Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  “Fine, you want some privacy?” he asks, scooping his other hand under my ass and lifting me, still holding one hand inside my panties and circling my clit as he carries me inside the hangar.

  A bored looking man in his twenties is carrying a box toward us as we slip inside the open hangar door. He freezes when he sees me being carried by Jackson with my skirt hiked up for all the world to see. I frantically try to cover myself, hiding my head against Jackson’s neck.

  “Out,” commands Jackson.

  I hear the box clatter to the ground and quick footsteps as the man runs out.

  “He was just trying to do his job,” I laugh, kissing Jackson. As much as the fear of being discovered lingers, I’m as energized and sexually excited by it as I am frightened. I guess I can thank Jackson for teaching my body how stimulating fear can be in the right circumstances.

  He sets me down on a stack of boxes so that my knees are level with his ears. I realize what he’s planning a few seconds before he makes his move. I’m about to tell him to hold on when he pulls his hand out of my panties, grips the elastic, and strips them from me in one quick yank. I suck in a sharp breath, leaning my head against the thin metal wall behind me and resigning myself to the experience.

  When Jackson gets an idea for a way he wants to have me, he’s like a man possessed, and I don’t know if I’ll ever match the pleasure of submitting to him. There’s a release in it, a sweet, indescribable freedom of knowing that he’s my man, and he wants to take care of me in every way imaginable.

  He buries his face between my legs, tasting me reverently and groaning against my swelling clit. I grip his hair, squeezing and pushing him into me. He pulls back just long enough to speak. “Come here so you can taste how fucking delicious you are,” he commands, gripping my neck and pulling me down, making me kiss him and taste myself on his mouth. The dirtiness of it lights a fire in my lower belly and a craving to be filled.

  “I want your cock,” I whisper.

  “You’ll get it when I’m ready to give it to you,” he growls.

  I smirk, leaning back again and letting him go to work on me. He’s thorough, and he always seems to have more tricks up his sleeves and ways to surprise me. His tongue circles my opening before plunging in and lapping at me. The way he tastes me is so intimate and sexual, like there’s not a single part of me he doesn’t want and crave. Jackson makes me feel perfect, in every sense of the word. Body, mind, and soul. There’s no fraction of me he doesn’t hunger and lust after, and I’ve found myself feeling the same way for him.

  “Please,” I groan. “I want it.”

  “You want my cock?” he asks.

  “Please.”

  “Take it then,” he says, pulling me down and forcing me to kneel in front of him as he unzips his pants.

  My core throbs with need, but I know better than to disobey him or complain, so I help yank his pants down and free his cock from his briefs. I grip it in both hands, taking it in as much as I can, rotating my hands in opposite directions like he taught me, working my way up and down his length while I run my tongue along the velvety head of his cock.

  Jackson grips me by the hair, pushing himself into me until I gag. I close my eyes, trying to relax as he fucks my face. I never would’ve understood before, but it feels so good to be used by him. Letting him take me and claim me in every way he wants is the highest pleasure I could hope for.

  “You still want my cock?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, gasping for breath after he pulls himself out of my mouth.

  “Tonight,” he says, pushing himself back in his pants and zipping them up.

  I give him a wry smile, knowing what he wants. He’s baiting me into earning myself a punishment. I’ve learned how much more he enjoys punishing me when I’ve earned it, and I find special pleasure in earning my punishments.

  “I want it now,” I say, reaching for his pants.

  He grips my wrist hard, eyes lighting with a fire of lust that nearly takes my breath away.

  “Your dom said tonight,” says Jackson.

  I try to grab at his pants with my other hand and he grips my other wrist, mouth tightening into an angry line. “Come here,” he says. “It’s time you learn a fucking lesson.”

  He drags me through the hangar until we reach a large window that reaches from about my waist to well above my head. I try to jerk myself back for real this time when I see there are four workers sitting on the tarmac eating their lunch just a few yards from the window. Their backs are to us, but if they so much as turned around, they’d see.

  “Take off your dress and your bra, Princess. Now.”

  I close my eyes, almost regretting pushing him to this. Almost. As much as I’m scared of being seen, there’s an electric thrill in the action, in not knowing if we’ll be caught or how long we have until someone comes along. I strip for my dom, leaving my clothes on the ground.

  “Press your tits against the window and put your hands above your head.”

  I take a deep breath and move to do as he says, pressing my palms to the glass and my breasts to the warm glass.

  “Good fucking girl. Now you can have what you wanted,” he says, moving behind me and gripping my hips. He uses his cock to spread my wetness from my core to my clit, taking his time rubbing himself against me, lighting my nerves on fire with ecstasy with even the smallest movements. “Take every fucking inch of me,” he groans, sliding into me, straining my walls and forcing me to clap a hand to my mouth to avoid moaning into the glass and alerting the men.

  “Hands on above your head,” he snaps, reaching to press my palm back above my head where it was.

  I lean my forehead into the glass, pressing my lips together to muffle the moans spilling from me.

