My Neighbor's Husband

by Cassandra Dee

  “No, that’s not what I meant although if you want me to get you into the college of your choice, I can. What I meant by golden ticket is that you’ll have access to a lifetime of ease, with me, at my mansion. You’ll have anything and everything that you desire, and I will have a partner. A lovely, curvy partner who is well-educated and sweet, and ready to meet the needs of a billionaire.”

  My mouth falls open.

  “What? I don’t mean to offend you, but what kind of sick joke is this? Is my mother here? Does she know about this? Is she part of this joke?”

  Marcus Morgan just shrugs, as I look around to see if anyone is going to pop out and tell me I’ve been punked. But no one enters the room and my voice grows louder.

  “Please, I would love to hear exactly how I ended up in this. Where are the cameras? Because you can stop filming now.”

  The billionaire ignores my irritated tone, and picks up his wine, taking a sip.

  “It’s not a joke, Caitlin. Hawthorne Academy was founded by a group of like-minded billionaires. We are all very busy men, with no time for the dating scene, and unhappy with the choices that we have in the current socialite system. We’re looking for a special girl to call our own, and decided to create our own system to go about finding and training her.”

  My eyes blink, but my face stays completely motionless.

  “What? You must be crazy.”

  He shakes its head.

  “It’s not crazy. It’s like a finishing school for innocent young girls, except sponsored by billionaires. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I stare at him again.

  “But why can’t you find a woman out in the real world? If you’re all so rich, I suspect that it would be easy. From what I hear, women are chomping at the bit to have a life of ease.”

  He gives me a slight smile, and shrugs again.

  “The women that we meet are callous and money-hungry, which is why we tend to avoid them at all costs. For obvious reasons, that doesn’t have much appeal for men like us. We don’t want women who throw themselves at any man for money. We don’t want someone on her third husband and looking for her fourth. My friends and I, we’re looking for something a bit more specific, shall we say. We’re looking for untouched, innocent girls who have true hearts and sweet dispositions. We are looking for someone who is easy to get along with; who knows her place; and who understands that without our assistance, their lives would be completely different.”

  My nerves are gone, and in its place is nothing but irritation. I have never heard of anything like this, and it’s frankly shocking to me that he is able to sit there and say the words with a straight face. What the hell? Does he not hear what he’s saying?

  Suddenly I no longer feel like an important part of the Academy. I now feel like a possession, a pet even. I have never felt like that before, because I’ve always been in control of who I am and what I want. Never have I sought to marry a rich man, or to be associated with a rich man just because of his money.

  “So you’re grooming girls at Hawthorne Academy,” I say slowly.

  He nods.

  “Yes, in a way. Again, it’s not so different from some of European finishing schools that teach girls so-called “life skills.” Those skills prep them to meet rich men, and in a way, that’s what we’re doing here too.”

  My eyes shift up toward the ornate ceiling, and suddenly the beautiful shimmering chandelier above us seems cheap.

  “I thought this was about college,” I say slowly. “I never would have accepted the scholarship if I’d known the true purpose of this institution.”

  He shrugs.

  “It’s not that bad, Caitlin. You can still take the SATs, go to classes, and hell, attend college if you want. This is just a training ground, with an added caveat: you’re also going to learn to please rich men while you’re here. Me, in particular.”

  “And what if I refuse?”

  Mr. Morgan picks up his fork, and pushes the salad around on his plate. I can tell that my questions aren’t all that surprising to him, and it irritates me even more that he’s expecting this. He obviously has all the cards, and I have none.

  “If you refuse, or we determine that we were not compatible, then your scholarship will be revoked and you’ll be asked to leave Hawthorne. Of course, you’ve already signed multiple waivers and confidentiality agreements when you came to the Academy, which will protect our secret. But if you play your cards right, you can go on to live a marvelous life complete with an elite college degree if you like.”

  Seriously, I’m beginning to think I’m going to spend the rest of dinner with my mouth wide open in shock. But is he being truthful? Would they really kick me out of Hawthorne if I didn’t make the choice that he wants me to make? I feel like I’m in a dream, or at least some type of nightmare.

  I begin to stutter. “But… But…”

  Mr. Morgan puts up his hand and cuts me off.

  “There are no buts, Ms. Newberry. The choice is yours. You can choose to accept my offer, attempt to make it work, and look at this as a positive development; or you can choose to not accept my offer, and to return to your old life. You will not be punished for whatever choice you make, but I assure you, colleges will not welcome you should you decide to return home. The system is the way that it is, and we both have to get what we want.”

  Sitting there, I feel like I have choices, but not really. After all, he’s a billionaire who has his fingers in every pot. Mr. Morgan has countless resources at his disposal, whereas I’m an indigent high school student. How can I even compete?

  Taking a deep breath, I nod my head at him and stand up, smoothing the skirt of my uniform down.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, but obviously, this has come as a shock and I need a little time to think about it. I will let you know soon.”

