Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  “Don’t move a fucking muscle,” he says. “I’m going to strip your clothes, and if you fight me, I’ll tear your wedding dress to shreds.”

  This time I actually stay still, letting him take my dress off carefully, even if he’s a little rough where he can be without hurting the dress. The moment takes away from the fantasy a little bit, but the fact that he’s aware enough to make sure he doesn’t ruin my dress--which I’ll cherish for the rest of my life--is worth the distraction.

  When he has me down just to my panties, he flips me over to my belly, yanking my panties down roughly and positioning himself behind me. I try to crawl away but he grips me harder, pushing my hips down and pinning me to the bed, his big body completely engulfing my smaller form. I wiggle beneath him, testing his strength even though I know there isn’t a point. He has me pinned completely and I’m at his mercy.

  Roark leans down, his breath heats the skin of my neck seconds before his lips skate over the sensitive spot below my ear. “Relax, my queen.”

  The breath I didn’t realize I was holding bursts from my lungs and I lay limply beneath him. Taking that as my submission, he brushes a soft kiss on my shoulder. I tremble, my mind rushing over what is about to happen. I’m so distracted by my own thoughts that I jump when Roark’s fingertips glide down my back, over my ass, along my thighs, and back up again. Each pass of his fingers lulls me into an almost dreamlike trance. Lost in sensation I hardly notice how Roark has repositioned me to my knees, then his mouth is on me--hot and wet--devouring my pussy from behind.

  My orgasm rushes through my body, barrelling down on me from nowhere and everywhere. I cry out his name, shaking and panting. I expect him to stop and do as he said--fuck my ass, but he doesn’t. His wicked tongue continues to eat at me, licking and sucking every inch of my pussy until I’m on the edge again and again. I’m a sobbing mess as I beg for release. Finally, one of his thick digits presses inside me and I shudder.

  “That’s it,” he praises. “Give it to me.”

  His command lights the fire I needed to explode. Lights flash behind my eyes and my entire body bursts into a million peices. Before I have a chance to come down, Roark moves that deliciously thick finger from my pussy and trails my wetness up to my ass. I flinch when his finger gently rims me, but his quiet murmurs and the continued pleasure of his tongue on my clit are enough to distract me.

  Slowly, his finger penetrates me, there was a slight twinge of pain, but now there is nothing but pleasure. My body is quickly ramping up to another orgasm, I’m reaching for it with both hands, but it’s snatched away when Roark moves away. Then he’s kneeling behind me and I know this is it--he’s going to own this last piece of me. He owns everything else--my heart, mind, body, and soul--this is just part of that ownership.

  His hard cock is pressed between my cheeks and I have a brief moment of panic that he’s just going to take me, but I should’ve known better. Roark would never do anything to harm me. Hurt me for my pleasure, yes. Cause true harm? Never. I hear the snap of a lid then feel a cool trail of liquid slide between my cheeks, then his fingers are there rubbing it into my crease. His hand doesn’t just focus on my ass, he runs those wicked fingers over my pussy, circling my clit, dipping inside, then up and around my ass again. Over and over until I’m mindless.

  “Roark… Please…” I beg.

  Finally, his hands are gone and his cock is there, gliding easily through the lubrication. Again, I expected this to be the end of it, but I couldn’t be more wrong. His cock moves the same path his of his fingers. He’s driving me so crazy I’m about to scream at him to just fuck me already. As if he senses this, he finally presses the tip of his cock to my ass, making me freeze.

  “Hush, my queen. Breathe and push against me.”

  I look over my shoulder at him and am met with a fiery, lust filled gaze that has me wanting this as much as him. I do as he said, releasing my breath and pushing back into him. My eyes widen as the pressure becomes almost too much, but my king and his wicked fingers on my clit distract me until it’s nothing but pleasure.

  “So fucking beautiful,” Roark praises. “Look at you taking my cock.”

  His words are almost as maddening as his movements—slow and steady. I want more. I want him to fuck me. To give me everything that he is. Realizing he’s being gentle because he thinks that’s what I want, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I want my dominant king. With his next thrust I push my ass into him, forcing him inside me deep and hard. We both groan. His fingers dig into my hips and he holds me still.

  “Fuck me, my king. Take what’s yours.”

  With a growl he does exactly that. Each movement is harder than the last as he pistons inside me. His hands gripping me so hard that I know I’ll be wearing his bruises for days.

  “Cum, my queen.”

  I’m standing at the precipice of the biggest, most earth shattering orgasm ever, but not quite there yet. Once again, Roark senses what I need and his hand cracks against my ass. I detonate. Seconds later he grunts his own release.

  “Wow,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.

  “Marriage has its perks.”

  “Yeah. I think I might have trouble walking normally for a few days after that.”

  “Good. It wouldn’t be a proper wedding night if you weren’t limping a little the next morning.”

  I laugh. “That’s debatable.”

  He sits up, smirking down at me before leaning in to kiss me. I enjoy every second of the kiss, my hands roaming over his hard, warm body, getting my fill of his strong chest and chiseled abs, taking my time following the lines of muscle that lead down to his still-hard cock.

