Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  “Well,” I say, feeling like I need space more than anything right now. I need room to breathe. Room away from his distracting presence where I can piece my thoughts together. “I really appreciate you taking the time to read over my work. I should be going though.”

  “No,” he says.

  I smile, thinking he’s joking for a moment until I see the look on his face. He’s not joking. He may be bound to the bed for now, but those blue eyes of his carry all the command and power he needs.

  “Lock the door.”

  “What about the nurses?” I ask.

  “Brianne, I’ll explain this to you now. Beyond this point, I won’t mention any of it again unless you ask. Do you understand?”

  I frown, not sure I do, but I nod anyway.

  “If you’re going to be involved with me, I need to know that you can be trained. I need to know that you can obey. I assume you already know this, considering the website you contacted me through, but I’m a man with very particular tastes. I want you to know exactly what I expect before we take this any further. Is that clear?”

  I nod again. My heart pounds and my chest heaves, but I need to hear what he has to say. This has all been hanging over our heads since we met for lunch last week, since he blindfolded me and commanded me to follow his instructions, and now it’s coming out. I feel terrified and relieved at the same time.

  “I’ll also need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. If you’re not familiar, it essentially means everything that happens between us is completely confidential.”

  I nod as the full meaning sinks in. Confidential, as in, not to be immortalized into a work of fiction. I’m guessing if I change the names it would be okay, but I’m also fairly certain Jackson might read my book at this point, and there’s no way he wouldn’t pick up on the similarities.

  Just when I was starting to convince myself I wasn’t being a total sleaze for getting writing material as a bonus out of this. . .

  “BDSM is not what most people think,” he continues. “It’s not a catch-all. Everything is consensual. The lack of control is an illusion. It’s a tool used to heighten the pleasure you feel. If you enter into this with me, if you sign the contract, we would begin to build a relationship unlike any you’ve been in before. I would be your dominant and you would be my submissive. The limits of your pleasure would only be bound by how much you trust me. Trust is key. Is this making sense?”

  “I think so,” I say.

  “Good. Some dominants have strong inclinations toward certain… flavors of BDSM. In those cases, it’s extremely important for them to find a submissive with the same tastes. I’m not like them. There’s only one thing I want. One thing I crave above all else.

  “What is that?” I ask, voice sounding small and weak.

  “Your submission. Your pleasure. I want you to learn to give yourself over to me so completely and so fully that I can bring you to climax with nothing but the sound of my voice.”

  A chill runs across my skin. I’ve already felt the power of his voice and somehow I don’t doubt that he could bring it that far.

  “If you sign the contract, I will push your limits. I will expose you to things you may have never even thought of trying or dreamed that you would enjoy. I may push the boundaries of your comfort, but I can promise you one thing. Every single thing I do is for you and your pleasure. My own needs are secondary.”

  He pauses, and I realize he’s done. He’s asking me a question. He’s letting me know I need to decide. I need to commit to this contract or I need to leave.

  “Can I read it first?” I ask. “The contract?”

  “Of course. I could have it sent to you and you could have as much time as you need to read it. Within reason,” he adds.

  “I’ll look at it,” I say.

  “Excellent. Now do as you were told and lock the door, Princess.”

  I almost laugh, but I quickly realize he isn’t kidding. “I haven’t signed the contract though,” I say.

  “The contract goes two ways. I’m bound by it as well as you. I think I deserve to see what I’m committing to, don’t you?”

  To see? What does he mean, exactly? I open my mouth to speak, but don’t trust what might come out. I lick my lips slowly, then nod my head.

  “Good. Now lock the door. Don’t make me ask again.”

  I move to do as I’m told, locking the door and feeling a slight pang of fear set in as the bolt clicks into place.

  “Take your top off,” he says.

  “What?” I ask. The most exposed I’ve ever been in front of a guy is a swimsuit. Well, that and the time I let Brad Parker unbutton my shirt after a football game in high school, but it was dark and he probably couldn’t see anything. Here in this hospital room with the unforgiving bright lights overhead, I’d feel so… exposed.

  “Take your top off,” he says again, voice low and dangerous.

  My fingertips graze my thighs as I clutch the bottom of my shirt. I close my eyes, wondering where the hell I’ll find the strength to do this. I try as hard as I can to become the writer again, to take a step back and write the story for someone else.

  His voice is like steel, and she obeys.

  I imagine the line typed on my document, picturing the vertical bar blinking patiently after the period, waiting for me to add more.

  I lift the shirt over my head, stripping the cardigan with it and letting it fall to the floor with a soft woosh. The air vent blows directly on my back, making my skin prickle immediately with goose bumps.

  Jackson’s mouth curves in the slightest hint of a smirk. There’s no humor in the expression though, only satisfaction, hunger, and desire.

  I wait, chest heaving as I stand before him in nothing but my bra and leggings.

  “Make that pile of clothes on the floor taller, Princess. Pants or bra. Your choice.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel like it’s a test. He wants to know if it’s worth binding himself to me with the contract. Does he want me to prove I’m bold? Does he just want to see if my body meets his standards?

