes
Copyright © 2015 by Ophelia Sikes /
Minerva Webworks LLC
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Ophelia Sikes.
Book design by Ophelia Sikes
Visit my website at OpheliaSikes.com
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Life is too short to take anything too seriously :).
First Printing: March 2015
- v2 –
Half of all author’s proceeds from this book benefits battered women’s shelters.
Smile. Laugh.
Life is fleeting – enjoy every moment.
StepShifter 1
Alpha Billionaire Lover
Chapter 1
“Hungry like the Wolf.”
-- Duran Duran
“Hunger is the best pickle.”
-- Benjamin Franklin
I was starving.
I was four hours into my nearly six-hour-long Christmas Eve flight from Los Angeles to New York City, and I was ready to gnaw my arm off. All around me echoed the snores of passengers having wet dreams about Jessica Alba in a ménage a trois with Chris Pratt and Ryan Gosling. Hell, I’d like some of that action, myself. The eighty-something guy across the aisle from me was watching porn on his laptop, his hand beneath the blanket doing … something … while the pair of college girls at his side dreamed their dreamy dreams.
I shook my head and drew my gaze plaintively up and down the aisle. Not a flight attendant in sight. Undoubtedly they were all off in first class playing hide-and-seek with the billionaires, hoping to become a travel bunny.
I rolled my eyes. The women didn’t know what jerks those guys could be.
Billionaires.
It was because of a billionaire that I was stuck on this red-eye flight. And not just any billionaire, mind you. Oh, no. It was my jerky, Mr. Perfect, ‘can’t you be more like your stepbrother, Miss Melissa’ quarterback-of-the-year billionaire, Lance.
Ever since my mother had married his father back in eighth grade, my life had been sheer hell. The kids in school all teased me because I moved from a tiny apartment in Jefferson Park to a mansion in Brentwood. They didn’t know what it was like to see your mom scurrying around to be “Mrs. Super-Wife” to a business mogul who happened to make more than the gross national product of half of Europe. And the new shaken-not-stirred family only came about because he’d gotten a half his age, wrong-side-of-the-tracks bartender at his high-end, exclusive, private club pregnant - and it went against his code to do anything else.
His code.
The man destroyed lives by the thousands with his deceptive investment practices, and he worried about a code.
And now he and my mother were off with little Farley Lancelot in Saint Croix, or somewhere, celebrating the holidays, and I was stuck on this red-eye.
My stomach rumbled loudly, and I kicked at the seat in front of me in sheer frustration.
A head swiveled around. “Hey!”
I flushed. I never did anything like that. Never lashed out. Never spoke up. I did what I was told, just like my doormat mom. My voice held abject apology. “I’m so sorry. I’m just starving, and I snapped.”
I looked up into his eyes.
Jesus Christ, he was gorgeous.
Stunning blue eyes, like James McAvoy on steroids. A chiseled, masculine face. Tousled dark hair. Fuck, I must have woken him up. He had that look in his eyes. The look that said Roll me over again, and climb on me hard, because I’m ready to –
His smile was the fireworks to highlight my fantasy. “Hey, I have a bag of trail mix up here. Brought it on with me just in case some insane, sexy lady started kicking at the back of my chair. Come on up here and I’ll let you have some.”
My blush must have gone deep through to my soul. Sexy? Sexy was for all those toothpick-thin models that lived on Rodeo Drive. I was the opposite. Zaftig. Plump. Curvaceous. All about the base – and the treble. But his smile was inviting and I was – literally – thinking about how I could gnaw at the leather of my purse and get some tiny bit of solace out of it. Like a baby mouthing on an empty nipple. Better than nothing.
And this man in front of me was certainly better than nothing.
I undid my buckle and moved up next to him. Somehow he’d scored an empty row, with only him on the aisle. But he didn’t slide in. Just smiled up at me with those gleaming, blue eyes, his head nudging to the empty seat at his side.
He was going to make me climb over him.
He had trail mix.
My stomach tried to eat itself, and I gave up on all thoughts of propriety. I turned to face him and slid in my leg.
I lost my balance.
