by Ashlee Price
Table of Contents
Title Page
Box Set Description
His Secret Baby
My Protector
Bossman’s List
Rekindled
Cowboy’s Bride
A Note From The Author
Seal Me Daddy (Sample)
Body Talk ( Sample)
Keep in Touch
Copyright & Disclaimer
HOT MEN
A Contemporary Romance Box Set
By Ashlee Price
Box Set Description
A Collection of Amazon Best Sellers + 1 Exclusive!
Book 1 - His Secret Baby
Why be an angel when the bad boy always gets the girl?
Book 2 - My Protector
S#xy firefighter’s second chance at love
Book 3 - Bossman’s List
Not your typical billionaire office romance
Book 4 - Rekindled
Hot billionaire’s second chance at love
Book 5 - Cowboy’s Bride
Every alpha cowboy deserves a wife
His Secret Baby
A BDSM Revenge Wedding Romance
By Ashlee Price
Prologue - Riker
An evangelist of enjoyment is born…
The Saturday nightlife was in full swing, with the drifting fog off the lake adding a touch of unreality. I sat in a split-leather chair with a stunted, broken leg I’d redeemed from a garbage pile. Money was hard to come by for a sixth-year psychology student, but the chair spoke to me.
I set a can of beer on the sill to anchor the ragged curtain to one side so I could see the girls outside the Butterfly Cafe. My room was dark and I sat low enough that even my six-foot-four-inch frame was mostly below the window. But not entirely. I could see them: a pastry showcase filled with sexual concoctions meant to arouse the senses with glittering, heightened colors and various exotic costumes. I could almost smell the cloying mixture of their heavy perfumes from my vantage on the third floor, across the street, but the scent was dragged down into the fog’s humidity. Occasionally a car would pull up to the curb and the occupant would climb out, his seat quickly filled by an attendant who drove it to an obscure private parking lot.
The girls flowed around the newcomer like a tittering wave filled with groping fingers and painted kisses. “You stop for a bite to eat?” was the invitation I most often heard repeated. Some of the men were forceful, grabbing one arm and pushing into the Cafe, while others preferred to hang back and be petted and cajoled. Eventually, they, too, would enter the crimson doors and disappear for an hour or more. Dinner was being served.
As a student of psychology, I found it fascinating. I was the product of a very lower-middle-class neighborhood to the east of Chicago. It was a land where the streams of mustard-yellow smoke spouting from the steel mills thickened the sky so thoroughly that I could lie on the grass in my tiny yard and stare at the sun for hours without harm. Everything Mom hung on the clothesline returned to our closets with that yellow tinge, and eventually Dad began coughing it up into his dinner napkin while Mom’s concerned eyes stared at her sparse plate. The less she ate, the more there was for the males in the family—namely, my dad and me.
The men at the mill were all heavy smokers; the tobacco masked the rotten egg odor of the blast furnaces and waste water that flowed away under the guise of a river. As Dad’s cough gave way to the wheeze that signaled his coming death, I swore my mom would know a better life. She hadn’t made it through my fifth year at the University of Chicago, but I saw to it that her headstone was always framed by flowers as well as the dreadful lemon sky.
I downed the last of the beer in the can and rose to my feet, brushing my teeth and straightening my hair carefully in the dim light of my closet-sized bathroom. I was on a mission, and what I would learn would earn me the diploma I’d waited so long to get.
I pushed out the entry door to the street and continued to the crosswalk. I attempted what I thought was a modified stroll and did my best to act innocently curious as I came upon the girls.
“Red,” as I’d nicknamed her over the nights I’d watched, was the first to approach. “You hungry, big fella? How ‘bout a bite inside the Butterfly Cafe?” I could have given her the script to read—it was that familiar.
“I’ve never been inside,” I muttered, looking at the heavy wooden door with a slit of a window you couldn’t see through unless you stood right up to it.
“Maybe so, but you been watchin’,” she grinned with a wink. “Or did you think we didn’t know?” She was mocking me.
“So you saw me, did you?”
“A big, good lookin’ fella like you? You’re damned right. Butterfly wants to see ya. She said if you finally got up the guts to come over, to let her know.” She fingered my shirt and put her face into the fabric. “Mmm… you smell good, too. Shame that the boss already laid claim.”
“That would be Butterfly?”
“It would. Well, c’mon. Let me take you to her before I lose control, big fella,” she said, taking my arm and yanking open the heavy door with the familiarity of someone who knew the exact amount of force it would require. I followed willingly as we entered the aroma of dirty hotel sheets, cigarettes and stale perfume. “Jesus!” Red swore, stopping long enough to grab a can of deodorizer from a narrow closet and spraying into the dim room. “Smells like a whorehouse in here,” she muttered and then winked at me. “That’s why I like standin’ outside. A girl needs to come up for air once in a while, if ya know what I mean,” she hinted, gazing at my crotch. I had to resist the temptation to cover myself with my hand.