  I decide taking my bra off would be the bolder of the two choices. I slowly move my hands behind my back to unhook it, but pause. I can’t do it. Not here. Not yet. Not like this. I instead drop my fingers to my waistband and slide out of my leggings, adding them to the pile on the ground.

  I’m wearing only a pair of lacey black panties and the matching bra.

  “Stunning,” he says quietly. “Sit in that chair, Princess.”

  I obey, glad for an excuse to be out of the spotlight, just standing and subjecting myself to his scrutiny makes me painfully vulnerable. I sit in the chair and fold my hands in my lap, squeezing my arms together to cover as much of myself as I can.

  “Now close your eyes, and do absolutely everything I say.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Put your hands on your thighs,” he says, voice calm and deep.

  I do as he says, letting the growing sense of abandon and excitement take charge over my frightened hands.

  “Now touch yourself.”

  I wait, thinking he has more instructions to give, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t mean…

  I rub my hands down my thighs, eyes still closed, trying to be seductive and sexy, but feeling inept. A few seconds pass before he sighs. I wait again, thinking he will say more, but he doesn’t.

  I’m not pleasing him. I push past my reservations and let my hand drift up my thigh, grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and I find my waiting heat. My mind may be confused and I may be more self-conscious than I’ve ever been, but my body is responding to this. My panties are already soaked as I rub my fingers across myself, moaning softly when the wet material slides against my sensitive slit.

  I hear Jackson groan quietly with satisfaction. I can practically imagine him biting his lip and palming himself as he watches.

  Every passing second ramps up my desire to entirely new levels. Before long, I’m covering my mouth with one hand t
o suppress the embarrassingly desperate moans spilling from my lips.

  “Touch yourself for me, Princess.”

  The rough gravel of his voice caresses me as if it has fingers of its own. I gasp out, spreading my legs wider as I grind my hips against my hand, fingers working furiously between my legs.

  “Finger yourself and imagine it’s my cock,” he says.

  I breathlessly slide my hand inside my panties, working my forefinger and middle finger into myself, letting my palm rub against my clit each time I pump my fingers in and out.

  “God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he says, voice low and hungry.

  Every syllable drives me further until I’m panting, each breath a gasping moan. I lurch forward, driving my fingers deep, picturing Jackson over me, powerful muscles tightening and flexing as he pounds into me relentlessly, whispering commands in my ears.

  “Cum for me, Princess.”

  My mouth opens in a silent exclamation as my fingers freeze inside me, body spasming while I ride my climax. It’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, and when it finally passes, I feel weak. I slump in the chair, opening my eyes to see him looking at me with a cocky smirk.

  “Goddamn,” he says. “I’ll sign the contract. I’ll sign anything that means I can see how fucking beautifully you cum again.”

  Blood rushes to my cheeks.

  There’s a knock at the door. A voice calls from the other side. “Mr. Pierce, we need your bloodwork. Why is this locked?”

  I look down at my soaked panties and jolt out of the chair, running to put my clothes on faster than I ever have in my life.

  “Well,” says Jackson loud enough to be heard through the door. “I was doing push ups in the nude and didn’t want anyone to interrupt.”

  “Mr. Pierce!” calls the nurse, clearly annoyed.

  I quickly brush the wrinkles from my clothes once I’m dressed and unlock the door. I sprint toward the bed and do a full belly slide to get behind the hospital bed before the door opens.

  Jackson laughs out loud, grinning down at me.

  I feel like a total idiot. Why did I just sprint and slide to the ground? It’s going to be obvious Jackson didn’t get up and do it.

  “Who else is in here?” asks the nurse. She has a stern, matronly voice. The kind of woman who doesn’t play games.

  “Well!” I say quickly, standing up and brushing off my knees. “Can’t find my earring anywhere. I thought for sure it would be under there.”

  The nurse gives me an unamused look. “Miss, you need to leave. Mr. Pierce needs his rest.”

  “I was just on my way out,” I say, looking once over my shoulder at Jackson, who winks, before I leave.

  “You didn’t!” says Lacey.

  I smile, twirling a strand of my hair. “I did.”

  We’re sitting outside the campus library, watching a goose flap his wings at a group of freshmen and scare them as they try to cross the quad.

  “Freshman mistake,” laughs Lacey as a young girl yelps with fear and drops her books in her hurry to escape the goose.

  I look around campus with what feels like a new lens. My experience with Jackson yesterday has me feeling like I’ve crossed over some invisible threshold. I may still be a virgin, but I would find it hard to believe most people ever experience something as sexually powerful as what happened in that hospital room.

  Even though I was still tired from the night before, I stayed up for hours putting down my own version of the scene into my story. The words flowed from me like I was possessed. It felt incredible, and now I’m not just craving the next time I can see Jackson, I’m craving the next experience he will give me. If every time I’m with him charges up my inspiration for writing like this, I’ll have a novel written within days.

  I don’t know what thrills me more. Him, or what being with him is doing for my writing.

