Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  Big Bad Alpha

  A Billionaire Romance

  Tia Siren

  Contents

  1. BIG BAD ALPHA: A Billionaire Romance

  2. BWWM Romance Collection

  3. Mail Order Bride Collection

  4. Mafia Romance Collection

  5. Big Bad Professor: An Older Man and a Virgin Romance

  6. Billionaire Flawed: An Alpha Male Romance

  7. Big Bad Daddy Exclusive Sneak Peak

  8. More Steamy Romance by Tia Siren

  Copyright 2017 by Tia Siren - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

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  Personal Note

  Hi there. I’m Tia Siren. I’m not just an author of very steamy contemporary romance. But I’m also a bad girl. Well, not really. Just when I’m writing about my bad boys for you. So thank you very much for downloading my book. I’m sure the bad girl in you too will be spoiled. Rotten!

  After the main book, I’ve included some bonus stories for your enjoyment. If you like quick reads, then you’ll love the Mafia Romance Collection. After those I’ve included Billionaire Flawed, an Alpha Billionaire novella, and an exclusive sneak peak of Big Bad Daddy, my Top 20 Amazon Seller.

  So go on. Spoil yourself.

  xx Tia.

  BIG BAD ALPHA: A Billionaire Romance

  CHAPTER ONE: Olivia Poole

  I was sitting on our ratty sofa in our ratty SoHo apartment with my guitar in my lap, working on the melody for a new song for our band, the Flakes, when out of the blue, Mona said, “Check this out. They say he has a fuck list.”

  My fingers froze on the strings. I gave her a sideways glance and spoke with the nub of a chewed pencil clenched between my teeth. “They say who has a fuck list?’

  “Cain Bohannon,” she huffed, referring to the hunky billionaire CEO of Bohannon Entertainment Group, the online music company that was giving Apple and Sony a run for their money.

  Bohannon Entertainment Group, or BEG as it was known in the industry, was the fastest-growing digital music company on the planet. And they were on the hunt for fresh talent, which was why Cain Bohannon himself was supposedly going to attend the battle of the bands at the Rusty Nail this coming Saturday night.

  The Flakes, along with a dozen other local bands, would be battling it out for the top prize: a million-dollar recording contract with BEG and the chance to open for some of BEG’s top stars, like Brandy Alexander and Candy the Rapper.

  It was the chance of a lifetime to grab the golden ring every band would die for. Or kill for. The Flakes included.

  The thought of playing live in front of someone like Cain Bohannon scared me to death, but I knew it could be our only chance to get noticed, so we had to shine.

  Our playing, singing, and songwriting had to be top notch, better than every other band on the stage. We had to rise above the noise. We had to offer Cain Bohannon something no other band could.

  It wasn’t going to be enough that we would be the only all-girl band on the bill. We had to stand out like a sore thumb, but in a good way.

  Mona had even suggested we change the name of the band to the Sore Thumbs. Thinking that would be a patently obvious yet pathetic cry for attention, Desiree and I had voted it down.

  My roommate, Mona, our drummer, didn’t seem as concerned about it as I did. Neither did Desiree, our bass player, who slept on our couch if she couldn’t’ find a guy to sleep with. I guess they left the worrying to me because I worried enough for all three of us.

  I lay awake nights going over chord progressions and writing lyrics in my head. I put my heart and soul into the band, my blood, sweat, and tears. I could only pray that someday our hard work would pay off.

  I knew we had talent, but the city was filled with talented bands. I knew from experience that talent would only take us so far, especially in the cutthroat music business.

  You needed luck.

  You needed opportunity.

  You needed connections.

  And more than anything, you needed someone with money, power, and pull who could make things happen.

  You could have all the talent in the world, but unless you had all those other things, you’d probably die undiscovered, which was my worst nightmare.

  I took the pencil from between my teeth and tucked it behind my ear. Then I leaned my guitar against the sofa to take a break. My fingers were killing me from practicing so much. I kneaded them together and gave Mona a frown.

  I said, “Cain Bohannon has a fuck list?”

  Mona tapped the screen of the laptop resting on her knees and nodded her head. “That’s what this says. Cain Bohannon has a fuck list. According to Radar Online, he keeps it on his phone.”

  “Exactly what is a fuck list?”

  “A list of women he has fucked, and a list of women he plans to fuck,” Mona said seriously, narrowing her eyes at the screen.

  “So, is it one list or two?” I asked, smirking. “Have fucked, wanna fuck… Does he keep it in an Excel file? Or does he use note cards or—”

  “Good question,” she said, scrolling through the webpage. “I think it’s just one all-inclusive list. It doesn’t say how he keeps up with it. Is there a fuck list app?”

  She glanced at me with her dark eyes and smiled. Mona was goth incarnate. She was heroin-addict thin (though she didn’t drink or do drugs), always dressed all in black, and had her hair chopped short and dyed the color of a crow’s wings. She wore heavy mascara and black lipstick. Her fingernails and toenails were painted black. All the black contrasted with her naturally fair complexion, giving her an ominous, ghostly look.