Her hips sauntered lazily as she led me down a deep hallway lined by red doors with brass plaques listing sequential numbers. You’d almost think it was a hotel corridor, if you didn’t know better. At the end was a pair of deep-red doors with heavy scrollwork framing its face. The plaque here read “Butterfly—By Invitation Only.” Somehow, I sensed they were serious about enforcing that. Perhaps it was the timidity with which Red neatly rapped the heavy brass knocker.
There was a muttered response from inside that seemed to satisfy Red. She turned the handle and stood back to let me pass through. Shrugging, I walked in and she pulled the door closed between us. While the rest of the building was dim, it sank to a new low in that room. A fire burned in embers so low that I couldn’t even see the entire fireplace. Feeling awkward, I stood in place, waiting for the mysterious Butterfly to come forward.
“Why are you here?” a woman’s husky voice asked from the direction of the fire.
I knew there was no point in pretense. “I’m curious.”
“Indeed?” Her voice held an accent that I couldn’t place, but she definitely wasn’t local. “You’ve been watching us for months. What is it you’re still curious about?”
“What I haven’t seen… what goes on behind the red doors.”
In the glow from the embers I saw a long, dark leg encased in a thigh-high, spike-heel boot extend from a high-backed chair before the fire. The pointed toe hooked a nearby chair, and with a commanding fling, the chair skidded across the floor toward me. “Sit down,” she ordered.
“I only came to watch,” I said, clarifying my purpose in being there.
She laughed, but it wasn’t filled with joy. It was a condescending sound I could imagine coming from a she-devil—and for all I knew it did. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” she said quietly in that rough voice.
I felt compelled to obey her. I sat on the chair and waited. A tall, reed-thin body unfolded itself from the high-backed chair and twirled to face me, legs spread and hands on hips. She was dressed in something skin
tight and dark. I was intrigued. “You don’t get in here unless you’re taking part,” she warned as she approached, each step a high-heeled prance. As she came closer I could see her face, the color of a black pearl. High cheekbones and full lips gave her stunning beauty, but it was her eyes that caught my attention. Outlined with a thin line of crimson, they were a light, fluorescent blue, and they glowed—I swore I could see the sky through them. She was truly a butterfly.
She came close—so close that my eyes were inches from her pussy. Perhaps more importantly, so was my mouth. I could feel it flood with saliva. The dark body suit was now clearly leather that I wanted to chew through. I shook my head, wondering where those thoughts had come from.
The spike of her boot came down on the toe of my shoe; as sharp and strong as she if were nailing me to the floor. Pain radiated through my foot as her crotch pressed against my mouth, undulating as if feeding me. I felt the blood pounding in my temples and my cock reacted almost immediately, hard and throbbing with desire for this dark woman I didn’t know. What was she doing to me?
“Ahhh… I see you like the pain.” Her dark honey voice held amusement.
I shook my head but couldn’t absolutely deny her words. What did she know about me that I didn’t know about myself? Was there some monster inside me? I had to admit I’d been watching this place and wanting to know what went on inside. I hadn’t expected this, but it wasn’t making me run, either.
“You want the Butterfly?” she purred.
I nodded and her hand lashed out and covered my mouth harshly. “You don’t speak. You may nod or shake your head,” she ordered, and the heel came down on my toe again. I tried to pull away, simply by instinct, but her stance wouldn’t budge. She bent low and whispered into my ear. “If the pain becomes too much, say the word ‘red.’ Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Do you want me to stop?”
No one was more surprised than I when I meekly shook my head. I knew how these places operated. I’d have sworn it wasn’t anything I’d get into, but there I was and I sure as hell was into it. I was trying to convince myself I was only there for research. I could better relate to my patients if I understood their motivations. That was bullshit—I was enjoying the pain, and I wanted to fuck the leather body until she begged me to stop. She didn’t seem much like the begging type, though.
“I’ve seen men like you before,” she went on, her heel grinding into my foot as she spoke, like she was putting out a cigarette. “Big, strong types with tats you think will warn the world that you’re some kind of badass.” She laughed—a dark sound. “Then they come to the Butterfly and I show them what real power is all about. The power of pain. And their cocks explode from it. You think you just have to look down on someone to make them fear you. Tsk, tsk. How boring it must be for someone like you. No pain, no pleasure, and the only fear you can feed off is in people’s imagination. But what about your imagination? What kind of fear can Butterfly expose in you? Hmm…? The fear of anticipation unrealized?”
I knew not to say anything. I was trying to make mental notes of her and everything in the room. This was research, right? Bullshit. I was trying not to think of Butterfly and what it would feel like to fuck her into submission. I wanted her; I wanted to peel that leather off like a banana skin and sink myself into the fruit inside.
My eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, and I saw one wall covered with big steel hooks, upon which hung the tools of her trade. Harnesses, studded collars, whips; the implements she used to terrorize her subjects into utter orgasm. I was curious and I was turned on at the same time. I wanted Butterfly.
She read it in my body language. “You want the Butterfly and her weapons of pleasure, don’t you?” she said as she circled behind me and grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking my head backwards so my neck was vulnerable and exposed. Leaning low, she opened her mouth, exposing crystal white teeth with canines that had been sculpted into points. She came low and bit into the soft flesh of my neck, below the ear. I felt the sharpness of her canines and tensed, expecting her to bite. Fear shot out from my brain—and yet I was close to exploding into my shorts.
