Caught On Tape_A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Natalie Knight

Brad

  “You want to be shared, you’ll be shared,” I say, looking at Kayla as my heart kicks inside my chest. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this, where I’d have to share the woman I love with another man, but here I am. And the weird thing is, I don’t give two fucks about that.

  As long as we’re together, the three of us, things will be alright.

  “Oh, you’ll be shared alright,” Scott adds, walking up to her and pushing her against the wall once more. Leaning in, he kisses her softly, brushing his lips against hers. I walk up to them, lean back against the wall by Kayla’s side and then grab her hand. Stealing her from Scott, I pull her into me.

  “Oh,” she gasps, pressing her naked body against mine, her breasts pressed against my chest. I feel her hard nipples against my skin, and my cock twitches hard, eager to have more of her.

  “Is this what you want?” I ask her, grabbing my cock with one hand and angling it down. I brush the tip of my cock up and down the length of her wet pussy, and I have to use all of my willpower to stop myself from thrusting right away.

  “That’s exactly what I want,” she purrs, biting on her bottom lip.

  “Then you’ll have it,” I reply, taking both my hands to her ass and pulling her up and into me. Reacting fast, she laces her legs around my waist and throws her arms over my shoulders. I bend my knees just an inch, angling my cock so that it’s pointing straight at her pussy, and she lowers herself over it.

  “Oh, fuck,” she moans as my shaft slides deep inside her.

  “Now, now…I want in,” Scott says, walking up behind her and running his fingers down the side of her body, his fingertips going over the curve of her ass. He runs one finger along her crack, lingering on her hole, and then he just grabs his cock and presses its tip there.

  Kayla goes from biting on her bottom lip to gritting her teeth, her eyes closed as she prepares for the onslaught of pleasure that’s about to come her way.

  “Do it, do it,” she asks Scott, her head still thrown back.

  Scott doesn’t answer her with words. Instead, he simply starts pushing his cock inside her ass, taking his time as inch by slow inch his cock takes over her insides. The moment he’s deep inside her, both of our cocks claiming her body, Kayla sighs heavily.

  “I love you, I love you so much,” she cries out, her fingernails digging deep into my shoulder blades.

  “Then you’re in good company,” I chuckle softly.

  “You are, because you’re everything to us. You’re the world to us, Kayla, never forget that,” Scott adds, and I can’t help but feel happiness wash over me as a bright smile takes over Kayla’s lips.

  “Then fuck me like you mean it,” she manages to say. And we don’t waste a single second. We start slowly, sliding our cocks in and out of her ass at a steady tempo, but we keep on increasing the pace. I keep on holding her close to me, her legs still locked around my waist, and I feel like never letting go.

  I want this, whatever you can call this relationship, for the rest of my life.

  We deserve all this pleasure.

  We deserve all this happiness.

  We build the pace for a few minutes, but soon enough we’re fucking her as if our life depended on it. Her moans and screams of utter pleasure fill the whole office, but I’m not even sure of how loud she’s being.

  My brain is too busy trying to process all the pleasure I’m feeling right now, and it has shut down all secondary functions. All I know is that Kayla’s having the time of her life – and so are we – and that’s all that matters. As long as Kayla’s happy, we’ll be happy.

  “As hard…as hard as you can,” she begs us, her voice trembling as she drags her fingernails across my back. She’s exhausted and spent, but she seems to want to go out with a bang. Well, we’re happy to provide exactly what she wants.

  I grit my teeth and start fucking her as relentlessly as I can, sweat pouring down my muscles as I push my body past the point of exhaustion, working it to the limit. Thank fuck I like being active and spend a lot of time in the gym – I would never be able to fuck her like this if I wasn’t in top shape.

  Scott’s probably thinking the same.

  His eyes are closed, his hands on her hips. Rocking his body against her hard, I can tell he’s close to his breaking point, each and every line on his face telling me that he won’t be able to resist for much longer. Well, fuck it – it’s the same for me.

  “Come for me...come for me, boys,” Kayla says, clawing at my back, and that does it for me. The moment I feel her coming, her pussy lips spasming around my cock, I can’t resist it any longer. I groan loudly and surrender to the fire ravaging my insides, my cock pulsing hard as I shoot all my load inside of her tight little pussy.

  “Fuck,” Scott groans at the same time, and he stops moving all together, an expression of pure bliss taking over his face as he comes inside Kayla’s ass.

  We remain like that for what seems like forever, the three of us surrendering to the way ecstasy has blanketed us. Only when I feel my knees buckling under my weight do I allow Kayla to climb down from my body.

  We slide our cocks off her and, moving as if the three of us are in sync, we lean back against the wall and slide down to the floor.

  Sitting down on the floor of her office, all of us trying to catch our breath, I realize something I had never understood before.

  Love isn’t about feelings, chocolates and roses. It isn’t about music, poetry, or any of that bullshit.

  Love is about a connection, a mingling of souls. And it’s rare…very, very rare.

  I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I found love now.

  Kayla

  “Hurry,” Brad calls from the living room. “You’ll miss it.”

  I roll my eyes and stifle a yawn.

