by Meghan March
What the hell?
“Okay, then.” I clear my throat, poised to turn around and get the hell out of this place, when a light flickering to life distracts me.
But it’s not a light in the office where I’ve been shown, but a light in the room next door. A room that I can apparently view through what appears to be a two-way mirror.
Am I really seeing this?
And by this, I mean a monstrous iron-and-wood four-poster bed draped with black silk sheets . . . and restraints.
A bedroom. A kinky bedroom.
Holy hell.
I stumble back a step, reaching for the doorknob, but my gaze fixes on the black mask of the woman entering the bedroom and the heavily muscled shirtless man with his palm on the small of her back.
This isn’t just any trendy secret club interested in adding top-notch whiskey to their shelves.
It’s a sex club.
I should be horrified. Running screaming in the opposite direction and out to my car. But instead, I’m rooted to the floor.
I have a front-row seat to one of my dirtiest fantasies. A fantasy I finally got up the nerve to try to fulfill a few months ago, because Lord knows I don’t have time to have a relationship, but my search for a non-sketchy sex club in New Orleans fell flat. Google sure as hell didn’t have this one on the map, and neither did any of the forums or blog posts I read.
A real underground sex club.
A tingle of excitement, like I’ve just discovered a secret key to another world, shoots through me as the man shuts the door to their room and slowly circles the woman before pushing her to her knees with one dominant hand on each shoulder.
He has the look of a conqueror, complete with dark leather pants and tribal ink marking his chest and upper arms, inspecting his war prize. It’s hot as hell.
The rational part of my brain says I should look away, not invade their private scene, but I glance quickly at the door I entered through. No one is bursting in to tell me it’s some kind of mistake that I was led here.
The woman, dressed in red lingerie, keeps her eyes downcast, but I’m not nearly as disciplined. I can’t take my eyes off her companion as his ass flexes against the leathers.
When he stops in front of her, one of his wide hands darts out and buries itself in her honey-blond hair, gripping her at the base of her neck, forcing her attention to his face.
They are completely and utterly absorbed with each other, and neither of them spares even a moment for the wall that serves as my voyeuristic porthole. Do they know? They must.
“You wanted my attention down there, little girl. You’ve got it all now.”
His voice comes loud and clear into this room like it’s somehow been piped inside.
My heart thumps harder as he reaches for the flap of his leathers with his other hand and yanks it open, freeing his heavy cock.
I bite down on my lower lip to stifle the hushed oh my God dying to break free. The sting of my teeth serves as a reminder that this isn’t one of my dreams.
This is real.
My conscience wars with me, telling me to turn away. Go back down the stairs. Run out the front door. Find my car and get the hell out of here. But that and any other thought of business dies away as he wraps one palm around his thick cock and gives it a rough tug before thumbing the tip. The ruddy reddish-purple shaft seems to pulse against his grip, and my lip trembles as my thighs clench.
Why is it so frigging hot to see a man handle himself like that?
Using his grip on her hair, he guides her lips toward the head.
Sweet Lord. I should not be turned on by this.
But my sweaty palms and the thumping heartbeat that has taken up residence between my legs expose my lie.
This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in person.
“You want this? Is that why you’ve been acting like a little brat?” His words are muted, like the sound is being piped into the office through speakers, or maybe it’s because the blood roaring through my head is drowning out normal sound. Either way, his gruff, deep voice drags over my senses, making goose bumps rise across my skin.
“Yes, sir.” The woman’s chin bounces as she licks her lips.
He drags her face an inch closer to his cock. “Show me how much.”
My nipples pebble against my bra at his rough order. Heat, completely inappropriate fiery heat, streaks through me as one of the woman’s hands dives between her legs.
“You don’t get to touch yourself until I tell you to. I’ll turn that ass of yours red before you finger that wet little cunt.”
I squeeze my thighs together like he’s somehow threatening me. Ordering me. Dominating me.
And I wish he were.
“I want your hands on my legs. I’m going to fuck your face. Remind you who owns these lips.”
A quiet moan echoes through the room, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure it came from her and not me. Okay, ninety percent sure.
I squirm in my heels, my chest rising and falling faster as she rests her palms on his muscled thighs and he feeds his cock into her mouth inch by inch.
Oh my God. I can’t watch. I shouldn’t watch. I’m not a dirty little thing who likes to watch. I’m not. Really. I’m not.
But I’m a filthy liar, because none of the words I use to berate myself make me tear my gaze away from the most erotic scene I’ve ever seen play out.
He shifts his grip, using one hand to cup her chin and tilt her head to the angle of his liking as he powers deeper inside, more of his rock-hard shaft disappearing with each thrust.
His growl echoes through the room, and I can feel it in the wet heat between my legs like a pulse.
“You feel that? You want more?”
Her plaintive, muffled cry for more unleashes another round of shivers as my breathing becomes shallow. My inner muscles clench as I imagine a cock sliding past my lips and down my throat. My gag reflex flutters at the all-too-real and intense feeling.
That could be me.
