Billionaire by Design (A BWWM Romance)

by Tiana Cole

  As he sipped his drink, his mind returned to his disastrous encounter with Jenna Parker in the break room of the marketing firm he’d help build. He’d drunkenly pushed things too far, and there would definitely be repercussions for his actions.

  He knew there was no way she wouldn’t report the incident to Zane, and she’d likely spin it to paint herself as innocently as possible. She’d been flirting with him from the moment they met, acting coy while lustfully batting her big, brown eyes at him, but that’s certainly not how she’d portray it to their boss.

  She’d make Phil out to be the bad guy, just as his trifling secretary had done three years prior, and his neck would be on the chopping block once again. He hoped Zane would take the word of a man he’d known for five years, the same man who’d expanded his business tenfold, over that of a girl from the ghetto he’d known for only three months, but the love-struck Adonis hadn’t been making the best decisions lately.

  Realizing who Zane would end up siding with, he’d fled the building as quickly as possible under the guise of meeting with an important client. He needed time to come up with an explanation for the break room debacle, one that would hopefully save his job, but nothing was coming to mind. He’d just have to deny Jenna’s accusations, pit his word against hers, and hope for the best.

  “That fuckin’ whore,” he muttered under his breath before gulping down the rest of his drink. He ordered one more, this time quietly so as not to upset the bartender, as the jukebox began to sound the easily discernible voice of Johnny Cash.

  The woman who’d chosen the song finally turned and revealed her disappointingly weathered face. She took notice of Phil and flashed him a smile, and he returned it with a smile of his own while politely raising his glass to her. He watched her hips sway as she walked across the room, her tight midriff exposed and her dark, curly hair falling around her shoulders.

  She took a seat next to him at the bar, reeking of cigarettes and booze, her teeth heavily stained from years of partying taking precedence over hygiene. Phil was sure she’d have plenty of stories to tell if her mind wasn’t too fried to remember them all. He guessed her age to be around forty, but it was hard to tell since her face looked as though it had been rode hard and put away wet. Her body, on the other hand, was undeniably attractive and still held an aura of youth.

  “That your Mercedes outside?” she asked as she nodded towards the parking lot.

  “You know it,” Phil flirtatiously grinned as he stole a glance at her cleavage. Her shirt was cut extremely low, and her ample breasts, shamelessly on display, were definitely piquing his interest.

  “Look at you, all fancy,” she giggled as she playfully tugged the lapel of his suit jacket. Phil hadn’t seen her order one, yet the bartender slid a bottle of Bud Light in front of the woman, which told him she was a regular here in this seedy bar.

  “That’s me,” he replied, pausing to take a sip of his drink and then adding, “Mr. Fancy.”

  “You have a first name, Mr. Fancy, or should I just call you that?” the woman asked before throwing her head back and chugging half of her beer while an impressed Phil watched in awe.

  “Name’s… Zane,” he answered with a smirk. “Zane Talbot.”

  He extended his hand and she shook it while turning her head to release a low burp.

  “Well,” she sniffed, “my name’s Amber, but you can call me whatever you want, honey.”

  She shot him a wink and finished the rest of her beer. Following her lead, Phil pounded the rest of his rum and Coke and signaled for the bartender to bring him yet another.

  The face of his new drinking buddy was looking better with each passing second. Right now, at a time when he was feeling so bitterly dejected, her company was just what he needed. Even through his intoxication he could tell that she was a working girl, but that didn’t bother him one bit. He was just happy to have somebody by his side. Somebody who recognized his importance. Somebody who found him attractive, even if the flattery came with a price tag.

  “Don’t see guys like you in here very often, cutie,” she commented as the bartender replaced her empty bottle with a full one. “You a lawyer or something?”

  “I run my own marketing firm,” Phil boasted, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out one of Zane’s business cards. He kept several of them on him at all times for occasions such as this.

  “Damn, you’re a big deal, huh?” she asked with wide, hazel eyes as she read the card and stuffed it into her bra.