My hands came down on either side of him, landing on his shoulders. I gasped. Jesus Christ, the guy must be a professional body builder or something. He was built like a Mack truck. My fingers drew in against that solid mass of their own accord.
I looked down.
My ample breasts were pressed nearly at his face, and with my low-cut black shirt, he was getting an eye-full. A hot flush filled his face; the look in his eyes told me he was suddenly thinking about a hunger far removed from chocolate and peanuts.
His hands slid up the sides of my jeans to my ample ass.
Some tiny voice in the back of my brain screamed for me to get him to stop. We were on an airplane. There were people all around us. Stewardesses, even, if they ever pulled themselves free from the Wealthy Class and descended to wait on us poor folk.
His hands squeezed.
I gave a soft moan, my panties soaking.
I admit it. It’s something I’d always thought about doing, the times when my girlfriends and I came up with wild, exotic bucket-lists of things we’d like to do. Fucking in an airplane. Right up there with fucking on a tropical beach under moonlight. But I’d never dreamed that –
His mouth delved under my blouse and found my nipple.
I arched into him in delight, looking around in half-panic, half-uncaring-pleasure. The cabin was nearly pitch dark. The only person in the aisle across from us was an elderly gentleman with a paisley sleep mask tight over his eyes. I couldn’t see anyone in the rows before or behind us.
His mouth sucked.
I bit in the moan of pleasure. I slid my hands into his shirt, undoing the buttons. I wanted to see his bare flesh. I wanted to touch him all over. I got the buttons released about half-way down and slid his shirt off his shoulders.
Damn, he was fine. He had a SEAL tattoo on his right shoulder – and some sort of a Chinese zodiac circle on the left. The kind of thing you see at a Chinese restaurant placemat to help you figure out which animal you were.
I was a sheep. A tame, submissive, do-what-you’re-told sheep, and now my wildest fantasy was springing to life.
His hand moved to my jeans, springing the button free. I gasped, nearly telling him to stop. Nearly climbing free of him and returning to the safety of my seat.
Instead I twined m
y hand into his hair, pressing his mouth harder against my aching nipple.
His fingers flexed, flickered, and hot desire delved into me, liquefying all in its path. It was as if his hand was coated with the ultimate aphrodisiac and my body responded instantly to its scent. I swear my juices soaked clean through my jeans.
He groaned when he felt how wet I was, and his teeth bit down on my nipple. Red-hot desire coursed through me.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark with lust, and he growled, “You want this, huh? You want to be fucked?”
He took my hand and brought it down to his bulging cock.
Fuck me. The man was hung like a bull moose. How were the jeans not splitting in the seams?
His voice was low in my ear – an order. “Take it out.”
I knew better than to disobey. I reached down and unsnapped that button. I barely had to pull down the zipper – the force of that immense shaft pushed it out for me. The head pushed out over the black briefs, hot, throbbing.
He looked at my hand. “You know what you’re supposed to do.”
I moved my hand toward my mouth, to get my hand slick, and he shook his head in disapproval. “Get it from your pussy,” he ordered. “That’s what it’s there for. To bring me pleasure.”
I slid my hand into my pants.
Two of my fingers went deeper, of their own accord, and I moaned –
He snapped his hand against my ass, sending that sharp sear of pleasure-pain through my body. “Bad girl. You’re supposed to be pleasing me. Your punishment is you have to stay perfectly quiet while I –”
He drew his mouth over my other nipple and …
Jesus fucking Christ.
I don’t know if he was sucking, or biting, or what, but the sensation in my body was beyond anything I’d felt before. It was like Christmas and New Year’s and my birthday all rolled into one fireworks-finale-with-crystal-meth-icing extravaganza. I could barely breathe. It took every ounce of my focus to hold in the groans of delight which threatened to shake out of every pore.
At last he drew my hand out from my pants. My fingers felt thoroughly soaked. And then he firmly grasped his penis with my hand. Closed his hand shut around mine. And began sliding.