  I was the polar opposite of Mona, which made us an odd pair of bandmates and best friends. I had long blond hair that I usually wore in a ponytail and only wore makeup when I was onstage. Mona often chided me by saying that I was an Aryan Nations wet dream: blond hair, blue eyes, big boobs, bubble butt. I couldn’t argue. That pretty much described me to a tee.

  I nodded at the computer and gave her an inquisitive look. “How do you know he has a fuck list?”

  “Because that’s what they say,” she said with a shrug.

  “And who is they, exactly?” I couldn’t resist tweaking her a little. Mona was like a spinning top. Just give her a little spin and she would go off in all directions.

  “You know, they…them… Jesus, Liv, don’t be such an asshole,” she said, gesturing at the screen. “It’s all over the Internet.”

  “So that makes it true,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Do they say who is on Cain Bohannon’s fuck list?”

  She narrowed her eyes and tapped a black-tipped finger to her chin. “They say that all the big names are on there. Singers, actresses, Victoria’s Secret models…”

  “Does his list have specific names?” I asked thoughtfully. “Or does he just do it by category?”

  “Why are you being such a dick?” she asked, trying hard not to smile. “It’s a fuck list. Leave it at that.”

  I grinned at her and bobbed my head. “Fair enough. Cain Bohannon has a fuck list.” I pooched out my lips in thought. “I wond
er how one gets on that list.”

  Her black eyebrows arched. “Maybe there’s a formal application process. Do you want me to see if you can apply online?”

  “Hey, if it will get him to notice our music, I might fuck him,” I said jokingly. I picked up the guitar and placed my fingers to strum an E chord.

  “They also say Cain Bohannon is so rich that he doesn’t have an alarm clock,” Mona said as she closed the laptop and set it on the couch beside her. She picked up the drumsticks that were on the table and started tapping out a beat on her knee.

  I sighed and took the bait. “Wait. What?”

  “They say that instead of using an alarm clock to wake up in the morning, he has a girl come in and wake him up by giving him a blow job.” Mona said it like it was gospel. She held one of the drumsticks to her mouth and flicked her tongue to the round tip. She moaned. “Mmm…time to wake up, Cain.”

  “Okay, first of all, that’s wrong on so many levels,” I said, scrunching up my nose at the thought of an oral alarm clock. “Second of all, you’re a lesbian. What do you know about blow jobs?”

  She tapped the drumstick to her chin and smiled. “I experimented a little before I signed on to team lesbo. I’ve had a few dicks in my mouth. Can’t say I liked it much. They always tasted so…sweaty.”

  “Gross,” I chuckled. “So, he has a girl come in every morning to wake him up with a blow job.” I cupped my chin and put on a thoughtful face. “Is it the same girl every time? Or does he have a different girl for each day of the week or month?”

  “They didn’t say,” she said, pushing her thin shoulders up and down. “I would think it would be at least a different girl every day of the week. That’s what I’d do if I had his money. A different girl coming in to give me head every morning.”

  She held one of the drumsticks to her crotch and moved her hand up and down as she gave me an evil grin.

  “When the Flakes make it big, I’m going to do that. Have a different bitch come in every morning and wake me up munching on my rug.”

  “You don’t get up till the afternoon,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And the last time I saw you naked, you didn’t even have a rug.”

  “Well, it will be a flexible schedule,” she said. “And maybe I’ll grow my rug back by then.” She glanced at the watch on the thick black leather band around her wrist. “Anyway, I have to get to the Nail for my shift at six. Do you work tonight?”

  The Nail was The Rusty Nail, the club where the battle of the bands would be held tomorrow night. Mona and I worked there as waitresses to make ends meet until the Flakes got a record deal. Or until we got tired of chasing the dream and moved on to boring, normal lives. God forbid we have to grow up and get married and squeeze out a bunch of kids. How totally boring would that be?

  “I’m on the late shift,” I said with a tired sigh. “So I’ll be there around nine.”

  “Okay. In the meantime, write us a killer song,” she said, tossing the drumsticks on the table and pushing herself off the couch. “And figure out how to get on Cain Bohannon’ fuck list. If our talent doesn’t blow him away, maybe your big boobs and bubble butt will.”

  “I’ll get right to work on that,” I said, tugging the pencil from behind my ear and setting it on the pad of paper on the coffee table. I strummed an E chord and sang her out the door.

  “Baby, put me on your fuck list…”

  CHAPTER TWO: Cain Bohannon

  The room was still dark because of the heavy drapes and blackout blinds installed over the wall of windows that faced the east river from my penthouse apartment.

  I had earplugs in, but I was awake enough to hear the bedroom door open. I felt the king-sized bed bounce when she climbed in and cuddled up next to me.

  I didn’t move.

  I didn’t open my eyes.

  I felt her head on my chest.

  Her warm breath, and then her wet tongue, teased my hard nipple.

  She trailed her fingernails down the line of my stomach, circling my belly button for a moment before swirling into the thick curls above my cock.

  Her lips moaned against my nipple as her fingers closed around my cock and started slowly sliding up and down. I was already hard and waiting for her, as I was every morning, but her touch always brought out more of me.

