Billionaire Beast (Billionaires - Book #12)

by Claire Adams

  I could feel his muscles tensing, smell his manly scent, feel his perspiration on his chest, hear his breathing grow more rapid, taste the passion of his kiss, and feel the pulsations of his body. Even blind, I knew his body well, and I worked to draw out his pleasure with excruciating slowness, just as he had done to me. Every time he was near climax, I slowed to a near stop before picking up the pace to gyrate wildly on top of him once more. The student had become the master.

  "Good girl. I'm going to come inside you," Ethan said.

  He tore the blindfold from my eyes and flipped me over so I was lying on my stomach on top of the bed. He bent my knees up beneath me so I was kneeling on the bed and drove his dick into me from behind with a powerful thrust. Gripping my tits from behind, he pounded into me forcefully, until suddenly we were climaxing as one. The cries of my pleasure blended with his moans as we orgasmed together in perfect harmony. Our bodies shivered as every nerve cell exploded with ecstasy.

  Ethan spanked my ass with his hands to keep the passion going, prolonging both our climaxes, until we finally collapsed onto the bed together, exhausted and utterly satisfied.

  He climbed under the sheets and pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me in a loving embrace and fell asleep. I had no idea what had upset him earlier, but I'd given him what he needed and now he was at peace. I'd done my part, and I was happy. Feeling loved and needed, I closed my eyes and fell asleep against his chest, completely content.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ethan

  I got to my office and was startled to find a new face sitting behind Angela's desk. She really had been a great assistant and I was going to miss her. Unfortunately, the fiery passion that had made her so good at her job also made her a force to be afraid of when she'd been crossed.

  Angela and I had never committed to each other, but the sheer regularity with which we've enjoyed each other's bodies had been enough to make her feel like I betrayed her when I wanted to call it quits between us. She blamed Kayla, but in reality, I should have stopped our affair long ago. It was wrong of me to keep turning to her for sexual release — no matter how hot she was. I always knew fucking the same woman for too long would be misconstrued as a relationship, and I had been right.

  Under the circumstances, it was best that Angela had moved on. Steve was a lucky man. I knew I could count on him to appreciate her for her administrative skills, and not just for being a hot piece of ass. They would make a great team and be a huge asset to the company.

  "Mr. Colson, I'm your new assistant, Gary," the young man behind the desk introduced himself with a nervous quiver in his voice.

  "Glad to meet you. I have an appointment with an old acquaintance. He should be arriving first thing this morning." I was about to tell him to have security ban him from the building when he arrived, but to the over-eager young man cut me off.

  "Yes, sir. He's already here. A Mr. Dorsey. I told him to have a seat in your office until you arrive."

  "What?" I was annoyed. I had got into work an hour early specifically to avoid this situation again. Damn it. My irritation must have shown on my face because Gary flinched as if I'd slapped him.

  "I'm sorry. Should I call him back out and have him wait in the lobby?"

  "No, he's already here; I'll take care of him," I glowered, but I knew it was a mistake Gary would never make again.

  When I entered in my private office and shut the door securely behind me, I found Charles sitting in my favorite chair with his feet propped up on my desk. He folded his hands behind his head and it was all I could do not to smack the cocky grin off his face.

  I couldn't wait to give it to him just to get him out of my sight. If I never had to see Charles Dorsey again, it would be money well spent. The problem was, I wasn't sure that would be the case, and looking at him now, I was sure it wouldn't be.

  All of a sudden, paying him off didn't seem like such a good idea. It seemed like a recipe to have him in my life forever. He just looked so damn sure of himself sitting there at my desk like he owned it, and I realized giving him this money would make him think that he owned me — and in a way, he would.

  Suddenly the sure feeling I had when I got the cashier's check felt like a lump sitting in my gut and it bubbled up inside me in the form of rage.

  "What the hell are you doing there? Get your ass up." I had to force my hands to relax from clenching into fists.