  “Seriously though. You’re not bullshitting me?” asks Lacey.

  “I’m completely serious,” I say. “I feel a little bad though. Like I’m using him to finish my story.”

  “Screw that. The guy is offering to pay you and wants you to sign a contract for God’s sake. Something tells me he’d understand. Besides, it’s not like the book is the only reason you’re continuing to see him, right?”

  “I don’t think it is,” I say. “But I mean, how would I even know if it was?”

  Lacey shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t worry about it, either way. You’re making this a lot more complicated than it is. Sign the contract if you’re comfortable, enjoy yourself, and collect the money.”

  “How much money is it, anyway?” I ask. I’ve heard Lacey and even Jackson mention it several times now, but I was so far from considering it that I didn’t even ask.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “You mean you guys didn’t even talk about it?”

  “Not exactly, no. You kept mentioning it. I thought it was on the site or something.”

  “No. We just messaged him out of the blue, remember? I have no idea how much the contract pays. I’d guess a lot though, these guys are all mega rich. You just have to promise to take me on a shopping spree when you get paid.”

  “Yeah,” I say distantly. Jackson and his contract seems like the answer to everything. I probably wouldn’t need to worry about money for a long time. I’d lose the virginity that has turned into a curse. I’d finally be able to finish my story.

  But I know I’m not being entirely truthful with him, and I hate myself for that. Especially if I sign the NDA and still go on to write our sexual encounters into my story. The question is, can I risk telling him how I’m feeling without spoiling everything?

  10

  Jackson

  I pull the needle from the back of my hand, wincing and tossing it to the ground where it falls, leaking liquids.

  “That a good idea?” asks Hunter.

  “I need to get out of this fucking bed,” I say. “It has been a week since I woke up and I’ve got shit to do, besides,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m pretty sure the fuckers from the Dominican will have found out I’m still alive by now.”

  Hunter smirks. “I told you so.”

  “Fuck you,” I groan.

  He chuckles. “I had to wait a week to say it, but damn it felt even better than I thought it would.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t you step a little closer to the bed. We’ll see how good you feel when you’re within arm’s reach of me.”

  “You never did like being wrong,” he chides.

  “Maybe there were smarter ways to show them not to fuck with me that didn’t involve crashing into a wall at two hundred miles per hour.”

  “Possibly,” agrees Hunter. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. “So what now?”

  “I’m going to make them pay,” I say, sitting up and ignoring the dull ache in my back. I’m nearly healed, and I’m sure whatever lingering aches I still have will be gone in a day or two.

  “Heh. Okay. You realize these aren’t just some soft businessmen, right? These guys made their fortunes ripping people off and hurting them.”

  “I’m no stranger to violence, Hunter,” I say quietly. I grit my teeth as the memories bubble up, black and unwelcome. Grooves in the door dug by fingernails. Blood on the wall. A hammer with a clump of hair and blood stuck to it.

  Something in my eyes must spook him, because he looks away, shaking his head at the ground. “I’m just saying you should be careful. They already made it clear they aren’t fucking around. You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

  Hunter breaths out the tension, pushing off the wall and raising his eyebrows. “So,” he says in a much lighter tone. “How long do they want you to stay here?”

  “Another few days, but I’m ready. The doctor said some shit about a microfracture but I feel fine. Just a little sore. My desk is probably covered in work by now, and I’m tired of sitting in this fucking bed.” I also have a
princess to tame. Just thinking of her being so far out of my control while I’m in here irks me. Contract or not, she already belongs to me, and I don’t like giving her such a long leash. I’m sure my business could desperately use my presence, but the first thing on my list is Brianne. I want her name on that contract. I’m tired of waiting.

  “You look like hell, man. You sure it’s a good idea to leave early?” Hunter asks.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  A smirk creeps across his face. “You’re back in the game, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re taking on a new submissive.”

  I chuckle. “If I wanted you to know everything I have going on, I’d tell you.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’ve had to figure out how to read you. You don’t tell me shit.”

  “Because I know what comes next. You’re going to give me some useless advice.”

  Hunter waves off my assumption with his hand. “Advice, yes. Useless? Hardly.” He pulls up the chair beside the bed and straddles it, resting his arms on the backrest. “You’ve been out of the game for a while now. I know you have, so don’t even try to deny it.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say.

  “So what you need to do is make sure you release the… tension before you two hook up. I know you probably think you’re Mr. Marathon, but trust me. It has been way too long since you saw any action. If you don’t thoroughly get that out of your system before you and this girl seal the deal, it’ll be the most disappointing two minutes of her life.”

  I grin. “Who says we haven’t already sealed the deal?”

  “Well, considering you didn’t start getting that obsessive look in your eyes until you were stuck in this bed, I’d say common sense tells me that.”

  It really is irritating that Hunter can guess his way to the truth so often.

  “So what you do,” he continues, “Is find a girl. You know, an expendable girl. You hook up with her and--”

  “No,” I say.

  Hunter is frozen, finger still held in the air and his mouth slightly open. “No what?” he asks.