  He stands up, unsurprised, and nods his head. I pause for a moment, and then make my way out of our private dining area and back into the hallway. His eyes trail me the entire way, and my body feels like it’s blazing with heat.

  When I finally reach a dark corner, I stop and put my hand to my stomach, breathing heavily. This is not what I expected in the least. A handsome billionaire has made me an offer … but what will I do?

  * * *

  To be continued …

  Daddy Academy is LIVE! Get your copy here.

  Sneak Peek: Claiming Her As A Daddy

  The flight itself was okay. There were only five passengers on the plane: the zombie Barbies, myself and Amelia. Amelia and I tried to make small talk with Candy, Mandy, and Tandy, but it was difficult because they were so bizarre. I wasn’t sure if what they were saying was the truth, or the product of fantasy.

  “So have you heard anything about our employers?” I attempted during the flight. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  Mandy shot me a pointed look.

  “We’re working for the Billionaires Club,” she said haughtily.

  “Shh! You weren’t supposed to tell them that!” admonished Tandy.

  Mandy merely shrugged.

  “We all signed confidentiality agreements, so what is there to worry about? Besides, we’re going to arrive soon, so why does it matter?”

  Candy stepped in then.

  “Shut up, both of you. Yes, Ava. We’ll be working for the Billionaires Club, if you haven’t heard.”

  I exchanged another puzzled glance with Amelia, who merely shrugged like she knew nothing. This was getting weirder and weirder.

  “Um, excuse me? The Billionaires Club? What is that?” I asked.

  The triplets shared a glance and then Candy spoke again.

  “It’s an exclusive all-male club of billionaires. Didn’t you know? Can’t you tell from the name?”

  I sputtered a bit. No, I could not tell from the name because maybe there were some female billionaires in the club.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to keep my patience. “The woman who hired me didn’t tell me anything. Ho
w did you hear of the Billionaires Club? How do you become a member even?”

  Tandy rolled her eyes again.

  “By being a billionaire of course. It’s the only way to be invited to join. But what I heard,” she said, lowering her voice, “is that the island is an escape for them. The men bring girls here to play with, if you get what I mean.”

  I stared at her.

  “Um no. I don’t get what you mean.”

  She tittered a bit, elbowing her sisters.

  “Well, they’re billionaires silly, so they can do whatever they want. And what they wanted was a private island in order to indulge in utter debauchery.”

  “What?” I said, sitting bolt upright in my seat. “What do you mean, ‘utter debauchery’? I was hired to be a hostess. I don’t know what you were hired to do.”

  “Who knows?” shrugged Candy with a sly smile at her sisters. “All I heard is that it can be really fun.”

  With that, the blonde turned away and began prattling on about some stupid reality show with her zombie sisters. Meanwhile, I turned to Amelia.

  “Do you know what this is about?” I asked, feeling worried.

  She looked back at me, eyes wide.

  “No sirree,” she said. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Fuck. We were stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere, in a place that was supposed to be a tropical paradise. There would be men waiting there, wanting us to do … what, exactly? Parade about in bikinis? To the tune of thirty thousand dollars, that didn’t sound so bad. Especially since that’s more than a lot of exotic dancers make in a year.

  But now, I had an unsettled feeling. How was this going to play out? Was I going to regret taking this job? Hopefully, my name wasn’t going to land in the papers as some unfortunate girl who was kidnapped and murdered while traveling overseas.

  As a result, after landing, I was relieved to step outside of the plane to sunny skies, palm trees and a sweltering breeze. The wind was like a humid layer on my skin, making me feel even hotter than the ninety-degree air. We landed and de-boarded, and were greeted by who else other than Charity at the tarmac.

  “Hi ladies,” she said, nodding at all of us. Charity was dressed in baggy white, breezy linens, and her blonde hair whipped about her face. “First things first. Let’s get you girls settled and then fed.”

  That sounded good to me. There had been some warm nuts on the flight, but nothing like an actual meal. My stomach rumbles and I look down ruefully. Sometimes, it seems like I’m always hungry, which is probably why I’m a curvy girl. After all, all foods sound delicious to me. A lot of people don’t like weird or exotic dishes from foreign countries, but I’m not like that. Chicken feet? Bring it on. Ostrich? I’ll take it. Funny-smelling fruit cooked in lamb’s milk? It’s all about trying new things.

  As a result, I’m a little round here and there. But that’s okay because I’m comfortable with who I am. Ava Carmichael is sassy and proud and not afraid to strut her stuff even in the tiniest of swimsuits.

  We were shown to a dorm to unpack. It was a modest-size building with a long hallway inside, with a bunch of doors leading into single rooms. My single room was spartan with a bed, desk, dresser and closet, although it was also bright white and extremely clean. I plunked my small suitcase on the mattress and started to unpack.

  “You good, girlie girl?” asks Amelia, poking her head inside. “We have dinner in an hour or so. You want me to come get you then?”