His cock was huge, hot, and throbbing with need. His hand controlled my every motion, slowing, then speeding up, and his other hand drew my mouth down to his. His lips pressed hard against mine, claiming me, and a groan shuddered out of me. I could feel his cock only inches away from my pussy, my soaking-wet pussy, and I wanted him. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything in my entire life. His tongue ravaged me, torturing me, and his hand pounded mine along the length of that rock-hard shaft, slamming down into his muscular pelvis, then back up to that rounded head.
His hand left my hair, moving down to my breasts, and he slid my shirt up, revealing the black lace bra I was wearing. His fingers slid to my back, and with a snap I felt my large breasts come free from those bindings. He groaned, sliding the bra up so my breasts were free, bouncing in his face. He moved from one to the other, sucking, licking, biting, all the while his hand moving faster … faster …
Then, suddenly, with both hands he pushed my shoulder back, so my body moved over to half-sit, half-kneel in the seat next to him. My head came down over that gorgeous cock of his, taking it deep into my throat – deeper than I’d ever taken anything before. I half-choked, but his fingers twined hard, holding me in place –
He exploded.
The hot cum coursed down my throat and I sucked … sucked … drinking him down in glorious heat.
Drinking him dry.
At last his breathing eased and the final drops trailed out that massive cock of his. I licked them off, then looked up at him.
Those blue eyes shone in cool triumph.
He looked over my round breasts possessively, and then he reached down to the bag at his feet. He drew out a bottle of Jägermeister. “Here, take a hit of this.”
I took it from him and downed a gulp of it. It was strong, but the fire of it matched the flame in my heart. He might have had his release, but I was still primed for action.
His gaze held mine. “Open your legs wide.”
I did as I told, desire coursing through me. Whatever he was about to do, I was all in.
He drew his gaze slowly up from my pelvis to my breasts, still revealed in the shadows of the cabin.
His voice was low. “Pull up the zipper. Slowly.”
I could feel every motion of the zipper pull against my body. It was a new kind of torture.
He nudged his head at my breasts. “Now put your bra back on.”
Confusion roiled within me, but I did as instructed. I could feel the fabric scraping against my hot, hard nipples – nipples that craved his mouth. His teeth.
Release.
He eased my shirt back down over those round breasts, and his eyes shone. “You want it, don’t you.”
I nodded, my breath coming in short draws.
He ran his fingers over my inner thigh, where my legs were still sprawled open. “Tell me how much you want it.”
“I want it … I want it …” I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even imagine how to verbalize how much my body craved him.
He leant forward, his mouth in my ear. “Would you fuck me in a taxi?”
I groaned. “Yes.”
His strong fingers traced up my inner thigh, heading for that sweet spot. “What if I bent you over my office desk, and slammed into you hard from behind, and you couldn’t make one sound, because if you did the entire office would know what we were up to?”
“Yes … yes …”
His eyes shone, and I could see his cock hardening again. The thought of it plunging into me, filling me, made my entire body ache.
His lips drew my ear, and his voice became a low growl. “And would you –”
Whatever he was going to say, my answer was yes.
The lights came on.
His pants were zipped before I could blink, and he looked like any other passenger. Well, any other passenger who also looked like a MMA star who did action movies on the side.
A bright, chirpy female voice came on the intercom. “We’ll be landing soon, so please be sure to buckle in and put your seat-back into the full upright position.”
She sounded like she’d gotten laid. But my body was still in the ninth level of Hellish torments.
The corner of his mouth drew up in a grin. “It is Christmas Eve, after all. I suppose you might deserve a present of some sort.”
I knew exactly what kind of a present I wanted from him. I knew just how to unwrap it, too.
He reached back down into that bag of his and drew out a container of trail mix.
My mouth watered at the sight. I’d forgotten how starving I was.
He took out a chocolate candy and examined it. Then he turned to me. “Open.”
Desire and need swirled to greater heights and it was all I could do to obediently open my mouth.
He traced the edge of the candy along my lower lip. I could feel every movement of it, smell the rich aroma of the chocolate and his cum and my moistness on his fingers. My tongue traced out –
He drew back the candy, shaking his head. “Bad girl.”
He lifted the candy in the air.
I drew back my tongue, opening my mouth again.