  "We had an appointment. I knew you'd probably forget, so I decided to come early. You forget a lot of things. They say this a symptom of repeated drug use," Charles said, sounding as cocky and condescending as ever.

  "I mean, what the hell are you doing in my chair? That's my desk. Now, move your ass before I do it for you." As I advanced on the little weasel, he scrambled to his feet, and then tried to make the move look casual, swaggering as if it had been his idea and not because he didn't want me to beat his ass.

  "Fine. I thought as old friends you'd like to spend some time catching up before we do a little business, but if you're in a hurry, I'll just take my check now and leave."

  When I first came into my office, that's exactly what I had wanted to do, but no longer. I reached into my pocket for the check, and Charles hand was held out expectantly. I could see him swallow hard against the saliva that had built up in his mouth, like a drooling mongrel. He was hungry for it, but it wouldn't satiate his hunger and in a month or so, he'd be back, ready for more.

  Why should I hand over my money to this slimy, little jerk? Why does he deserve to have the money I've worked so hard to earn with 20 years of sweat, innovation, and sleepless nights? I pulled my hand out of my pocket and crossed my arms in front of my chest, with a lift of my chin.

  "You know, I've just been thinking. I built up Speed Motorcycles out of nothing and turned it into the biggest motorcycle company in the country. Sure, I was a dumbass and almost let drugs destroy my life when I was young, but it was a mistake I learned from and I got clean.

  “I'm not going to let it ruin all that I've acquired now. I'm not going to be intimidated by your chicken-shit attempt at blackmail. Do your worst. Tell every newspaper in town that Speed Motorcycles stands for getting loaded on speed. Tell every television reporter that I was a junkie that first year of my company. I'll even confirm that it's true."

  "You can't do that. The bad press will ruin your reputation. Your model girlfriend will leave you. Think about what your parents will say. Your fans will hate you. You'll be a laughingstock and no one will ever want to buy one of your crappy bikes again."

  "That won't happen. Because I'll tell an even more compelling story about how I traded the misery of drug addiction for the even better high of speeding on a fast bike. Speeding on motorcycles is the kind of high that can't be beat, and my rise from the fall will inspire everyone who hears my story. I won't be a laughingstock — I will be a hero."

  "You can't do this to me. You owe me money. Pay me now." He sounded like a spoiled kid throwing a temper tantrum in the grocery store, but I no longer cared. Let him rage and kick and spit all he wanted. Still, he was a reminder of what could have become of me if I hadn't gotten clean, and I felt compassion for him.

  "I don't owe you a dime. We were friends once, and because of that, I am willing to pay for you to go to rehab, but that's it. Take it or leave it."

  My offer was sincere and I hoped he'd take it, but instead he turned his red eyes on me with a look of pure hatred. Flipping me the finger, he shouted, "Fuck you. I don't need rehab. I need money. If you won't pay to keep me quiet, then pay because you owe me. The name of this company was my idea. I came up with a lot of the product ideas, too. I deserve to be paid for it."

  His screaming didn't scare me, but the fact that he truly believed what he was saying terrified me. Speaking in a calm voice, I said to him, "You didn't create this company, and you didn't even come up with the name. We were two dumb kids getting stoned together. That's not an epiphany that turned into an empire. That's not 20 years of ha
rd work. Let me help you get clean the way Garden Hope Center helped me. Let me check you into rehab."

  For a moment, he looked hopeful, as if a part of him yearned to be made well, and I thought he might take the help I was offering. But it only lasted for a moment and then the dark demons of addiction took over and morphed his expression back into something ugly.

  "Fuck you. You're going to pay me the money you owe me. I'll sue if I have to. I'll take you to the highest court. We'll see what a judge and jury say when they hear the truth, and I won't settle for just a million dollars. I want a billion dollars now. You're going to pay, and when you do, I'm buying you out and you'll be back to nothing again."

