by B. B. Hamel
Intense
A Dark Billionaire Romance
BB Hamel
Contents
Mailing List
Prologue: Aria
1. Ethan
2. Aria
3. Ethan
4. Aria
5. Ethan
6. Aria
7. Ethan
8. Aria
9. Ethan
10. Aria
11. Ethan
12. Aria
13. Ethan
14. Aria
15. Ethan
16. Aria
17. Ethan
18. Aria
19. Ethan
20. Aria
21. Ethan
22. Aria
23. Ethan
24. Aria
25. Ethan
26. Aria
27. Ethan
28. Aria
Bastard SEAL: A Bad Boy Romance
Prologue: Tara
1. Tara
2. Emory
3. Tara
4. Emory
5. Tara
6. Emory
7. Tara
8. Emory
9. Tara
10. Emory
11. Tara
12. Emory
13. Tara
14. Emory
15. Tara
16. Emory
17. Tara
18. Emory
19. Tara
20. Emory
21. Tara
22. Emory
23. Tara
24. Emory
25. Tara
26. Emory
27. Tara
28. Emory
29. Tara
30. Emory
Epilogue: Tara
Stiff: A Stepbrother Romance
Prologue
1. Laney
2. Easton
3. Laney
4. Easton
5. Laney
6. Easton
7. Laney
8. Easton
9. Laney
10. Easton
11. Laney
12. Easton
13. Laney
14. Easton
15. Laney
16. Easton
17. Laney
18. Easton
19. Laney
20. Easton
21. Laney
22. Easton
23. Laney
24. Easton
25. Laney
26. Easton
27. Laney
28. Easton
29. Laney
Thank You
Preview
Preview
Copyright © 2017 by B. B. Hamel
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Prologue: Aria
I test my restraints impatiently then lie back on the bed with a sigh.
It’s been almost a week since he bought me. One week ago, I thought my life was about to change.
And it has. It changed more than I could possibly imagine, but not in the ways I expected.
He’s mysterious, tall, handsome, dark, and more dominating than I ever could have guessed. He makes me beg and beg for more but never gives me what I want.
He makes it feel good in other ways.
The bed is enormous with a high, ornate canopy. The soft white silky fabric that hangs down on all sides mutes the light and makes it hard to see the rest of the beautiful room.
My room. He gave me my very own room complete with a bathroom, tiny little sitting area, small kitchen, and twenty-four-hour room service. It’s like living in my own little paradise.
Except paradise should give me what I want, which he refuses to. He keeps whispering in my ear, soon, soon, just beg a little longer, but each night he leaves me quivering with desire. I don’t know what to do. I never thought I’d actually want this more than anything, but now that I do, he just won’t budge.
I want him. I want his touch. I bite my lip as I realize how dripping wet I am.
I wish I could reach down and touch myself. These last few nights, that’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane. But I can’t move since my wrists are tied to the headboard with soft black silk.
My heart is hammering in my chest. I want him, but I don’t know when he’ll come. He tied me up, kissed me softly on the lips and then told me to be patient. That was almost a half hour ago. I’m trying to be patient, just like he told me to be, but it’s hard.
Actually, it’s impossible. I want him to push apart the canopy and crawl on top of me. I want him to crush me with his muscular body, pin me down to the bed, have his way with me. I want him to ravish me.
After all, that’s why he bought me. I’m supposed to give into his every desire, to pleasure him. Instead, he’s spent this last week teasing me, getting to know me, giving me everything I want. I’m pampered but I’m so frustrated.
I perk up suddenly when I hear the door open and close. I hear his footsteps move across the floor, but I don’t say a word.
That’s part of the game. I’m supposed to be silent and demure. I’m supposed to do exactly what he says, and if he goes too far, there’s a certain word I can use. It’s our safe word. If I say it, the game stops instantly. But I can’t imagine using it.
I want the games. They keep me going.
I’m his for a month. He owns me and at first, I hated it. I never wanted to be in this position, but here I am.
Now though, I’m not so sure. I’m not positive that I hate this. I don’t hate him, that I’m sure of. Part of me doesn’t like being bought and sold, but part of me finds it so exciting that he owns me completely, at least for a month.
I can sense him standing next to the bed. My heart hammers in my chest. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me this time, but I can’t wait to find out.
The fabric parts and I stare up into his piercing green eyes, a slight smile on his lips. He leans over of me, sitting on the bed, half in and half out of the canopy. He’s wearing a clean white shirt unbuttoned halfway down that’s tucked into a beautiful pair of tailored suit pants.