  “You want coffee don’t you?” I call back and press the button on our new shiny beast, the latest and greatest coffee machine money can buy.

  “Food?” Scott comes into the kitchen and turns on the oven.

  I shrug. It’s a bit early to be thinking about eating and I will need at least one strong caffeine hit before I can make decisions of importance.

  “Voila,” Scott produces croissants from somewhere.

  “Yum.” My stomach now growls even though only a few minutes ago I could have sworn I’m not hungry.

  “What are you two doing?” calls Brad from the living. “You better not be doing something I should be part of.”

  We giggle.

  “Don’t worry Brad,” I reply. “We’re just getting food.”

  Just at that moment Brad’s head appears in the kitchen.

  “Just checking,” he grins.

  Several minutes later we are all huddled around our new oversized extra large television screen.

  “Turn it up.” Scott complains. “I can’t hear anything.”

  “You don’t need to,” Brad gives him a friendly punch in the upper arm. “It’s not like you’re going to win anything.”

  “Shh,” I say to both of them as the announcer of the Emmy Awards welcomes everyone to what she says will be a night of surprises, or early morning for us since for some reason it is being held outside the USA, somewhere exotic, somewhere where the time zones don’t match ours.

  We smile at each other.

  Our show - it has become known as our show in the last few weeks since…well, ever since I took over, really - has several nominations.

  Scott is nominated for outstanding supporting actor and Brad for outstanding lead actor. None of us are sure who determined Brad as lead and Scott as supporting actor, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is, they both are nominated.

  The show itself is nominated for outstanding daytime television drama. I, together with my writers am nominated as outstanding drama series writing team. And best of all I’m personally nominated as outstanding producer of daytime television drama.

  The last few months have been amazing. Life has been kind to all of us.


  With my talented team of writers and supporting lead actors, the show has gone stronger. I have even been approached by a couple of other network heads to write for them.

  I have been headhunted.

  A month ago Scott, Brad and I decided to move in together and since we each owned small apartments it was time to upgrade.

  House hunting was fun. Some of the agent’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates when they saw me walk up with two blokes. The women seemed to take it better than the men.

  The lawyer who had to draw up the paper work was priceless. It took him quite a long time to work out we were a threesome.

  Our house is in the hills alongside some of Hollywood’s other super stars. On our first night Scott stood on the balcony and raised a toast to everyone.

  “This is where we belong.” He announced to no one in particular.

  “More coffee?” I ask and look at Brad and Scott.

  “I know what I want more of,” Scott’s hand reaches under my flimsy nightdress.

  My pussy instantly responds, like it always does when either one of them touch me.

  “Not now,” it takes all my strength to resist. “We don’t want to miss the announcements.”

  Scott pouts. “What about a quickie.”

  I leave him without another word.

  Once I’m in the kitchen I hear yelling. I poke my head back into the living room.

  “Quick,” Brad shouts. “Supporting actor is about to be announced.”

  I hear just the tail end of nominations and Scott’s name.

  With three quick steps I’m next to him and hold his hand. Brad is holding his fists tightly shut.

  Drum roll. The announcer smiles and pulls the name out of the envelope in snail’s pace.

  “Hurry up,” I urge him, bouncing up and down on my seat.

  “Scott from The Kings.”

  We hug and cry with each other, almost missing the announcement of lead actor.

  “Shush,” I hold my hand over Scott’s mouth. We listen to the nominations and again my heart is beating so fast I feel as if I’d just run a marathon. With Scott having won an award it would not feel right if Brad didn’t.

  The camera zooms in on the announcers face. She holds the paper in front of her eyes as if she needs glasses. I can see she’s reading silently. Come on, just say it, I mouth.

  “Looks like our new show is going to be cleaning up tonight,” she says and I’m already squeezing Brad’s hand.

  “The winner of outstanding lead actor is Brad from The Kings.”

  I can’t believe it. We hug, we kiss, and we hug again. I’m crying and laughing at the same time.

  When they announce our writing team as winners of outstanding writing I feel as though I can’t take much more.

  “And now ladies and gentlemen, viewers,” a handsome face says from the television “we come to outstanding daytime television producer.”

  Brad and Scott crowd around me. Both of them hold me as tight as possible. If they squeeze any more I won’t be able to breathe.

  “It’s a tough field this year,” says the blonde assistant to the announcer smiling broadly into the camera.

  “Like every other year,” agrees the announcer. The names are read out. Goosebumps crawl up my arms and back when I hear my own name. It feels surreal.

  I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears. I don’t think I can listen.

  “You’ve won!” shouts Brad.

  “You’ve won!” shouts Scott and both of them kiss me.

  I fall back on the couch. They pounce. Their hands are all over me as are their mouths.

  Oh my gosh. This is amazing.

  Almost at the same time both of them pull back.

  I sit up.

  “What?” Suddenly all feelings of happiness disappear. They look so serious. Do they have bad news? Are they leaving me?

  “Kayla,” Scott takes my hand.

  “Kayla,” Brad takes my other hand.

  Has someone died?

  “We want you to know,” Scott starts.

  “That you mean the world to us.” Finishes Brad.