  Just then, the door to my office opened a security team appeared. Gary had heard the shouting from his desk and called them. I watched as they hauled away one of my oldest friends. Then I closed the door, slumped into my chair, and held my head in my hands. That could have been me if I hadn't gotten cleaned up, and was grateful that it wasn't.

  I was a blessed man. I had my health, work that fulfilled me, a business I could be proud of, more money than I could spend, and now an incredible woman by my side. Thank God I hadn't fucked it up — yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kayla

  "I wish Ethan would open up to me about what's bothering him," I said to my mother over the phone.

  It was so nice to be able to call her up again. I missed be able to turn to her for advice when I was with Mick all those years, and I was so grateful we’d reconnected.

  We were so close when I was a child; I couldn't wait to come home from school every day to tell her everything that happened, and she would listen in rapt attention while she fed me a homemade, grilled cheese sandwich, all warm and melted, fresh from the skillet.

  Then, when I was in high school, somehow we grew apart, and my relationship with Mick put a wedge between us that drove us even further apart until we were no longer speaking. By the time I realized it had been a mistake to run off to L.A. with him, I was too embarrassed to call her and admit that she'd been right all along.

  Now, I was glad the rift between us had been mended and we were now closer than we had ever been before. I could talk to her now, not as a child talking to her mother, but as best friends. We were now two women sharing secrets and advice, and I cherished every moment.

  "What did he say when you asked him? Was he secretive? Did he refuse to answer? Because if he did, that's a huge red flag, sweetie, and you should get out of the relationship before you get in any deeper. Don't stay with a man you can't trust."

  "Actually, I didn't ask him," I confessed, and felt my cheeks flush with chagrin.

  My mother laughed into the phone. "Well, sweetie, you can't expect a man to read your mind. If you want to know what's bothering him, ask him."

  "I know you’re right, I just don't want him to feel like I'm prying."

  "It's not prying to care about the problems of someone you love. I'm sure he'll be grateful to know that you're there for him. Heck, he's probably wanting to talk to you about it, but fearful that he would be burdening you with his problems. Men are silly that way. It took years for me to get your father to talk to me. He thought it would make him less of a man, but once I convinced him otherwise, the floodgates opened and now he won't shut up."

  "You really think Ethan wants to tell me, but just doesn't have the courage to open up?"

  "Absolutely. He's probably dying to confide in you, he just needs to know that you want to share in his worries, as well as his joys. So, the next chance you get, ask him. It will make your relationship all the stronger."

  "Thanks, Mom," I beamed. We talked for a little while longer about life back home and the sprinkler system Dad tried to install in the back yard before Mom finally called a professional to come in and fix all the damage he'd done. Then we said our goodbyes with tears misting in the corners of my eyes.

  "I love you, Mom."

  "I love you, too, sweetie. Call again soon, or better yet, come visit again."

  "I will," I promised and hung up the phone.

  It was getting to be late in the morning, and I had to get going with my day. I did a workout in the awesome home gym Ethan had on the second floor of his mansion. It had more equipment than the one I used to pay a membership for downtown. Then, I took a relaxing steam in his sauna room, followed by a nice, cool shower to wash away all the sweat and grime. His shampoo smelled fantastic and was imported from Sweden. When I went back to the bedroom, a new dress had been laid out for me by one of the maids.

  I wondered when Ethan found the time to shop, or if he had a secret storeroom filled with clothes that the maids kept drawing from. It didn't matter. It was just fun to have fabulous new dresses appearing out of nowhere every time I needed, and knowing that Ethan cared enough me to make sure it happened.

  This time, it was a fashionable design from Christian Dior, in a lovely blue, floral print that was feminine with just a touch of sexy. Blue strappy sandals matched the dress to perfection, and gold bangles with gold and sapphire earrings and a sapphire pendant necklace in shape of a flower completed the look.

  When I peered at myself in the mirror, I was amazed how the right clothes made me look sophisticated, chic, and desirable. I was the woman on the cover of the spring fashion magazine that every man wanted to date and every girl wanted to be. I was iconic.

