by Bella Grant
“Let’s see,” he said as he unclasped the necklace and placed it around my neck. I touched it and smiled. “Looks perfect.”
“I think it works for me,” I teased as I touched my neck.
“Yes!” Nick said. “Is that a yes?”
“Well, you hold me captive in your private jet, present me with a family heirloom, you love me, I love you…so…”
Nick didn’t wait to hear the last of my sentence; he jumped on me and we landed flat on the bed again. “Thank you, Sara. I’ll never disappoint you,” he said, kissing me.
“I plan not to either,” I said, grinning. “Now, tell me where we’re going.”
“If you promise you’ll bear my children so we can pass that necklace on to them,” Nick said. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know about our destination.”
“Okay, I will have children with you, Nick Saunders. Lots of them,” I said, laughing. This was too good to be true. Was it all a dream?
“In that case, I’ll be truthful. I had no plans, really. I know the plane is supposed to have a flight map and all that, but we’re just circling the sky. The pilot is waiting for you to confirm our destination.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You have no plans? So what did you text to Amy?”
“I told her I was going to ask you to officially be my woman today.”
“You’re crazy,” I said, giggling, “but I like that.”
“I’m in love,” Nick said. “That allows me to be as crazy as I want.”
“So, you will go anywhere in the world I want to go to?”
“Yes, my love. Anywhere.”
“Fiji Islands?” I said. “I’ve always dreamed of going to Fiji.”
“Is that what you want?” Nick asked. I nodded. He picked up a telephone next to the bed and pushed a number. “Fiji. Please inform the staff at the villa that I have Sara with me,” he said into the phone and hung up.
“Your staff in Fiji know I exist?”
“Everyone that is important is aware that my future bride might be on this plane with me today and they are ready to serve you.”
“And I’m guessing you own a villa in Fiji?” I asked.
“A little more than a villa. More like a part of the island.”
“Okay, this is crazy, but I’m so happy.”
“You know what would make me happy?” he asked, pinning me down again.
“Should I take a wild guess?”
“Please do.”
“Fucking you?” I said shyly.
“I love it when you talk so vulgar,” Nick said. “Yes, fucking me would help. You did make me a promise to take care of me.”
“I did, and I always keep my word. Now, please take off your pants,” I said, smiling as I tugged at his pants, which were straining from his hard on. He didn’t need to be asked twice; we quickly tore our clothing off until we were both naked.
“You know, I should have made you mine years ago. We have a lot of years of catching up to do,” he said as he pulled me in for a long kiss.
I smiled as I kissed him back, his cock digging into my hip, my pussy wet and ready.
“Well, now you can make me yours,” I teased.
“Oh, trust me. I intend to take every part of you,” Nick giggled as he pulled me closer; instead of his lips touching mine, he went lower, leaving butterfly kisses on my neck. He had pinned me down, but I intended to reverse that as I struggled playfully under him until I was on top of him and he was lying on his back.
“That’s great, but my turn,” I said as I smiled at him and kissed him so briefly before starting a trail of kisses from his neck down toward his belly button. I could feel him shiver slightly and moan as my mouth dangerously approached his cock. I had never done this before, thus his excitement assured me I was doing it right. I cradled him in my hand, and his moans got even louder as I played with him.
“Sara. Please.” His voice was hoarse.
“Please what?” I teased.
“Please,” he moaned.
I ignored the moan, enjoying the feeling of power I had over Mr. Rich at that moment, but his moans got louder and he started massaging my head and gently pushing me down so my lips were close to his hardness. I smiled and ended his misery by taking him into my mouth. I wasn’t prepared for his wide, warm, and hard cock, but as I got more comfortable with the feel of him, I relaxed and started sucking and licking up and down his shaft. He grunted and moaned with every touch of my lips and hands, and I grew bolder with each moan, sucking him faster, licking him harder, and massaging his girth so hard and fast I knew it was only a matter of time before he came.
“Sara,” he murmured. “You’re so good.”
I lifted my head from his hardness and looked at him, but in that moment, he got up and flipped us so he was on top.
“Not fair,” I giggled as I wiggled underneath him. “My turn.”
We playfully struggled for a few moments, and I managed to get on top again. I straddled him until his hardness was in the right spot and his hands supported my waist.
“You are so beautiful,” he said as he helped me position myself on him. I slowly lowered my body until my pussy engulfed his hardness. I started slow and steady, supporting myself by holding his shoulders as I took his hardness in one inch at a time, allowing my body to adjust to his fullness, and soon I had his whole length in me. I moaned once his hard cock was inside me. He held me up as I started riding him steadily up and down. He pulled me down so that our lips touched, his kiss fierce.
I continued riding him, kissing him, and holding him tight as he guided me on his cock. I moaned even louder than he did as I began to feel an orgasm bubble in me. His grunts deepened and quickened; he was near the finish as well.
“Nick,” I whispered as the first wave of orgasm hit me.
“Yes, love,” Nick grunted as he pushed faster into me. I knew he was just a few seconds away from coming.
Then the waves started coming in succession and building in intensity. I curled up my feet as warmth burst inside of me as the final wave of orgasm hit me. “I love you.”