He moved the candy along my lip again, and I groaned with the torture, but I held still. Held still as his thumb traced against my skin. As he leaned forward and I could see those lips … those lush lips … the ones I wanted to claim me … take me … brand me as his.
The candy was placed on my tongue.
It was the best thing I had ever tasted. I sucked at it, savoring every drop, every tiny morsel of it. And when he began with the next … and the next … I was his. Wholly his.
The plane landed, we taxied to the gate, and all that mattered was his fingers. His lips. Those brilliant blue eyes of his which held mine like a solid chain of steel.
When the passengers began disembarking, I waited until they were cleared so I could get my own purse and bag, then preceded him down the aisle.
We walked side by side through the quiet terminal. JFK was decked out in pine garlands and red bells, in striped candy canes and white doves. But I had gotten the best Christmas gift of all. My body felt alive – vibrantly alive – and if his whispers had been any indication – I was in for the holiday of my life.
The hell with my step-brother. I didn’t know why I was following my parents’ instructions and coming out here to work for him. To be his secretary? At his marketing firm?
I’d wanted to be a fashion designer. To finally make outfits that curvy women could feel sexy in. But my parents had laughed at my dreams. Told me to grow up. And then shipped me off to work for Lance the Perfect while they hopped on yet another private jet to yet another private island.
I’d show them all. I’d check into my hotel room, and then me and my SEAL lover would spend the entire, wonderful holiday in the back of taxis, in his office, and wherever the hell else he wanted us to go.
We were coming out to the baggage carousel, and I immediately spotted my two, huge bags. They were black and marked with bright yellow ribbons. I knew they weighed about a ton each. I had packed them as full as possible. They contained everything I could bring with me for my new life here in New York City.
My SEAL lifted them from the carousel with barely a flex in his strong muscles.
He ran his hand over the top of one, looking over at my waist. “You know, Melissa, this is just about the right height, to bend you over it.”
My body was already in overdrive, and hearing those words come out of that luscious face of his nearly undid me. If he had actually bent me over the suitcase, I’m not entirely sure I would have resisted.
I blinked.
A glitter of confusion lit in the far back corner of my mind. “How did you know my name was Melissa?”
I glanced at the tags on my bags. My father was paranoid about security and had insisted I get the kind that shields the person’s information within a sealed shell. There were no identifying words showing through.
His eyes gleamed with delight. “Oh, there’s lots of things I know about you, Melissa. I know you love slow jazz and strawberry bubble baths. I know you’re far too sexy for your own good. And I know that brother of yours –”
“Step-brother,” I automatically corrected, my heart hammering against my chest. Was this guy stalking me?
He gave a low chuckle. “That step-brother of yours, is –”
The grin on his face grew, and he nudged his head. “He’s right over there.”
I followed his gaze.
It was Lance.
I hadn’t seen him in eight long years. Not since he’d graduated from high school and gone off to college. Harvard, of course. Where all the rich kids go who are going to become billionaires like their fathers. And then New York City, to run the East Coast operations for Daddy Dearest.
He had grown up.
Before he had just been good looking. The stud-around-town who all the cheerleaders wanted to ride in formation. But now it was more than that. He had that look about him. The look of power. That he could get anything he wanted – and he knew it.
And right now he was looking at me.
He drew his gaze down my body, and if I had been on fire before, now I was molten lava. I admit it. If I had been annoyed and frustrated by him growing up, I’d also been secretly proud of everything he’d achieved. Secretly jealous of all those Barbie-perfect girls he had taken out, often two or three at a time. I wished, sometimes, in my deepest fantasies, that he would look at me the way he looked at them.
My SEAL still had his hand on my shoulder, and he drew me in against his rock-hard body. His hand traced down my arm, and I gasped in a breath.
Lance’s eyes rose to meet the SEAL’s - and flashed in surprised outrage. Lance let out a low growl.
His voice was thick with fury. “Dirk.”
Dirk’s laugh rolled with amusement, and he spoke in my ear, his voice as rich as Tupelo honey.
“Melissa, my dear, meet my new marketing partner. The three of us will be spending a lot of time together.”
StepShifter 1 - Alpha Billionaire Lover Page 1
