BIG SHOT LOVE: 5 Billionaire Romance Books Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  I don’t think the poor darling even thinks of me—us—in terms of love because he is such a man. He sees what he wants and he gets it, me included, and once he has possession he polishes it and hoards it like candy, like a piece of artwork, like something of value that he will never tire of.

  That thought warms me as nothing else does, so I make up my mind, blushing profusely when I meet his gaze and make my play.

  “I understand, and truth be told, I don’t know if I’m ready to risk banging this baby around just yet.”

  The disappointment and understanding in his eyes make me smile though and I decide to take this to the next level. My hand flexes once before I slide my fingers down, my middle and index fingers framing and opening me up so he gets a nice, clear view.

  “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do other things,” I purr, gasping when he howls out a curse and flies up, dropping down beside me.

  Chapter 18

  Chase

  Looking at her without touching is torture—pure agony—and I’ve spent the last few days in constant conflict about even sleeping in the same bed for fear that I’ll snap and fall on her like a starved, rabid animal.

  But that’s not even worth considering. Ever. Now that I have her in my home and bed for good, I’m not willing to put any distance between us. Perhaps I should have given her privacy, or maybe I should have hired a nurse because, honest to God, resisting her when she’s all but threatened to diddle herself in front of me is about the last straw.

  And then comes the real last straw, the fucker that goes ahead and breaks that gasping camel’s back is seeing her spear her fingers down and spread herself as if offering me, a starving man, a feast for the gods.

  Here’s the thing. I love eating my woman, even to the exclusion of being inside her because—and most dudes won’t believe this—her pleasure is more of a high to me than my own.

  Everything about putting my lips and tongue on her is magical. The delicate folds that are different shades of fuck-me pink. The ways she smells clean and musky all at the same time. Her taste… Fuck, I can’t describe it I just know it’s the best thing I have or will ever have sliding down my throat.

  And then, finally but definitely not least, I am addicted to the way she sounds and looks when she climaxes. Remy is a beautiful woman—to me the most beautiful—but in that final second, when her body is reaching and then overcome by the pleasure, her face screws up and she looks so…lost and weird, yeah weird, like she’s in pain and blissed out at the same time.

  If her contractions don’t already let me know that her climaxes are real, I promise you, her come face is a dead giveaway and I fucking love it.

  Now, on my haunches beside the bath, my hand an inch from paradise, I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that Remy and I cannot have sex tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or the night after.

  No. No penetration or thrusting of any kind. But that does not rule out my favorite sexual position, and it certainly does not mean she can’t return the favor.

  With that in mind, I thrust my arms beneath her and lift her in one move, water pouring around us and soaking my clothes and the floor. I pay the mess no mind and stalk to the bedroom, drenching the sheets when I place her wet body on top.

  I don’t take my eyes off her while I fling my wet clothes off, or even when I remove the waterproofing from the heavy cast surrounding her leg.

  I keep our eyes locked the whole time, testing, watching, waiting for that one moment when her beautiful aqua gaze tells me I have my in. It doesn’t take long, and a grin tips my lips.

  She squeals when I drop to my knees, grab her hips to yank her closer and open my mouth wide over her without preamble. She yells and grunts when I don’t stop but instead amp up the pressure. She starts grinding into me with purpose.

  I eat her tills she’s begging, screaming and almost concussing me with her cast. I take her up and stop, before starting all over again, so reluctant to have this be over too soon. I almost torture my poor baby before clamping my lips to her clit and sucking her to orgasm.

  When she’s done, no longer moaning, thrashing or shredding my scalp with her nails, when my jaw lets out a groan, I pull away, licking my lips with relish. My dick is so hard and desperate I’m soaked in pre-cum.

  And then things get really interesting because Remy, my beautiful, gorgeous woman is a give and take kind of lass. What she lacks in experience, the vixen more than makes up for in exuberance and inventiveness.

  By the time I’ve come, my balls emptying into her waiting, demanding mouth, I’m so spent I collapse beside her and pass out. My last coherent thought is a chuckle when she giggles and sets me right in my place—according to her:

  “Men. So sensitive.”

  ***

  Two weeks pass without a single lead, and though it frustrates me—hell I want to throw things, curse, and demand answers from Brick—I understand that they are great at what they do, the best, but that they aren’t miracle workers.

  The guys who took Remy and Liv have vanished, leading me to believe that they do indeed have a benefactor who’s funding them to the point they don’t have to step foot on the streets.

  “This shit is eating me man.”

  “I know, Brick, believe me, it’s my lass who was taken and almost killed, so I fully understand. Something will turn up; we just have to be patient.”

  I say it to calm the guy because, please understand, a calm Brick is unpleasant on the best of days. Brick when he loses his shit is one angry git, and by angry I am saying he can kill a man with little more than the jab of a well-placed finger. That kind of angry.

  “Don’t talk to me about patience asshole. Those pricks could be hurting some other innocent woman while I sit here twiddling my fucking fingers like a Nancy civilian.”