“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” Nick said just as he spewed his warm cum into me.
Our romance had been short and fierce and we had fallen so quickly in love, it was scary. I had always thought I would date forever before I committed to one man, but I’ve always known that it’s not the length of the dating that mattered but the quality of the relationship.
Nick and I were starting strong, and there was so much more about each other that we needed to learn. I was confident we would grow as a couple, and as the days passed, our relationship would strengthen. I touched the necklace that now lay on my neck and smiled. I imagined the next time I read the inscription, Sara would be inscribed next to the other women who had stolen the hearts of Saunders men before Nick. My life was complete.
*** THE END ***
*** If you haven’t read “HEAL ME”, here’s a free copy for you! ***
BONUS NOVEL #2
HEAL ME
(A Billionaire BAD BOY Romance)
By
Bella Grant
Copyright (c) 2016. All Rights Reserved
Find all my steamy books at
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Bill
I’d been sitting in this damn office for an hour. I thought therapists were supposed to be, you know, considerate of feelings and all that shit. Why had I been waiting so long, then, huh? I was so bored that I was reading a magazine article. Some dumb-fuck was talking about how his money got him everything he ever dreamed of, and Now you can, too! For just ninety-nine million dollars!
Saying you got everything you wanted in life was a load of shit. I would know, because I have money. Lots of it. I’ll let you in on a secret about wealth: when you have money, you’re gonna spend it just because you can. I’ve spent my fair share of days overseas, lounging in the nude with two hookers I had hired the night before. I’ve snorted cocai
ne off hookers, yes. I once traveled on a yacht, and I paid for it out-of-pocket just because I could. I’ve done so many things that are cliché, things normal people would only dream of, if they even knew those things existed. But. But. Let me tell you one thing I never got in life.
I’ve never had a woman who gave a shit about me. Not even my mother, though she was the one who finally convinced me to be here. Yeah, they like my money—and, hell, I’d even say that I’m easy on the eyes. I stand about five-foot-nine, not terribly short but certainly not tall. My hair is salt and pepper. My eyes, bright green, distract people from the gray in my hair. I like to think of myself as a ‘refined gentleman,’ which basically means I’m pretty old. Over forty-five.
That’s why you couldn’t stop him from grabbing you by the neck, I thought. Nonsense. He was a coward. Came at you from behind, Bill. What could you really do but give in? I thought to myself, accustomed to my crazy internal dialogue.
“Being robbed can impact ya more than ya think,” my mom had said. “I read it in this self-help book.” Her voice was rattling and weak. She was smoking too much again. “Ya gotta see someone, Billy,” she had urged.
I told myself that her begging voice had convinced me to seek help. But truly, I knew when to throw in the towel. During any business negotiations, the point at which I’d lost and they’d won was always clear to me. Sadly, as much as I fucking hated it, I had lost. That night had robbed me of more than just my money. It robbed me of a piece of my manhood that I couldn’t seem to grab back. Every damn business deal since then had been a crock of shit. I lost my cool because I lost my confidence.
And the nightmares. Those nightmares. I pictured it every night: walking back to my hotel from the financial district. I’d rented a room to get away from my fiancée—whom I was not cheating on, as much as she accused me of it. The mugger had grabbed me by the throat from behind. He was tall and bigger than me, and I am no shrimp. I’ve been muscular my entire life, but especially so since I’d been hitting the gym a lot recently. I wanted to avoid the weight gain that hits most people in their forties.
He had squeezed. “Here’s the deal. I have a gun, and you have a wallet. You go to the ATM, and the gun won’t go off. You fuck with me, and you’ll be poor and dead. Hear that, you son of a bitch?” he’d rasped into my ear.
Even through my fear, I had felt a spike of anger rush over me. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Didn’t he know ‘Billy the Billionaire,’ a self-made man from a lower-middle class family in Yonkers? Didn’t he know that I packed the punches in life, and people like him cleaned my damn shoes—for a very good price, of course, because I value labor. I respect hard work and the people who’ve earned their money. I had no respect for him, even in that moment.
But I had respect for my beating heart and my life. And, God, I admit it: I was scared shitless. I wanted to live. My life ran through my head, and all that jazz. The thought of not having it changed me in many ways. But this change was, by far, overshadowed by the knowledge that at any moment, another stranger could come out of the shadows and take it all away from me.
Back to the robbery, though. I’ve never seen so many people out on the street in my life. Yeah, it was nighttime, but it didn’t explain their sheer ignorance. None of them paid much attention to the situation. Some averted their eyes, and some stared. I had heard of the bystander effect in one of my undergraduate classes, but I never actually thought it existed. Unfortunately for me, I had to find out the hard way. It indeed existed, all the way to the ATM one block north.
He had put the gun to my head as I unloaded my money. When the machine wouldn’t dispense any more money—because there was no more—he was as confused as he was excited.
“That means you got more, don’t it?” he asked. I could tell from his voice that he must have been in his mid-twenties.