  They are leaving me. I can tell from their faces. I brace for what comes next.

  “Kayla we love you and we want to spend the rest of our lives with you. Will you marry us?’

  I blink. What? Did I hear correctly?

  “Will you?” they repeat and now I start to cry.

  No words pass my lips and so I simply nod.

  We melt into each other’s arms and Scott kisses me. Brad’s mouth is traveling downward where my wet pussy waits for him. And both my hands are busy with needy dicks.

  I can’t believe it, but this is my life now.

  I’ve been blessed.

  Taste

  Put it in your mouth, baby

  You know it tastes so good

  I'm the bad boy of the restaurant world.

  A master chef. A billionaire businessman.

  Women come. At least a few times.

  And then they go.

  That's just the way I play it, darlin'.

  One course meal.

  Until Nicole comes into my life.

  Opening night. She's not impressed.

  Says that I've gotten too successful.

  Thinks I've forgotten my roots.

  I wouldn't normally care.

  I'd swat her away without a second thought.

  Except...I can't get her out of my head.

  That amazingly curvy body.

  With an @$$ you just wanna knead like dough.

  I'm going crazy.

  She thinks she's gonna bring me down.

  But she has no idea who she's dealing with.

  Tonight...she's on my tasting menu.

  Palmer

  I finger the steak, tracing the marbled flecks of fat.

  I observe it with steady concentration and follow each streak as if it were a roadmap, pointing me home.

  A well-marbled steak is a beautiful thing.

  It's perfection.

  It's redemption.

  Is it also salvation?

  My mouth moistens as I think about the silky texture of melted fat.

  The depth of flavor. The tenderness. The way it transcends a moment in time.

  I grind salt and pepper over one side of the steak, and then flip it over to season the other side. Then I heat a cast iron skillet, and when it's at the desired temperature, I drop a pad of butter into its center. I watch as the butter circles, spins, and sizzles around the pan until it's a melted puddle.

  Then I place the steak on top, listening to the hot skillet kiss the raw slab of red meat, slowly caramelizing it.

  I've made my fortune in the restaurant business.

  Flipping food. Perfecting my craft.

  Making a name for myself.

  But I want more.

  I want to elevate the culinary landscape of New York City…and the clock's ticking faster than Julia Childs chopping an onion.

  This restaurant here—The Pearl on Park—is a longtime dream come true. I've made my fortune through high-end cuisine—you know, the kind of food that requires three spoons and three forks just to eat? The kind of food accompanied by waiters in suits and white linens. I've become one of the most famous chefs in the world, running a chain of high-quality, extremely fancy restaurants.

  You've probably seen me profiled in publications like Bon Appetite, Saveur, Food and Wine, Cooks Illustrated, and The Art of Eating.

  I've made food that'll give you an orgasm as soon as it hits your tongue: beautifully crusted baguettes, fresh meat that'll make you moan, and warm cakes gooier than a woman begging for more.

  But this restaurant is different.

  I'm still creating dishes that are good, orgasmic good, but now I'm pushing boundaries. Salty, fatty, sweet—the kind of food that makes you want to sink your face in and say Fuck it, I'm eating this.

  Maybe I'm stubborn, or stupid, or both, but truth is, you have to be all of tho
se things and more to make it in the restaurant business.

  You see all of these tools in this kitchen—the vacuum machines, the pH meters, the liquid nitrogen? I'm debunking cooking myths. I don't care what any other chef in this city is doing. If it's working for me, just get out of my way.

  Watch me run my restaurant the way I want to run them.

  I have no interest in what the chef is doing next door, or across the street, or even across the fucking globe. Why? Because the only thing that matters is my kitchen.

  And this place here—these stainless steel appliances, the swanky Park Ave vibe, the top of the line table linens and décor—it's a longtime dream come true.

  I look down at the steak, and spoon brown butter over it, basting it. It's now crusted and cooked to perfection, and I remove it from the skillet. The steak is caramelized around the edges with a beautiful brown crunch that I can't wait to place between my teeth.

  If you visit The Pearl on Park, this'll be one of the best steaks you've ever had, I promise. It's one of the new dishes that I’m going to present.

  I plate the steak and carefully slice a chunk of meat off with a serrated knife. There's a crisp char on the outside and rareness in the middle that feels like butter on my tongue.

  "Fuck, that's good!" I can't help but yell out and slam my fist down on the countertop.

  "You made me jump!" I look over to see my sous chef, Brit, walk into the kitchen. She's working overtime with me to get a few dishes perfected before our soft opening.

  Any other day, and this late at night, it wouldn’t be Brit here with me. Maybe some actress with one of those fake smiles, too eager to have a taste of the Chef—but not today.

  I can’t waste my time. Not now.

  "Taste this!" I say, looking at Brit over my shoulder.

  She walks over, and leans against the counter. I place a forkful of steak into her mouth. I watch as she chews slowly, and then closes her eyes, throwing her head back.

  "My God," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "You weren't joking. This is the best steak I've ever eaten."

  I'm glad she agrees, but I can't help but want to make sure.

  "Don't pull my leg—tell me the truth," I say.