  Hell.

  “I’m going in the cage tomorrow night. Come on down and de-stress man. At the very least you can beat the shit out of someone who doesn’t deserve it but who’s probably a douche anyway.”

  He sucks in a breath and then I hear satisfaction cloud his voce.

  “You going in the cage? What about Remy?”

  “When she heard that I dabble in the sport she went all hysterical and started screaming and jumping on her good leg. She even clapped her hands and said ‘Oh yay, I get to see your fine ass get sweaty while you go all Hulk,’ end quote.”

  The sap has the gall to laugh at that but I say nothing, instead enjoying that something my crazy lass has said had the power to talk him off his ledge.

  “Tell her I’m even hotter when we fight. And hell yeah, Chief, I can’t wait to go up against you again. I will redeem myself.”

  “Dream on.”

  “You wait and see.”

  “First, I am a kickass fighter.” No humbleness there, I’m an animal, which is why they call me ‘The Animal.’ “Aaand there’s no way I’m losing with my lass watching. I like having big hairy balls and showing her what a grand protector I am. You’re about to eat your own arse lad.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter 19

  Remy

  “Oh, good Lord and sweet little cherubs.”

  I laugh at Liv’s ‘new language’—something that’s only started since Gabe instituted a curse jar at their place. Liv is not one to go gently into that good night though, so instead of giving a crap, she uses the change she finds in his pants to fill it every time he catches her swearing.

  It was a good system until poor Gabe had caught on. The ingenious man had started using sex as an incentive, i.e., he gives her great sex if she’s good and tortures her with sex if she’s a potty mouth.

  Apparently, Liv values the sex way more than she needs to curse because I’ve heard more fudges, shitakes, and shoots from her in one day than I have in all the years we’ve worked together.

  But I definitely think this occasion calls for a good holy fuck because currently loosening up in front of my very eyes are th
ree of the hottest men I have ever seen, one of them being my very own Chase, and let me just say that I am eternally grateful for the tiny shorts cage fighters wear.

  Sweet shitake my guy is fine finefinefine fine.

  He’s dressed, if I can even call it that, in a tight pair of black shorts or trunks or whatever you call those babies, and I am so turned on by the sight of his tight ass flexing in them that I squirm in my seat.

  Hensley, sitting to my left, turns and smirks at me, his eyes still that impenetrable ice blue, but somehow I see his warmth shining through.

  “Why don’t you fight?”

  He smiles, smirks really, and raises a brow.

  “I’ve got protection duty tonight, and besides I don’t go into the cage with Chase. I’m bad, not stupid.”

  “Huh?” I ignore the roar of the crowd as some overgrown behemoth and another guy go at each other in the cage.

  I’m not into this kind of stuff, but who can pass up seeing Chase like this? Not me!

  Hensley casts an eye at Liv to make sure she’s still okay before looking down at me.

  “Chase is…not as civilized as you would assume.”

  Oookaay.

  “Elaborate please.”

  He shrugs as if he’s uncomfortable, something that surprises me in a man as confident and, well, cool as Hensley. He’s never shown himself to be anything even resembling emotional, besides that day in the hospital. So I am…stunned when he blows out a breath and scrubs at his nape.

  “You see the headliner?”

  “The Animal?”

  “Yup. Chase is a billionaire, successful, attractive—in his own way of course. And he’s got this charm about him that people misconstrue.”

  I swallow another chug of beer and blink up at Hensley, my mind sort of whirring. Is he saying…? But no, that is like so far…and yet as I turn my eyes on Chase again, his eyes locking on mine, his smile so supremely confident and yet hard, as if he’s become someone else.

  “The Animal?”

  Hensley nods once and we both look at Chase, Gabe—the reason that Liv’s still silently drooling—and Brick who, by the way, earned that name fairly because the man is huge and so muscular I marvel that he’s not carved of marble.

  “But, but how?”

  Hensley shoves at a guy who gets too close to my cast and repositions my leg for comfort, his gaze hard on any who dare venture near before turning back to me.

  “I don’t know all of it, we’re not that close, but Brick once told me that Chase learned to fight when he was a teen. Something about being attacked by a gang of football players when he was in high school.”

  My heart stops and I literally gape at that because I never knew. Chase never told me. But why would he, and why do I think I have the right to be offended? I’ve never told him about what happened to me and I…adore him. I trust him with my life.

  My shame stops me every time I even think of broaching it. I don’t really want Chase to see me differently. We’ve spoken about what a self-centered bitch I was at one stage, but I don’t think he really believes me. If he ever learns it all, I am terrified he’d be disgusted.

  “Please tell me he kicked their asses,” I whisper, blinking rapidly because I think I already know the answer. I’m just hoping I’m wrong.

  “Nope. They beat the shit out of him and put him in the hospital for weeks. His dad went nuts about it, but some top dog made sure nothing happened to the offenders so his dad sent him to live with his mom in England.”