Her fingertips curl around his legs and mine do the same, but instead of smooth skin, mine scrape across the fabric of my skirt. Two thin layers. That’s all that separates me from making myself come in approximately two point five seconds.
My fingers tense, stretching as though itching to move.
Don’t you even think about it, Temperance. Don’t you dare think about it.
But then he slows his movements, pulling his cock from between her lips. It glistens in the dim light as he wraps a hand around it and strokes. The woman’s need is visible in every tense muscle of her body as she fixates on his every lazy movement.
“I’m not coming in that pretty mouth. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m taking that ass you’ve been teasing me with. Bending you over so I can see your cunt and your tight little hole. I get so fucking hard when I think about turning it red before I finally get to bury myself inside.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t even fair.
I swallow the saliva filling my mouth and back up until I bump into the edge of a desk. My heels wobble, and I reach a hand out to steady myself.
I cross my legs and shift back and forth to try to stave off the urge to do more. I’m here for business. Not for pleasure. But the reminder is a fleeting one, disappearing from my brain as soon as he speaks again.
“Tell me you want me to take your ass. Own it. Make it mine so you never forget who you belong to.”
The woman’s mouth drops open and her tongue darts out to wet the corner. “Yes, sir.”
He reaches down and extends a hand. “Stand.”
She complies by sliding her hand into his and rising gracefully to her feet. Then his movement turns rougher as he spins her around and bends her over the end of the bed.
My heart thunders as I squeeze my thighs together, and the man yanks the crotch of her thong aside, baring her pussy and ass.
It’s obscene, but I can’t look away.
My fingernails dig into my leg through my skirt as he bar
ks another order.
“Spread your legs.”
The uncompromising tone of his voice ricochets through my body, and part of me wants to comply like the woman as she slides her legs a few inches farther apart, creating an even more indecent visual.
The heat between my legs jumps what feels like a million degrees, and I suddenly wish I’d done laundry this week, because then I’d be wearing underwear. Instead, wetness gathers and threatens to drip down my inner thighs.
A dirty, shameful feeling curls inside me and I squirm in my heels, squeezing my legs even harder together, but it doesn’t change the way my body responds. Especially not when he claps his palm between her legs with a smack. Her hips jerk, and a moan spills out from between her lips.
Oh, good Lord. He spanked her pussy.
I cover my mouth with one hand to silence my own sharp breath, and my teeth dig into my skin.
He plunges a finger inside, moving it out and then back in. “This is mine. You flash it at anyone else, and I’ll tie you up and drag you to the edge so many times, you’ll be delirious before I ever let you come. That’s a fucking promise.”
He pulls free of her body and lands a hard smack on her ass.
She screeches as his handprint blooms red on her skin before covering it with a firm grip, and the sound coming from her mouth turns into a moan.
“Please.”
“You know I love to hear you beg.” He releases her and lands another blow. “But you’ll remember your manners or get nothing.”
“Please, sir!”
Her wail wraps around me as he caresses the cheek he just stung. The desk bites into my ass, but I know it’s not the same.
I want to know what that feels like.
The truth blows through my mind like a hurricane. Unstoppable. Unashamed. Un-fucking-believable.
Is it possible to spontaneously orgasm? I have to get out of here. But my fingers curl around the sharp edge of the wood as though it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
“Beg me.”
With my nipples harder than diamonds, I wait for her to beg. Please. I want to see—
She does.
Oh, good Lord, I’m going to hell.
He grips his cock with one hand, her ass with the other, and lines up the head with her entrance. “Pussy first. You’re not ready for me yet.”
The pace of my breathing nears hyperventilation.
I need to do something. I have to—
Any capacity for rational or irrational thought is ripped from my brain as he buries his cock inside her and her scream fills my ears. He pounds into her over and over, and I hate her. I hate that she’s receiving his perfectly rough thrusts that rip moans of ecstasy from her throat, and all I have is the clenching emptiness between my legs.
I want that. I need that. It’s been way too long since I felt . . . anything like this. Actually, I’ve never felt anything remotely like this.
This dark edge of pleasure is something I’ve only read about. Wished for. Dreamed about.
Her moans and cries increase, and he praises her. I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me, and pretend he’s whispering them to me.
My fingers edge toward the hem of my skirt and I draw it up inch by inch. I need more. Just a little—
“My naughty secretary should know better than to touch herself during work hours.” The deep, rasping words come out of the shadows and brush over my skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
Shock freezes my movements, my fingertips locked on the material of my skirt, as a chair creaks and the disembodied voice takes the shape of a tall, broad-shouldered man stepping into the dim pool of light.
A black leather mask obscures the top half of his face, but his piercing silver-blue eyes burn hotter than a five-alarm fire. They sear my skin everywhere they touch.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Ms. Smith?” His sculpted lips are perfect—except for the fact that they called me by the wrong name.
“Umm. Uhh.” I stammer as I attempt to find words that could possibly apply to this insane situation. “I-I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong—”
His eyes narrow, but the heat remains intact.
“Nobody argues with me in my office. Strike two, Ms. Smith.”