  “You could say that,” he chuckled, his face beaming with pride.

  “What are you doing in a place like this?” she questioned with her voice low so as not to offend the bartender or any patron who may overhear her. “Shouldn’t you, like, be at some country club or something?”

  “All I do is hang out with rich people lately,” Phil explained. “You know, celebrities, politicians, CEOs, wall street bigwigs. I felt like I was losing touch with the common man, you know? I saw this place and decided to pop in for a drink. Get back in touch with my roots and all that,” he continued to lie.

  “Celebrities?!” she asked in excitement, her face suddenly looking years younger as she lit up in delight. “Like who? Tell me!”

  “I don’t like to name drop,” Phil began as he waved his hand dismissively. He leaned in close to her and whispered, “But I played eighteen holes last week with Ashton Kutcher.”

  “Shut up!” Amber burst, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You’re lying!”

  “I swear,” Phil laughed as he flashed her the Scout’s Honor sign by raising three fingers to his brow. “I’m working on the new Nikon campaign, and he’s a big part of it. We’ve actually gotten pretty close over the last few months. He’s a really good guy.”

  Amber hung on his every word, listening with a look of fascination and admiration as Phil, still posing as Zane Talbot, spun a series of elaborate lies. While he spoke, she sucked down another two beers, and by the time he finished walking her through the inner workings of the marketing firm he claimed was his, he’d polished off his third strong rum and Coke. He was now extremely drunk, his voice slurring heavily, and Amber, fully enamored with the man she believed to be somebody else, was just beginning to feel the buzz of the beers she’d slammed so quickly. She placed a nicotine-stained hand on Phil’s cheek, leaned in close, and spoke softly into his ear.

  “I’ll suck your dick for forty bucks.”

  “Naughty girl,” Phil replied in a quiet purr as he tried to focus on the woman that alcohol had transformed from tired and worn to youthful and beautiful. “What if I want you for the whole day?”

  “The whole day, huh?” she giggled, placing a hand on his inner thigh and slowly moving it closer to his crotch. “Five hundred,” she answered in a hushed tone so their negotiation would stay between them.

  “Three hundred and you have a deal,” he fired back with a grin.

  “Come on, don’t be cheap,” she sighed as her hand grazed his penis. “You’re rich. You can afford it.”

  “Let’s meet in the middle. Four hundred, and I’ll get our drinks for the rest of the day,” Phil countered. Even this inebriated, he wasn’t going to let anyone hustle him.

  “Will you grab my tab here, too?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Done,” he nodded, trying not to fall off his stool as he reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.

  “You’re a doll,” she squealed and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to go have a quick smoke. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Be right—” covering his mouth with his fist, he let out a loud belch and finished his short sentence with, “out.”

  He smacked her ass as she turned to head out the door, and once she’d stepped outside, he gestured for the bartender to ring him up.

  “That’ll be thirty-seven even,” the burly, no-nonsense man told him as he glanced at the small pad of paper he’d been tallying their drinks on. Phil fished two twenties out of his wallet and
threw them down on the bar top.

  “Keep the change,” Phil told him smugly, rising from his seat and using the bar to steady himself.

  “Wow, three bucks,” the bartender replied sarcastically. “Should I invest that in gold or silver?”

  “Gold,” Phil answered without hesitation, so drunk he failed to pick up on the man’s facetiousness.

  “Tell you what,” the irritated barkeep scowled, “maybe you should keep the three bucks. You’re gonna have to buy quite a few rubbers if you plan on fucking that skank.”

  He nodded towards Amber who stood puffing on a cigarette just outside the entrance. An old drunk seated at the end of the bar overheard their exchange and laughed at the bartender’s joke.

  “Maybe you should eat a bag of shit and mind your own fuckin’ business,” Phil rebutted loudly.