  He pounds into me hard enough that my head thumps against the glass.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  One of the workers eating lunch turns his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and cocking his head. I try to force my head to stop banging against the glass as Jackson relentlessly fucks me from behind. My already racing heart thunders in my chest as I watch, knowing a simple word from the man could have all of them turning around to see me fully naked getting fucked against the window, breasts pillowed against the glass for everyone to see.

  But the man only spits, taking another bite of his sandwich and turning to laugh at something one of the other men said.

  Jackson’s hand cracks across my ass and I yelp, biting my lip as the hot circle of pain from the blow gradually fades.

  “You couldn’t take no for an answer,” he says, slapping me again on the other cheek this time.

  I close my eyes, gasping out breathless moans, feeling myself nearing the edge of climax.

  “My dirty fucking princess couldn’t wait for cock,” he grunts, slapping my ass again, harder this time.

  Pain and pleasure blur into one all-consuming sensation. I cry out, loud enough this time that all four men turn toward the window and see me just as the orgasm rips through me, just as Jackson’s cock pulses inside me and fills me with his cum.

  Jackson cups my chin and kisses me, looking straight at the four men who are slapping each other on the shoulders and pointing toward us with gaping mouths. “Come on, Princess,” he says, leaning down to pick up my dress and handing it to me.

  I hurry out of the hangar with him, self-consciously putting my dress on with no panties or bra beneath, trying not to think about the fact that I just gave four men a peep show. Embarrassing or not though, I’m grinning from ear to ear and the aftershocks of my orgasm are still passing through my body.

  There’s a car parked on the tarmac and Jackson leads me to it, opening the passenger door and helping me to sit in the back. I sit down self consciously, knowing my own arousal is dampening my dress and Jackson’s cum is slowly leaking out of my pussy. I look over at him and get a very dirty idea that I know he’ll love. Even thinking it makes me realize how far I’ve come in such a short period of time.
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  I look over to him, waiting for him to look back at me. When he does, I run my finger along the inside of my thigh in his cum and put the finger to my mouth, sucking it dry and grinning.

  “I should’ve married you the moment I saw you,” he growls, leaning across the seat and kissing me.

  The driver clears his throat. “Would you like me to go, sir?”

  “Just drive,” growls Jackson.

  We pull to a stop half an hour later and Jackson shamelessly fingered me until I came again on the way. I already feel drained, but in a wonderful, satisfied sort of way.

  I glance out the window and my eyes widen when I see where we’re parked. We’re atop a small hill overlooking a beautiful expanse of perfectly-maintained gardens. Quaint little paved paths crisscross through the greenery, but a single, cobbled road cuts straight through it all toward what looks like a castle out of a fairy tale.

  The building is made up of dozens of circular towers with blue, pointed tips and a central rectangular building faceted with endless windows, balconies, and masonry. The building is tucked into a corner of trees, giving it all a magical, secluded atmosphere. I turn to Jackson, narrowing my eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t buy this for me.”

  He laughs. “The thought crossed my mind, but I knew you wouldn’t accept. No, I scheduled you a spot for a writer’s retreat. Except I’m breaking the rules a little coming with you. I figured you’d forgive me, considering it’s our honeymoon, after all.”

  “Oh my God!” I squeal, hugging his hard body tightly. “I always wanted to do something like this, except I didn’t even dare to dream it would be at a place this incredible!”

  Jackson walks me up the path and I see now there are people everywhere. As we get closer, I realize they are all authors I recognize. There are New York Times Bestsellers sitting on balconies sipping tea while they hand write into journals. I see a USA Today Bestseller chatting with three of the biggest names in Thrillers on the front porch. I mumble a few nervous hellos as we step inside the central room of the chateau.

  The building is decorated in the most charmingly classic way. The walls are full of intricate carved details and decorative patterns. The furniture looks straight out of a Renaissance painting. And there are even small balcony windows from the second floor surrounding the room, which is focused on a piano that sits on a raised platform at the corner of the room.

  Jackson leads me through the building, giving me a quick tour, but as my eyes take in all the detail my mind wanders. It wanders to the fact that Jackson asked me to stop taking my birth control. I’m a little scared to see how much more intense my periods will be without it, but the promise of carrying his baby outweighs any fears I have.

  I think about the possibility that one of my stories will make it through the publishing company and find its way onto Jackson’s desk, or one of the other handful of publishers I submitted to. I think about Hunter and Lacey, who seem to be defying everyone's expectations and staying happily together. And I think of Sarah, who takes steps every day to become more like the girl Jackson says she used to be, and how happy she was when Jackson’s lawyer managed to get a judge to agree she could stay with Jackson as long as she saw an outpatient therapist four times a week.

  Most of all, I think about how incredibly lucky I am. I spent my childhood daydreaming the wildest fantasies I could imagine for myself. Then I put those fantasies down on paper and tried to live vicariously through my characters. I tried to make the stories as real as I possibly could in part because I so desperately wanted to be in them. I wanted to be those women. I wanted a man like the men I wrote about to come into my life. Most of all, I wanted someone to love.

  And now I look down at the strong hand clasping mine, pulling me excitedly through what looks like a building straight out of my dreams, and all I can do is wonder what I did to deserve this. How did I ever earn this man and this life that’s unfolding before me.