  “I’m so lucky I found you,” he says.

  “Funny,” I say. “I was thinking the same thing. Roark?” I ask, chest fluttering because I’ve been trying to find the right time to bring this up for weeks now.

  “What is it?”

  “I want to ask you something but you have to promise not to get mad.”

  “Ask me anything,” he says seriously.

  “Can we free the servants? I mean, I understand the whole Shrouded Kingdom thing wouldn’t work like it has if word got out, but does it have to exist like it does? If the world knew about this place, there would be people lining up to work the jobs the servants do and it wouldn’t have to be against their will. We could offer the servants who are currently working here a fair salary if they want to stay, and we could offer them freedom if they want it.”

  He looks down at my arm, tracing a path from my bicep to my breast where he idly runs a thumb over my nipple, grinning to himself. “You want to free the servants? To take centuries of tradition and throw them out the window?”

  “I wouldn’t put it so dramatically,” I say. “But yes. I do.”

  “Then we will,” he says. “But this will cause conflict with the other kingdoms. My people have valued secrecy for as long as anyone can remember. The other kings will not want to give it up so easily. You’re still sure you want to do this?”

  I nod. “Getting you wasn’t easy, and at times it felt like it was impossible, but we did it. We could have looked at the odds and said it’s suicide to try, but we didn’t.”

  He strokes my cheek. “I’m proud to call you my queen. They will celebrate you for the rest of history if this works. And you’ll deserve it.”

  I kiss him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Now, the real question,” he says, sitting up and smiling wider. “Is when you’re going to start giving me little princes and princesses.”

  “Oh? Thousands of slaves might gain freedom they never thought they’d have and the real question is when we’ll have babies?”

  “Precisely,” he says. “I think you would look sexy as hell with a swollen belly.”

  I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Oh, right. I’ll be waddling around and you’ll barely be able to keep your hands off me.”

  “My queen, I’ll barely be able to keep my hands off you wh
en you’re using a walker to get around.”

  “I’m going to need a walker tomorrow after what you did to me, so that’s not saying much.”

  “So? Can I expect a pregnancy next week? The week after?”

  “What you can expect,” I say, climbing on top of him and pushing him down so I can kiss him again. “Is that you’re going to fuck me so many times, it would be a miracle if I didn’t get pregnant.”

  “Then we had better get started,” he says.

  Miss Matchmaker

  Miss Matchmaker

  What happens when the matchmaker meets her match?

  Better question: What doesn't happen?

  A small town is the last place I ever thought I’d find myself, but I’m desperate to save my failing business, and a mysterious client makes an offer I can’t turn down.

  She wants me to match her with the man of her dreams, and if I pull it off, she’ll pay me more than I can imagine.

  But when a cowboy everybody calls “Country” welcomes me to town with a “get lost” and a side of drop-dead gorgeous, well, things get a little more complicated.

  I mean, what kind of woman wouldn’t go following a guy like that back to his ranch? And what kind of woman wouldn’t go marching up to tell him off, even if he was shirtless?

  Between my insane client and my inability to stay away from the cocky cowboy, I have my hands full.

  And Lucas Tate, the man my client wants? It turns out he's also my cowboy.

  Behind the Book

  Yes, this book isn’t technically a billionaire book, but I hope you’ll forgive me because I really want you to read it anyway so I snuck it in here!)

  Oh Miss Matchmaker… This book is hands-down my favorite. Of all the books I’ve written to date, I think this book is the sweetest and most heartfelt. I’ve honestly never felt so personally attached to any couple I’ve written, or felt that their chemistry and love was as real as it was in this book.

  And that’s why I have such bittersweet feelings about this book. Even though it is my best-reviewed book ever, and my favorite, it was commercially the least successful book I’ve ever written. I actually lost money on it!

  Miss Matchmaker taught me a painful lesson in the publishing industry. No matter how good the book is, it won’t sell well if the packaging isn’t good.

  Granted, I still personally love the cover and think the title is cute, but if I’m being brutally honest with myself, I can see how maybe the cover was a little off-market and the title definitely was. I also don’t think it was the strongest blurb I’ve ever written, unfortunately.

  I hit an all time emotional low when I saw how poorly this book performed. I still remember watching the initial reviews coming in when I launched and getting so excited. I could hear it in people’s reviews: this book was something special for them just like it was for me. It was going to be a book that my readers would cherish and want to read again. I was so, so hopeful, especially because the financial situation had become very bleak over the past two or three months.

  And then the sales just never came. There was a little trickle and an almost immediate drop-off. The rank never broke past 250, and quickly fell after that. I had to cut off my advertising money and let the book die, essentially, because nothing I was doing seemed like it’d save it.

  I felt lost. I had poured my heart and soul into the book. I knew it was my best effort. To me, it was a great book. Reviews were saying it was great. But it still wasn’t selling.