“But I’m here for—” I make another attempt to explain his mistake, but he cuts me off with a tilt of his head.
“Whatever I want.” He emphasizes each word as he takes another step toward me. “And tonight, what I want is you.”
My teeth dig into my bottom lip as he slides his suit jacket off his shoulder and down one arm before repeating the motion with the other. His movements reveal a crisp white shirt perfectly tailored to broad shoulders, thick biceps, and a narrow waist.
Holy wow. He’s sex in a suit.
“If you’re still in this office in ten seconds, I’ll take that to mean yes, sir, I’m ready.”
I glance at the door and back at him as he begins the countdown.
“Ten . . .”
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Preview of Dirty Billionaire
Holly
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Country Star JC Hughes Caught Between a Cock and a Hard Place
How is he going to explain this one away to girlfriend Holly Wix and his fans?
“That two-timin’ son of a . . .”
I hiss under my breath as I stare at the headline—and the compromising picture accompanying it—splashed in vivid color across the front page of the gossip rag displayed prominently in the checkout line at my supermarket. For the second time in two months, it’s a picture of my “boyfriend” locked in an unmistakably passionate embrace with another woman, except this time she’s wearing a giant black strap-on.
The edges of the paper crumple in my sweaty grip, and I fight the urge to tear it to shreds, along with every copy sitting on the rack in front of me.
He’s going to destroy my career before it even has a chance to become a reality.
One year, they said. One year in this joke of a “relationship” and I’d earn my stripes, be all set in the world of country music. Judge me all you want for agreeing, but when your brand-new record label puts something like that in the contract that will jet you out of the backwoods town you’re dying to escape, you don’t ask questions. You sign on the dotted line.
But reality is a cold slap in the face, and some days it hits you when you’re standing in line at the grocery store. What happens when they finally catch JC with a guy? His habit of swinging both ways, but preferring men to women, is about to become the worst-kept secret in Nashville.
I’m Holly Wix, winner of a make-me-a-star TV show, and handpicked by the label to buoy JC’s once-impressive but now flagging career. It didn’t seem like a big deal when they slipped it into my contract in the beginning. What starry-eyed girl wouldn’t be thrilled to have her name linked to a country star?
Instead of the one-way ticket to stardom I naively expected, I’m becoming the butt of every industry joke faster than the guys back home can spend their paycheck on twelve-packs and scratch-offs. But I’ve got one shot at keeping this dream career alive, and honestly, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save it. So this situation with JC needs to get settled before things spiral further out of control.
Tugging the bill of my trucker hat lower, I glance around to see if anyone has noticed me flipping out in the checkout line. A woman behind me clucks her tongue as she pulls her sunglasses out of her baby’s mouth.
Crap.
That cluck of her tongue was aimed at me, not the toothless, blue-eyed, smiling baby. Surprisingly, though, the expression on her face is sympathetic, not angry.
“Men are assholes, am I right? Being famous just makes them bigger ones.”
I smile weakly, and she continues.
“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, doll. They’re always ninety-five percent bullshit. Probably Photoshopped. He should have his head examined if he’s cheating on you.”
Snapping my gaze back to her, I read recognition all over her face, despite my hat, glasses, complete lack of makeup, and relatively low level of fame. I force a smile onto my face, but it feels awkward and fake.
“It’s called a gossip rag for a reason, I guess?” I reply, failing at my attempt to inject some humor into my tone.
She nods and gestures to the half dozen bottles of wine in her cart. “This probably sounds crazy forward, but you look like you could use a drink and someone to vent to.”
Vent to a perfect stranger I met in the grocery store? That would be insane, not to mention dangerous. If I did, the “she said” side of the story would be splashed all over tomorrow’s papers, and the label would kill me—the painful death of breach of contract and being blackballed in the industry.
I already used up strike one the first time a picture of JC hit the papers. I marched right into Homegrown Records’ offices and told them their devil’s deal wasn’t worth it, and that I wouldn’t help JC’s career at the expense of my own.
Their response? If I didn’t turn around, march my ass right back out of the office, and paste a smile on my face, they’d yank me off my tour, and I’d be a has-been before I ever got the chance to become a someone.
I’d go to bat for my career any day of the week, but faced with the threat of losing it, I’m ashamed to say I backed down and toed the company line. You only get one shot at your dream. It’s not something I’m willing to let go . . . regardless of how much of my pride I might have to swallow. Which brings me back to the gossip rag and the woman in front of me.
An awkward silence stretches between us in the checkout line as all the scenarios swirl through my brain of how I can reply to her. Finally, she smiles, and there’s something kind and knowing in her expression.
“I know what you’re thinking—you can’t spill your side of the story to anyone. Too risky.” She lifts her hand and flashes a giant rock on her left ring finger. “But I’m not just anyone. I’ve been on the front page of the tabloids too, and I know exactly how much it sucks. After being married for a decade to the biggest reformed horndog of them all, I’m no stranger to any of it. On top of that, I’d never break the vows of sisterhood.”