She laughed again and pulled away. The game of advance and retreat built the anticipation in my brain, which then handed it off to my cock. “For that, you need the gold,” she chided me. “Leave now, and do not return empty handed.” She let go of my hair and disappeared through a black curtain beside us that blended so well that it seemed she’d walked through the solid wall itself. I felt her sudden absence with a palpable disappointment and sat there a few moments longer, waiting for my cock to relax and my heart to quit beating so hard. I looked at the wall of hooks and got to my feet, amazed at how drained I felt. I leaned into the double red doors, thinking, and then went out. Red was waiting for me down the hallway.
“How much?” I rasped.
“Five for thirty.”
Jesus! Five hundred dollars? Where was I going to get that kind of money? I nodded and burst through the front door onto the street. Back in my apartment, I paced the room feverishly, trying to figure out a way to come up with the cash.
You jackass, she’s nothing but a piece of pretty ass! I tried to reprogram my brain as I fell onto the bed, exhausted. I wasn’t able to sleep; I kept tossing and turning with visions of black, glowing skin and the gleam of her toys. It was a fever. I’d been with women before; that wasn’t it. I had an almost certain awareness that she knew something special, something that would pluck a string deep inside my body that would vault me to a new level of heightened consciousness. I took two cold showers but remained in a state of arousal.
Just before dawn I was combing my desk drawer for the passbook where I recorded my savings. This was my emergency fund, reserved for a life-and-death situation. This was the untouchable money—but I touched it. I put the passbook on the foot of my bed and began watching the clock, waiting for the bank to open.
It still wasn’t enough. I needed a little over a hundred more. I made a pile on the bed of things to be hocked. My high school class ring was the first contribution, followed by an electric guitar with amp I’d had since junior high. For good measure I added a small box of collector coins my uncle had given me one Christmas. Surely to God, that would be enough.
I looked like a pack rat, dragging my guitar and amp, my pockets filled with the small stuff, as I left the apartment on the dot of nine. The bank came first, and then I tried two pawn shops for estimates, going back to the first one after the comparison. I was jubilant and light-footed as I returned home with five hundred and twenty dollars in my pocket.
I knew I wanted my full strength, and with the money safely stuffed into my pillow, I dropped into a coma-like sleep. I was starving when I awoke, and I decided to shower and spend the extra twenty on a steak dinner before crossing the street to see Butterfly.
Red watched me approach, a knowing smile on her face as she held open the heavy front door. Again, she escorted me down the hallway and rapped the door knocker before going in. I waited in the hallway, my foot holding the door partially open as I watched her hand Butterfly my five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Then she was back and motioning me inside, pulling the door shut with a click behind herself.
I stood there, my hands on my hips as I mustered my defiance. Butterfly hadn’t moved, but neither had she motioned me forward. She was maintaining control—or so she thought.
“I’d like my money’s worth,” I spoke up. “The clock is running on my thirty minutes.”
She didn’t make a sound but rose from that chair in the same slithering manner she had the night before. I heard a crack and felt something wrap around my ankle. I looked down and saw the end of a whip. Damn, but she was good. Didn’t even slice through my sock. I wondered how many shredded ankles she’d gone through as she perfected her stroke. Evidently, my time had begun. I stood still and could feel her energy.
“What do they call you?” she asked.
“Riker.”
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“Then, Riker, come here and kneel before me.”
I did as she asked. As soon as I’d taken that position, she was behind me and I felt something being fastened around my neck.
“Do as you’re told and you’ll receive pleasure. Disobey and suffer the consequences,” she told me succinctly. “If you feel pain or panic, we use safe words. Yellow means to proceed with caution, but red stops everything. Do you understand?”
I nodded as she pulled back on a leash and my head was lifted by the collar. It didn’t hurt, but I wasn’t going to pull against it.
“Remove your clothing, and do it slowly,” she ordered.
I started with my shoes, using the toe of one shoe to push against the other. I reached backwards and tugged at my socks. As I stripped, I could feel adrenalin building. The anticipation was making my hands shake. The pants, the shirt and then I was naked. Butterfly made a sound of approval deep in her throat and she led me closer to the fire.
As she held the leash tightly in one hand, she unzipped the leather jumpsuit and walked out of it, standing naked before me except for a garter holding up black sheer stockings and a bra that exposed her jutting, chocolate nipples. Sweet Jesus!
Her pussy was hairless, a cave opening that made me salivate. Butterfly tugged the leash and ordered, “Don’t move!” She walked to the side of me and I felt the air move as her leg rose and then came to rest straddling me. She lowered herself and I could feel her damp pussy on my back. She alternated raising and lowering herself slowly, rubbing her pussy flesh against me. I wanted so badly to turn and lift her onto my erect cock, but I knew she’d never allow it. My head was being held at a steep back angle. I felt frustration and a growing anger.
“I want to fuck you!” I growled, and she snapped my head, choking me to silence.
Her arms reached around me and she pinched my nipples—hard. Instead of the pain I’d expected, there was a surge to my cock. Perhaps nipple stimulation wasn’t reserved for women alone?