  But if I’ve learned one thing from self-publishing, it’s that struggles don’t come without opportunities. The author who never struggles and never doubts will probably never improve. It’s only from hitting rock-bottom that we can strip away all the excuses and really see ourselves. It’s only at the lowest lows that we can come back stronger than we ever were before.

  And that’s my last “Behind

  Prologue

  His fingers are rough against the tender skin of my neck--calloused from a life of hard work. The faint lines at the corners of his deep blue eyes speak of countless days squinting into the sun, of laughter, and of experience. Lucas Tate. The absolute last man on Earth I should be touching or even thinking about romantically.

  “I can’t do this with you,” I say, trying to pull back, but there’s something magnetic drawing me to him, despite the alarm bells going off in my mind. Do not get involved. Do not get involved, Mila. No matter what you do…

  “You don’t have to do a thing, darlin’,” Lucas says with an irresistible smile. “Just put those pretty lil’ hands over your head and let me take care of the rest.”

  Air rushes from between my parted lips, as if pulled out by the sheer magnetism of him, as if my body is trying to give itself over to him no matter what my brain is telling me. Just tell him the truth. Tell him why you can’t. “I can’t…” I whisper, but the rest won’t come out. The truth stays lodged in my throat, as thick and heavy as molasses.

  He’s not shaken by my refusal. He only brushes my chin with his thumb, tilting me up to look into those eyes that are so blue they send a chill down my back despite the heat. “Tell you what,” he says, voice so low and smooth it rumbles through my chest. “Give me one good reason why you can’t, and I’ll walk away. One reason. That’s all, darlin’.”

  I meet his gaze, trying to summon up any of the thousand reasons this is a terrible idea, but every last one of them refuses to come up, leaving me speechless and helpless, knowing with a sinking inevitability that I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

  1

  Mila

  A Few Days Earlier

  I take one last look out at the view from my office window. I have a perfectly depressing view of the mold-crusted apartment complex next door. It’s not all bad though. If I squish my cheek against the glass I can almost see a sliver of blue sky. Almost. It’s more like a reflection off a window, but hey, if you can’t find positivity, make your own. At least that’s what mom always said.

  “Are you ready for this?” Amy, my business partner, asks. She’s sitting across from my desk on a cardboard box that was supposed to serve as a temporary chair. Through some combination of being broke and laziness, it ended up becoming the permanent second chair in the cramped space I call a workplace. Amy’s just a few years older than me, maybe just barely in her thirties, but she has the somewhat irritating habit of getting prettier every year.

  “Ready? No,” I say with a little laugh. “What if she takes one look at me and changes her mind?”

  Amy hops off her box and moves to where I’m standing by the window. She gently puts her hand on my shoulder and leans in until I’m forced to look at her.

  “Mila, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. Fan-fucking-tastic. Okay? I’ve never found a woman you couldn’t match with the man of her dreams. Never once. This isn’t going to be any different.”

  “Except this time the client is paying us a small fortune,” I say. “And I’ve never let a client pick the guy I’m supposed to match them with. I’m really starting to wonder how I let you talk me into this.”

  “You’re the one always telling clients the nerves they feel are in their head. Right?”

  “You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. I can do this. It’s just like any other client. Except this time, the client is offering us enough money to change our lives overnight.

  “I’m usually right,” Amy states matter-of-factly. “You should probably just get used to it.”

  It’s only then I notice the small suitcase sitting beside the box Amy was using as a chair. “What’s that?” I ask.

  “You didn’t think I’d let you go out there by yourself, did you? C’mon. You need me! Besides, I can do my job from this,” she says, holding her phone up and winking at me. “I won’t miss a beat. Promise.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Since when do you volunteer for extra work?”

  Amy makes a show of being offended. “I’m your best employee. You take that back.�
�

  “You’re my only employee.”

  She shrugs. “Still.”

  “Don’t you think two strangers showing up out of the blue might draw some attention?”

  “No,” she says, “because I already cooked up a cover story for us. We’re reporters!”

  I wait for the punchline, but it doesn’t come. “A cover story? Since when have we used cover stories?”

  “Since when have we gone on the road for a match? Hm? Exactly. See? This is just a perfect example of why you need to have me come along.”

  I sigh. “It might actually be useful if people thought we were reporters. It would explain a lot of behavior that’d normally seem weird.”

  Amy waits for my final judgment with raised eyebrows and a hopeful grin.

  “Fine. You can come.”

  “Yesss!” she shrieks, throwing her arms around me and squeezing like she’s trying to pop me.”

  Wade’s Creek is more different from my world of steel and concrete than I ever could’ve imagined. A cheery little blue sign on my way into town said: “Population 497, plus you! Welcome to Wade’s Creek!”

  I drive over a small, rickety wooden bridge that spans a peaceful stream about ten feet below. After climbing a relatively steep hill, I’m given a full view of the town, which is nestled on either side of the quaint little creek that winds its way down through a valley and cuts the town in two.

  The main boulevard of town is like a picture out of a postcard, except it’d be a picture from a sixty or seventy-year-old postcard, because everything from the whitewashed fences, the well-dressed men and women, and the rustic but clean feel of the town screams of a time long gone.