  When I grew to full length in her hand, I felt her lips start their downward trek. She planted little kisses down my stomach. She pulled at the dark curls with her teeth. Then her mouth engulfed the bulbous head of my cock as her hand slowly pumped up and down.

  I took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly.

  Faleen’s lips and tongue were like magic. In less than a minute, I exploded inside her mouth. She hummed as she swallowed my load. Then she cleaned me off with her tongue as she had every morning for as long as I could remember.

  God, I loved waking up in the morning.

  Then, as silently as she had come, she slipped out of the bed and left the room.

  I lay quietly for a moment, wondering, as I often did, what it would be like to feel her pussy around my cock instead of her lips and hand, to explode inside her cunt rather than inside her mouth.

  Sadly, I would never know.

  Faleen wasn’t famous enough to be on my fuck list. And if a bitch wasn’t on my list, she wasn’t going to ride my cock, my fingers, or my face.

  It was a code that probably knocked me out of getting some pretty decent pussy, but I was Cain Bohannon. I didn’t settle for “pretty decent” anything, especially when it came to women.

  * * *

  “I want accounting to give Faleen a bonus this month,” I said as I stepped out of the shower onto the thick rug. My personal assistant, Drew Inman, was sitting on the closed toilet with his long legs crossed, taking notes with his iPhone. I caught him glance at my dangling cock as I stood at the sink toweling the water out of my hair.

  “Stop looking at my cock,” I said, turning my ass toward him long enough to drape the towel around my waist.

  “Well stop putting the damn thing in my face,” he said, drawing out the words in his overdramatized, effeminate manner. Drew waved a hand at me. “I swear, you should register that thing as a deadly weapon, because you might kill somebody with it.”

  “Well, it won’t be you,” I said with a grin.

  “Your loss,” he said, clicking his tongue.

  I lathered up my face and nodded at his phone. “Did you make a note of what I just said?”

  “No. Your giant cock distracted me,” he said with a sigh. His fingers quickly tapped the screen. “Dear accounting, please give Faleen a bonus for being such an awesome cocksucker.” He looked up at me and pooched out his lips. “Isn’t giving her a six-figure salary, a rent-free apartment downstairs, and a Mercedes to drive compensation enough for sucking your cock every morning?”

  I scraped the razor up my neck and stared at my reflection. “I believe in rewarding a job well done,” I said. “You would know that if you ever did your job well.”

  “Fuck you,” Drew said, slapping a hand at me. “Good luck finding another PA who will sit on your fucking toilet and take notes while you wash Faleen’s spit off your cock.”

  “Fine. Give yourself a bonus,” I said with a grin. “Now, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  He flipped through my schedule he kept on his phone. “You have a meeting with your executive team at ten, lunch with Simon Cowell at one, an interview with Rolling Stone at three, and the fundraiser for homeless veterans tonight. You’re the co-chair this year with Ivanka Trump, so you can’t just write a big check. You actually have to go.” He looked up at me and sighed. “Just another fun day in the life of Cain Bohannon.”

  I turned my cheek and smiled at myself in the mirror as I finished shaving. “Oh, by the way, I’m tired of shaving myself and washing my own cock. Will you see if you can find a woman with big boobs and a Kardashian ass to come in every morning to take care of that for me?”

  Drew rolled his eyes at me. �
�Why don’t you just add that to Faleen’s job description since she already has the boobs and ass?”

  “Faleen already has her hands full,” I said with a grin. “And her mouth.”

  Drew sunk his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Wanted, woman with big boobs and Kardashian ass to suck cock, wash cock, wash balls, wash ass…dry cock, dry balls…” He made a silly face. “Oh, my god, this might be a two-person job.”

  I chuckled as I rinsed my face with water. “Fine. Forget that idea. I’ll just do it myself.” I blotted the water from my face and started into the bedroom with Drew close behind.

  “Oh, don’t forget that battle of the bands tonight,” he said, wiggling his phone at me. “I talked to Rusty at the Rusty Nail, and he says they have a dozen top-notch acts for you to check out.”

  I dropped the towel from my waist and walked into my closet, which was the size of a New York studio apartment. I pulled on a pair of Jockey’s and thumbed through the wall of Armani suits hung there.

  “Wear the navy blue,” Drew said, leaning against the door. “Did you hear what I said about the battle of the bands?”

  “Yes,” I said, pulling a dark blue suit from the rack. I handed Drew the jacket while I pulled on the pants. “Is Rusty Nail his real name?”

  “I’m not sure,” Drew said thoughtfully. “Would you like me to ask?”

  “No. Just tell me what I’ve gotten myself into with this battle of the bands.”

  Drew held out the jacket on one finger while I chose a pressed white shirt. He said, “The guys in talent acquisition think BEG needs to break out more new artists rather than relying on the current list to generate future revenue. They worked a deal with Rusty to do this band showcase. His club is hot right now, packed every night with our demographic, and he seems to have his finger on the pulse of the New York band scene. He’s lined up twelve bands that he thinks might be worthy of a look.”