  I nod, smiling. Amelia and I had rooms right across from one another, whereas fortunately, the zombie triplets were way down the hall. Who occupied the rooms in between us, I have no idea, but I assume that there are other girls who are currently working.

  “Sure,” I say. “I’ll be ready then. I’m just going to freshen up a bit.”

  “Sounds good,” says Amelia with a cheery wave. “See you then.”

  With that, the door slowly closes, snapping locked on its own. I turn to look at the room again with my hands on my hips. Hmm, not bad. It was bare, but I have three months to make this place my own. I open the closet and gasp. What? What’s this?

  Because instead of an empty space, the closet’s filled with clothes. And not just any clothes, but nice ones. These garments are a far cry from the jeans and t-shirts that I usually wear. There are sarong skirts, beaded evening gowns, as well as pretty sundresses. There are also tiny tank tops and some revealing string bikinis hung up on hangers. Wow, the Billionaires Club truly is generous.

  I turn to the dresser and pull open the top drawer hesitantly. Sure enough, this too is filled with all sorts of lace fripperies, including tiny panties and bralets. I scoff when seeing those. My huge Double Ds can’t be contained by these flimsy bits of lace. If anything, I usually have to buy double-reinforced extra-large bras in order to contain my girls. Otherwise, I’d spill out of both the sides and the bottom and the top, seeing that I’m filled with jiggle and wiggle up there.

  Then, my eye catches on something in the drawer and I pick it up. It’s a plastic sleeve filled with …? I goggle when realization hits me. These are pasties, made to cover my nipples. Immediately, I figure it must be for the evening gowns. Sometimes, you can’t wear a bra with certain dresses, although I’ve never owned anything like that.

  But then, my face creases because the pasties aren’t your usual flesh-toned, unobtrusive accessory made to be hidden under outerwear. Instead, these pasties are flashy. The petals are hot pink with diamante studs on them, like the kind strippers wear.

  I stop, stock still. Oh my god, these are intended to be worn for the billionaires, aren’t they? Slowly, I rummage around in the top drawer and just as expected, there’s a hot pink g-string that matches the pasties. Looking at the fabric, I know that this g-string isn’t going to hide anything. The vee is about the size of a postage stamp, and the string is laughable. It looks like it’s going to snap if you even touch it.

  But that’s not all. With a quickly beating heart, I turn to the closet and look through a couple shoeboxes. Sure enough, there’s a pair of hot-pink six inch stilettos waiting for me in my size. If I’m not mistaken, these are to be worn with the pasties and g-string at some dirty event with men’s eyes roaming my curvy body. Just what event, I’m not sure yet.

  Holy cow. I sit down on the bed, stunned. I signed up to be a hostess, and yes, Charity intimated that it would be exclusive and R-rated. But still. I thought I’d be hostessing at some kind of fancy bar or restaurant for a select clientele; I never thought it’d be this. I’m all for people doing whatever they want with their money, but surely, this is unexpected?

  But then I take a deep breath. It’s thirty thousand dollars, Ava, the voice in my head reminds me. With that money, you’re going to be able to do a lot of things, including paying off your student loans, starting a retirement account, and maybe even saving for once. You’re twenty-five now. You have to do what needs to be done.

  I swallow again, breasts heaving. The voice in my head is right, but it’s not just that. I’m also excited by the thought of parading around for men in nothing but the tiniest g-string, pasties, and some heels. I’m titillated by the thought of having my breasts out there, bouncy and full as men gaze at me with desire. I even want them to stuff cash into my g-string, as wrong as it sounds. Where is this coming from? After all, I went to college for a reason, and that was to better myself, and not to end up as a stripper.

  But my emotions are on high at this illicit discovery and hot sizzles run down my spine. I inhale deeply, trying to get a grip. It feels hot in the room and I check my watch. Still forty-five minutes until dinner. Maybe I have time for an illicit interlude. Yes, that’s it. That’s what I’ll do.

  In slow motion, I walk over to my backpack and open up the old nylon bag. It’s filled with all sorts of utilitarian things like my toothbrush and toothpaste, but at the very bottom is what I’ve been looking for. Yes, my trusty dildo.

  Slowly, I pull out the pink monster. It’s huge, at least nine i
nches and slightly curved with a bulbous purple head and life-like looking balls. It’s hard yet squishy at once, and my pulse races as I gaze at it. Yes, this is exactly what I need right now before I’m called upon to serve my Daddy.

  * * *

  To be continued …

  * * *

  Claiming Her As a Daddy is LIVE! Get your copy here.

  About the Author

  Cassandra Dee is a bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She started out writing erotica but transitioned to romance after falling for one too many book boyfriends.

  When she’s not tapping away furiously at her laptop, Cassandra can be found drinking gallons of coffee and watching lots of reality TV. She also enjoys taking the neighbor’s dog for walks, aimlessly wandering the local grocery store, and of course, reading too much about the lives of her favorite celebrities.

  Cassandra is living her own HEA with her husband and a beautiful baby boy.

  FACEBOOK │ WEBSITE │ NEWSLETTER