He lowered the gun as if in awe. I took this as my chance. As it turns out, the gun wasn’t loaded. It was all for show. Lucky for me, all he could do was use the gun to beat me over the head again and again. He turned me over, and by that point, I was nearly unconscious. He kept beating me until someone finally called the police.
In court, he told them that the rage and fury he had vented upon me was frustration—frustration from being homeless, from losing his job. I was the face of everything he had ever hated. I didn’t feel an ounce of pity for the man, and only regretted that they couldn’t put him away for longer. As his handcuffs shook, he looked at me, his eyes cold and empty. His was the face that could have been my demise. A face I haven’t been able to get out of my head since. Which is why I had finally made the appointment to see the therapist.
Well, that was the main reason. There were many, actually. I wasn’t entirely sure I would ever get over my ex-wife, Sophia, much to the chagrin of my fiancée, Fiona.
“You’re not over Sophia, are you?” Fiona had said to me on more than one occasion.
I’d spun around in my office chair. The day had gone by slowly, and I felt disconnected. “Huh?”
Fiona had found a large photo of Sophia under my bed wearing nothing but some very sexy lingerie. “You have to get rid of this right now!” Fiona cried.
I followed her to the kitchen. She handed me the picture and pointed to the garbage chute.
“Throw it away!” Fiona demanded. She watched as I reluctantly threw it in the trash.
I usually did as she asked; I think I care about her even though she’s a pain in my ass most of the time. She was the nosiest person I have ever known.
“And that kid of yours with his ‘collecting’ habit. I can’t do it anymore,” she’d wailed one night after discovering that Zach had started collecting skulls.
“Do you know that he calls me ‘Crow’?” Fiona asked, showing me an entry in his journal.
“You shouldn’t have been reading his journal,” I’d said dryly, returning to my morning paper.
“It’s not fair. He’s never going to like me! Ever. No matter what I do. I even tried making cookies,” Fiona replied, gesturing to the broken molten tragedies that she’d tried to bake. I nibbled on one, but I wasn’t able to make out what kind of a cookie it was supposed to be.
I cleared my throat and put my paper down, gazing knowingly at her. “I’ll take you shopping and make it all better.”
Her demeanor changed instantly. “You’re the best, baby! Can we go now? I’ll get my coat.”
Fiona had a shopping addiction. I, luckily, had the money to supply her habit, but I was quickly tiring of it.
Last time I checked, Sophia was dating some guy named Eric. Zach would say. “Eric took us out. It was nice of him.”
And I would answer: “He took you out and was nice to you? What a bastard.”
The first time Zach mentioned Sophia’s new boyfriend, I had choked. This was beginning to happen during my business meetings, too. Last meeting, I choked when someone challenged me. This weird feeling of dread came over me. The lights were distant, and I had a flashback. That feeling of powerlessness. A chokehold around my neck. Any tension morphed into that hold, and no action could stop the feeling.
I was snapped out of my reverie when someone walked into the office and looked around—a squirrely young guy. He slammed the door. I jumped.
“Is… is Katie Warren here?” he said to no one in particular.
I looked around the room, trying to figure out if he was talking to the receptionist or me. Her chair was empty. Go figure. I grunted and put the magazine up to my face, then even closer, trying to lose sight of him.
“I’m out of my medicine!” he cried loudly. Tears streamed down his face.
I grunted again, nearly licking the magazine now.
The receptionist scuttled over to the desk.
“Mr. William Carson?” she called out of the booth. I got up quickly, grateful to escape into the office. “You can go on in. First door on your left,” she said.
As I gripped my briefcase and opened the door, I heard the recepti
onist say, “The psychiatrist isn’t in, and Katie has a client. Can we help you?”
“Fuck,” the man shouted in response.
When I walked into the consulting room, a woman had her back turned to the door as she fumbled behind her desk.
“That guy out there. The crazy one. He one of your patients or something?” I mumbled. “He’s got a foul mouth, but at least he uses the right words.” I chuckled.
“I can’t share that kind of information with you, sir,” she said in a matter-of-fact kind of voice. She spun her chair around.
I’d always heard of people saying that ’their jaw dropped’ when they saw a person, but mine actually did. Sitting there—all five-foot-three-inches of her, or thereabouts—was a woman who was the spitting image of my Sophia. A young Sophia. The same sharp cheekbones. Full, soft lips. Big, brown, expressive eyes. The kind that saw through your shit. She had short hair, curly and thick. Though she hid most of her face with big black glasses, there was no mistaking that she was Sophia’s doppelganger.
I took a seat, trying to steady my legs.
“So you’re...” She paused, squinting at my name.
“William Carson.”
She left her desk and came to sit down across from me on one of her pleather chairs. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and said, “You mean to tell me you don’t know who I am?”
Her face must have been made of stone. She had absolutely no reaction, just a pleasant demeanor. It stunned me. I could usually see the darkest shades in the most classic of creatures.
“You know. Billy the Billionaire?” I said, my voice faltering in a way I did not approve of. Get yourself together, Billy. You gonna let this nobody tell you you’re not a somebody?
I stood and straightened. I towered over her, especially while she was sitting on her chair. “Why would I trust a shrink who can’t even use Google?”