  I want to know more—everything that he hasn’t told me if I’m honest—but I see Hensley stiffen and sit forward and I look over to see Gabe bounce into the cage, his limbs loose and fluid, a huge smile on his face.

  Liv is yelling through the whole thing, her exuberance and kick-ass curses—super inventive if I do say so myself—are ear splitting, but I enjoy the show as much as she does.

  He wins of course, pinning his opponent in a move that is really fast and shows his skill.

  The fights progress and we watch them all, wincing, laughing, talking and having such a good time that I don’t pay as much attention to Chase as I normally would.

  I only realize he’s on top of me when his hands cup my face and he pulls me into a kiss that leaves my toes curling and my hair on fire…my unmentionables too. Then he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and tastes me so deeply I lose my breath.

  “Wish me luck, babe,” He mutters into my mouth before pulling away with a grin.

  Man, all those muscles. And that indented v of muscles that define his hips…yuuuum.

  “You don’t need it, Animal.” I smirk. “But good luck. Don’t let them ruin your lips. They belong to me.”

  His eyes fire brighter and I see someone I’ve never met before, someone I really, really want to get to know better.

  “Always.”

  And then he sprints back to the cage and I swear I can feel the excitement vibrating from him clear across the room. Obviously he loves this.

  “And now, ladies and gentleman, our long awaited headliner. He’s the reigning champ in every fight—never defeated—Aaaanimal!”

  The crowd goes absolutely wild, chanting his name, and then Brick’s as the two of them bob around before the ref steps in and gives the signal before stepping out.

  Holy Fucking shit!

  Brick is brilliant, and I can honestly say you can see the man is military and totally deadly, but Chase…is something else altogether. The man I see in that cage is wild, cold, and calculated with every punch and kick that he throws. When Brick rushes him he picks him up—that mountain of a man—and smashes him down before twisting him into a lock that is just…scary full of skill.

  They’re well matched, both dangerously quick and strong, but in the end Chase pins Brick in some kind of arm lock that forces the guy to tap out and concede defeat.

  I have to cover my ears at the noise when he’s declared the winner. I sit there in shock and something not at all unlike real horror at what I’ve just seen.

  He’s…ruthless. Unstoppable.

  And for some reason this hurricane, the man who became this…Animal, has taken possession of me.

  I’m so confused and just—

  Just as before, I don’t see him before he grabs me up and starts kissing the hell out of me. He laughs into my mouth, his body vibrating with his victory, his sweat soaking into my skin even as I go cold.

  “I always win.”

  Chapter 20

  Chase

  I know something is wrong the moment I pull the car to a halt and try to get Remy out and into the house. She’s stiff as a board and not looking at me, the complete opposite of the reaction I’m expecting.

  Isn’t she…? Well, okay I can’t expect her to be overjoyed at watching almost three hours’ worth of men beating the tar out of each other, but I sure as heck didn’t expect that she would be this displeased.

  And she’d seemed just fine when I’d kissed her before the fight. Soo…maybe she didn’t like watching me beat Brick—I don’t know.

  “Okay. What’s the problem?” I ask as soon as I’ve settled her on the sofa in the living room and bought us each a glass of orange juice.

  She looks down at her hands before looking up at me, and I see something I don’t recognize swirling in the aqua depths.

  “Why…no, how did you become that-that person I saw in that ring tonight?” she asks. I hear not only judgment but disgust in her.

  I’m thrown for a loop and have to sit down when I see her looking at me as if I’m not…right, as if I’ve actually done something wrong. And then I get angry.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I want her to say it, spell it out for me, tell me that she’s examined me and found me lacking. Because isn’t that what I always got from Remy? Didn’t I pour myself into her when we were younger—tutoring her, spending hours helping her with homework and studying, and debate team? Didn’t I spend all my time working to help her, always hoping tha
t she would eventually see me and want me?

  And didn’t she prove to me already that she doesn’t have what it takes to see past the surface.

  “You were so vicious, Chase. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. How can you be so different at home and yet so…inhuman…?”

  That kills me, slays me, and shatters what I have managed to build with Remy. All I see when I look at her sitting on my sofa, her eyes full of recriminations, is the shallow girl I once loved more than my own pride. More than my own fucking safety!

  I’ve been wrong. I ran home to mum, let my dad send me away with my tail between my legs after defending a girl that I now see clearly doesn’t deserve to be defended. I’ve managed somehow through all these years to build her up into something she clearly isn’t, assigned all the blame on that group of schoolboys while absolving her of her part.

  And most of all, I now see that I have wasted years of my life working toward earning someone that clearly is not worth my time of day.

  “You’re a real piece of work you know that?” I accuse, coming off the sofa to stalk to the liquor cabinet and pour myself a drink.

  My victory and the pride I feel each time I defeat an opponent and save myself from being beaten turns to ashes in my mouth. I wash it away with booze.