  The tall, muscular man who’d been shooting pool heard this comment and immediately paused his practice. Standing up straight and looking quite menacing in doing so, he rested the bottom bumper of his cue on the floor while holding its tip with a big, strong hand. His eyes, filled more with concern than anger, locked on to Phil first before moving on to the bartender.

  “It’s okay,” the bartender silently mouthed to the hulking man, raising a hand to him in reassurance. Although he was staggeringly intoxicated, Phil could tell that these two were friends and simply looking out for each other.

  “I’m sorry,” Phil slurred apologetically. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out another twenty and slapped it down on the bar top. “Thank you for the drinks.”

  “Just get home safe,” the bartender replied, his anger melting into genuine compassion for the pudgy, downtrodden man standing before him in a cheap, knock-off suit.

  “Want us to call you a cab?” the behemoth holding the pool cue stepped forward to ask in a deep, raspy voice.

  “No, I’m good, but thanks, guys,” Phil politely waved as he turned to leave, suddenly feeling guilty for his obnoxious behavior. He’d labeled these men as miscreants based on their rough exteriors, but they’d proven to be kind, understanding people who seemed to genuinely care about his well-being.

  Stumbling his way outside, he reunited with Amber, who helped him make the short walk to his car. She refused to let him drive, ignoring his protests and insisting that she take the wheel. He finally conceded and sank into the passenger seat while she hopped into the driver’s side, thrilled at the chance to drive a Mercedes for the first time.

  “Where’s your place?” she asked as she carefully backed out of the parking lot.

  “Far, far, away,” Phil answered as he fought to keep his eyes open. “Just find a motel. I’ll pay. I don’t give a shit.”

  “Okay, babe. I know a place right down the street,” she replied as she maneuvered the expensive vehicle.

  “I bet you do,” Phil muttered, and laughed at his own quip. He briefly nodded off, and when he awoke, he found them parked outside the lobby of Travel Inn, a cheap, rather disreputable motel just off the interstate.

  “Go check in,” Amber instructed as the car sat idling by the motel’s front entrance.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Phil answered as he rubbed his eyes and pulled a pair of sunglasses from his glove compartment. He opened the passenger door and moved to exit the car, then paused in a moment of clarity. He turned and pulled his keys from the ignition, realizing the last thing he needed was for this prostitute to drive off with his five-month-old Mercedes.

  “Really?” she scoffed as he slid the sunglasses on and stepped out of the car.

  “Better safe than sorry,” he grunted, then headed into the motel’s small lobby while trying not to stumble. He returned moments later, dangling a pair of room keys, and handed his own keys back to Amber.

  After his paid companion pulled the car into a parking space alongside the motel, he had her pop the trunk so he could retrieve the last rum-filled water bottle he’d stashed. He wasn’t happy to learn that the room was on the second floor, but managed to make it up the flight of stairs without falling.

  “I got us the penthouse suite,” he joked as he led her into the small, outdated room that boasted a queen-size bed, draped with a rather ugly maroon comforter, positioned in its center. Beside it, two worn chairs sat tucked into a little table, and he wasn’t surprised to see the antiquated CRT television sitting atop a short bureau that looked like it had seen better days. He was surprised, however, to find a mini-fridge, capped with a microwave, standing to the side of the bureau. Both seemed to be in decent condition and were unexpected amenities for a room costing only forty dollars. The room looked like a vestige of the 1980’s, but he didn’t expect any less from a cheap motel that catered primarily to truckers and prostitutes.

  Phil removed his suit jacket, tossing it onto one of the two chairs, and began unbuttoning his shirt while Amber made her way into the bathroom. He could hear the sink running and hoped she was freshening up with a quick whore’s bath.

  Clumsily kicking off his shoes, he slid his pants down with one hand while the other clung to the table in an effort to stabilize himself. When he spotted the bottle of disguised alcohol he’d set on the bureau by his sunglasses, he stumbled over to it and took a large gulp without a wince, then drifted back to the bed.