  Feeling happy and confident, I had Ethan's driver take me to my new agent's office. I'd hired him with the money I'd made from the Speed Magazine shoot. So far, he was amazing and made me see just how much time had been wasted when Mick was my manger. He wanted to take my career to greater heights, and he had the connections to do it. I felt good having my career in the hands of seasoned professional, and I knew I could trust him. His name was Dave Dynamo, which was obviously a pseudonym, but if he could get results, he could go by any name he chose.

  Dave had already left a series of messages on my phone, sounding increasingly desperate to talk to me. I could have just called him back, but I thought dropping in on him in person would be more fun.

  "Kayla, wow! Just the client I was hoping to see." Dave's grew wide with excitement. He was short with a goatee and kept his graying hair pulled back in a ponytail. His taste in clothes was questionable, but his list of clients was impressive, and he practically guaranteed results. As I sat down, he looked me up and down with surprise. "What have you done to yourself? You look incredible!"

  "Thanks. Just a little update to my wardrobe." I blushed. I still wasn't used to receiving compliments or the kind of attention I'd been getting lately.

  I took a seat in one of the uncomfortable, plastic, padded chairs in front of Dave's desk and he got right to the point. "Offers have been pouring in ever since Speed Magazine hit the shelves Friday morning. And, being seen at that party with the owner was the kind of publicity you can't buy. Brilliant."

  I wanted to tell him dating Ethan wasn't a publicity stunt, but I couldn't get a word in, Dave was rambling so fast. He pulled out a stack of papers and thrust them at me, saying excitedly, "Look at all these messages. A lot of the job offers were crap. I threw them out and told the companies to call back when they were serious. But this one right here is the one we've been waiting for. This is the big time. This is how you'll make a name for yourself that everyone knows."

  He handed me the paper and I read the letterhead. Gasping with surprise, I couldn't even read the rest of the memo. "This is from Jay Wendt, director of marketing for Revving Engine Bikes. R.E.B. is the second biggest motorcycle company in the country right now and Speed Motorcycles’ biggest competitor."

  "I know. First Speed and now R.E.B. Overnight, you've become the face of America's motorcycle industry. I have offers for everything having to do with motorcycles, from engine parts manufacturers to bike dealerships, but this is the offer I think you should take. If you do this ad campaign, back-to-back against the Speed Magazine cover shoot, you'll be an overnight success. You are the it girl for mo
torcycles right now, and Jay Wendt wants you bad."

  "How bad?" I knew it was a betrayal to Ethan to work for the competition, but my curiosity was piqued. I'd never had anyone clamoring for me to model for them. Up until now, I had been the one begging for jobs, and now a major company was vying for me to accept an offer from them. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't at least a little curious to know what that offer was.

  "See for yourself. You've got the job proposal in your hands." Dave tilted his head towards the memo I'd forgotten I was holding. I read it from top to bottom, and then I read it a second time, and then a third just to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me.

  "They really want to pay me this much for one, simple photoshoot?" I could hardly believe it still, even after reading it three times.

  Dave laughed, practically giddy with excitement as he thought about his percentage of the take and what it would mean for him to have another successful client to put on his wall of fame.

  "This is more than just an ad page in a magazine, or even a magazine cover," he said. "This photoshoot will be the center of the ad campaign for their whole brand. You will be the Revving Engine Bike's girl. Your face will appear on billboards, magazine ads, and if everything goes well, maybe even television commercials."

  "But I can't act." I felt like this job was way out of my league, but Dave wouldn't hear of it.

  "You wouldn't have to. Just sit on their bikes looking sexy and sweet they way that you do, and let the camera do all the work. A little editing, a little Photoshop, a little voiceover work, and you're an instant television star."

  "The people in my hometown would flip out. I wish I could see the looks on their faces when a huge picture of me appeared on the side of the motorcycle store on the corner of Wilson Street," I mused wistfully.