  Jackson takes me down a series of winding steps and the air grows a little colder as we descend. We reach a door with an old fashioned, medieval looking lock. Jackson pulls an equally medieval key from his pocket and inserts it into the lock, twisting and pushing the heavy door open.

  We step into what looks like a torture chamber, but it’s furnished with brand new, perfectly clean BDSM tools in an almost exact replica of the playroom Jackson has at his mansion. I turn to him, squinting suspiciously. “Did you have this set up?”

  He chuckles. “Guilty. I just wanted to make sure we had everything we needed to fully enjoy our honeymoon.”

  I kiss him on the lips, savoring his taste and how it feels to be held by him. When I pull away, I look up into his twinkling eyes. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you more than anything, Princess. More than anything.”

  Single Dad’s Virgin

  Single Dad’s Virgin

  My billionaire boss needs me to do something absolutely crazy.

  He wants me to pretend we’re engaged.

  But I can’t say no, or he’ll lose his daughter and I’ll lose my job.

  Fine then. I’ll wear his stupid ring. I’ll be the perfect fiancée for one month.

  There’s only one problem. I don’t want to stop pretending.

  Housekeeper for a stunningly handsome, male-model billionaire? Yep, that’s my job and it’s as dreamy as it sounds. I get to live in his ridiculously huge mansion, and all I have to do is take care of his mom and daughter, who are practically family. To top it off, the notoriously bossy Mr. King has been away for business since I started.

  But he came home today.

  Liam King looks like he stepped out of a GQ magazine, and the way he undresses me with his eyes should be illegal. He ignites my body. Every part of it. But It doesn’t matter how tempting he is. I can’t have him.

  I can’t risk my job. Even if a guy like him was actually interested in a twenty-two year old virgin like me, I can’t give in. I’ve been in enough relationships to know how they all end: disaster. And if I lose my job, I lose the closest thing to a family I’ve had since my mother passed.

  But a fake engagement doesn't really count as a relationship… Right?

  Behind the Book

  I wrote Single Dad’s Virgin after The Dom’s Virgin, and began what has kind of become a very unfunny running joke with my career as an author: with my biggest successes come my biggest technical issues.

  Despite all the great things that came with Single Dad’s Virgin, I wasn’t able to enjoy them as much as I would’ve liked. The book hit rank 10 and was on track to be my most successful book yet.

  But…

  I had talked to some fellow authors before writing my previous book (The Dom’s Virgin) and learned they were seeing really great subscriber numbers when they offered a fun bonus scene at the end of their books if people signed up for their newsletters.

  It sounded like a great idea to me. Basically, “sign up for my newsletter for an extended epilogue”, was the offer. Pretty much every author who had the energy to write the extended epilogues was doing it, so I said “why not”?

  I tried it with The Dom’s Virgin, and instead of getting maybe five or seven people signing up to my newsletter per day, I was getting more like eighty or ninety. It was incredible. So naturally, I did the same thing with Single Dad’s Virgin.

  Everything seemed to be going fine. I was scared at first that I’d lose my also boughts to another glitch like I did with The Dom’s Virgin, but Single Dad’s Virgin seemed to be doing just fine. About a week had passed and it had hit rank 10 and slipped to about rank 15. I went on to check my email that afternoon and nearly had a heart attack.

  I had a notice from Amazon KDP that there was an issue with my books (Single Dad’s Virgin and The Dom’s Virgin). Both books had been immediately disabled for sale until the issues were fixed. Naturally, I wanted to know what issues needed to be fixed and what could’ve possibly been so wrong that it warranted locking my books from sale. After all, I curre
ntly had invested hundreds of dollars in promotions that were leading people to a page advertising that my books had “critical content errors” and weren’t suitable for sale at the time. Great advertising!

  All I had to go by was the explanation that my books had a critical content error “missing content”. I was left to make a guess and figure that they were considering my offer of an extended epilogue for mailing list subscriptions to be the problem. I tried asking everyone else I knew who did the same offer, some of whom also had books in the top 100 with the same offer in the back. No one had heard anything like I had.

  I tried calling tech support, but as usual, I wasn’t able to talk to anyone who really understood what was going on. I was told it would be several days before someone could get back with me and explain. Meanwhile, my book was getting zero sales because people couldn’t even buy it if they wanted to. I was getting blasted with confused and upset emails from my readers who wanted my book or saw it advertised in a newsletter and couldn’t buy it.

  I updated my books and removed the offer for extended epilogues right away, and sent emails letting KDP know I’d fixed the problem.

  After that, all I could do was wait. Thankfully, the wait wasn’t as long as it could’ve been. Granted, the rank had fallen from 15 to 250 in a single day. It was pretty catastrophic, and I was extremely upset when I thought that I was singled out for something everyone was doing and had to see my book suffer because of it.

  When the book came back up, I made a quick update on social media and let the other authors who were worried for me know. I was immediately blown away by the response. Not only did my fellow authors start offering to send me to their newsletters a second time (something people never really do), but readers were sharing my post and doing all they could to help support me. The sales picked right back up and the rank started climbing. Unbelievably, the book actually climbed all the way back to rank 10 within 24 hours.