  Using a clever move he’d familiarized himself with in recent months, he hid his wallet, cell phone, and keys in his pillowcase to protect himself from theft should he pass out. The disoriented drunk peeled back its dated comforter and climbed in, surprised by how comfortable the mattress was, and closed his eyes to the spinning room. He was on the verge of passing out when Amber startled him awake by slinking into bed next to him, and he could smell that her attempt to wash up hadn’t accomplished much.

  “We gonna play, or you just wanna sleep?” she smiled as she seductively licked the tip of her index finger.

  “Take this off,” Phil groggily commanded as he tugged on her shirt.

  “Whatever you want, baby,” she smirked as she sat up and peeled her tight blue t-shirt off.

  “This, too,” he insisted as he pointed at her white bra.

  “I like a man who knows what he wants,” she giggled as she reached behind her back and unhooked it as instructed. Her breasts, quite large for her small frame, were still perky and every bit as spectacular as Phil had imagined.

  “Goddamn, those are nice,” Phil commented as he ran the back of his fingers over her hardening right nipple. “They real?”

  “All natural, baby,” she answered as she climbed between his legs and began rubbing his cock through his red boxers. “You like that?“ she teased while looking up at him with her hazel eyes, their corners marked with premature wrinkles from the rough life she’d lived.

  “Mmhmm,” he groaned as she pulled his boxers down and took his flaccid member in her hand, gently stroking it up and down while he felt her warm breath on its tip. He wasn’t surprised when she lowered her head and took him in her mouth without pausing to at least consider using a condom. Amber, if that was her real name, didn’t look like she made cleanliness or sexual safety much of a priority.

  After ten minutes of mouthing his soft, unimpressive cock, Amber began showing signs of agitation at Phil’s inability to get aroused. She let out a long, irritated sigh, then continued to suck his limp penis as he lay watching her with droopy, inebriated eyes. When another five minutes passed, she couldn’t contain her frustration any longer and had to say something.

  “You gonna be able to get hard, or what?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just the booze. Don’t stop,” Phil replied, placing his hand on the back of her head and moving it back down to his lackluster manhood.

  She was about to call it quits and give her aching jaw a rest when Phil’s cock finally began to show signs of life. Five minutes later, he was erect enough for her to climb on top, but he stopped her to insist they use protection. Proving to be a true professional, she pulled a condom out of the back pocket of her denim skirt and hurriedly tore the pac
kage open, wrapping the prophylactic over his hard member before it had time to go limp again. She hiked her skirt up, revealing that she wasn’t wearing any panties, and positioned herself over his shaft. Reaching down, she guided him inside of her unkempt vagina and started to slowly gyrate her hips as his sweaty hands gripped her outer thighs.

  “There we go, baby,” she smiled, covering his hands with her own and clenching them tightly as her body began to rock back and forth.

  “Take that cock, you dirty whore,” he breathed, his eyes closed in concentration and his hips thrusting up and down.

  “Yeah? Am I your little slut?” she moaned, playing along with his apparent appetite for degradation.

  “You’re fucking right you are, you bitch,” he growled, his face twisting in coital focus as his cock slid in and out of her wet hole. His hands broke free of hers and moved to her firm ass, squeezing it hard and using it to control their rhythm.

  “Shit,” she cursed when he slipped out of her. She tried fitting him back in, but he’d started to go limp again and she couldn’t get him inside. “Maybe you should sober up some first?”

  “No, I’m good,” Phil assured her as he pulled her down onto the bed next to him and slid his boxers off. Now wearing only his black dress socks and a loose condom, he gracelessly rose to his knees and squeezed his hairy body between her spread legs, seemingly unashamed of his sagging chest and large, flabby belly. Focusing on her large breasts, he began jerking his deflating cock in an attempt to revive his erection.

  “That’s it, stroke that dick for me, baby,” Amber whispered as she watched him frantically tug himself.

  Two minutes later, when he’d managed to resuscitate his hard-on, he placed her legs on his shoulders and sunk all five inches of his stiff member inside of her, grunting as he began drunkenly pumping away.