His smile is so delicious. I stare into his eyes, waiting, begging, needing.
“You’ve been good,” he says, barely a whisper. He moves closer to me. “Do you know what good girls get?”
I shake my head slightly, eyes wide, heart hammering.
“They get whatever they want,” he says, still smiling. “What do you want, my little toy?” He pauses and his smile gets bigger. “You may speak.”
“You,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “I want you.”
“Good.” His thumb moves down my lips. I part my mouth and take his thumb between my teeth. I can feel my pulse between my legs as his other hand moves slowly down my chest, pausing over my breasts, moving down toward my pussy.
“You’ve been so good, little toy, so good,” he says, mouth close to my ear. His hand pauses just above my pussy. I’m completely naked and dripping wet, as vulnerable as I possibly can be, and yet it only makes me that much more aroused.
“Do you think you deserve it?” he asks. “Tell me if you do.”
“I deserve it,” I say. “I’ve been so patient.”
“Yes, you have.” He kisses my ear, nibbles it softly, then kisses my neck. �
�So patient. So good. I’ve spoiled you enough, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” I moan. “I’m spoiled.”
He pulls back, a wicked smile on his lips. “I didn’t say you could respond.”
I stare, eyes wide, realizing my mistake. He pulls his thumb from between my legs and moves up onto the bed.
“Now you’ll need to be punished.”
He moves down between my legs, spreading them wide. I practically moan as he looks at my dripping wet pussy, bare and clean for him.
I’m dripping. I’m aching. “Please,” I whisper. “Punish me.”
He grins and when he touches my body, my entire world shrinks down to the pressure of his fingers against my skin, and everything goes light.
1
Ethan
One Week Earlier
I lean back in my large black leather chair and look out the wall-sized window, staring out across the city.
It’s the middle of the day and already I’m exhausted. I’ve barely slept over the last month as my company, World Line Inc., has gone through some enormous structural changes. We acquired one of our smaller competitors, and in the process we’ve had to change things up to fit their new employees and manufacturing.
It’s been exhausting, but the end is almost near. And when we’re finished, World Line will be one of the largest manufacturing tech companies in the world.
I sigh, stretching. I crack my neck and lean back, groaning. I feel like a man twice my age, although I’m only thirty-two. I’ve spent the majority of my life so far, from when I was just a college dropout at the age of twenty to now, building this company and growing it aggressively. I started out with a simple idea, a tweak to the manufacturing process, and grew it into a world-wide conglomerate.
I sacrificed a lot to get where I am. The magazines all like to call me the most eligible bachelor under forty, but I rarely ever feel that way. I fucked my way through the socialite scene, because I don’t have time to spend on getting close to women.
But where has that left me? I can’t help but wonder sometimes if things would be better if I gave a woman more than just one night. Maybe not a relationship, because I’m not interested in getting fucking tied down, but something. I don’t know what. A friendship, a fuck buddy. Hell, I barely have time for anything outside of the business these days.
I lean back and put my hands on the back of my head, sighing. It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. I have enough money to retire and live a rich life at this point, but I know I’m never going to. That’s not the type of man that I am.
Settling down isn’t something I want. I work hard and I play hard when I get the time. I live to win and to dominate everything around me, that’s how I’ve gotten to where I am. Thinking too hard about my life won’t do any good, not at this point.
As I’m about to turn back to my desk and get back to these contracts, my cellphone buzzes. I pick it up and unlock the screen, cocking my head at the message.
It’s from a blocked number. Which is unusual, because I have my phone set up to block all incoming messages from blocked numbers.
But that’s not the weirdest part. As I read the message, I can’t help but think I’ve been transported to some new universe.
Dear Mr. Locks, You are cordially invited to bid on the most beautiful women on the market. This auction is only for men of means and power. It is a private event. If interested, simply respond to this message. You were invited by one Mr. Range. See him for any questions. Respond in twenty-four hours. Cordially, The Syndicate.
I read the message over twice before I start to understand what it’s saying.
It’s an invitation to a human auction. I’ve heard about these things, but only as whispers. It’s said that there are places where only the most attractive women are sold for high prices and long periods of time. It’s a way to buy a wife or a mistress even, or maybe just a girlfriend for a week.
I never went looking for these auctions because I never needed to. I know that some of my peers engage in them, because it’s easier to buy a woman for a week than it is to pick one up, but I usually like the chase. It’s fun to seduce and be seduced. These escorts, they’re just a way to fuck and be done with it.
I have no clue why Mack invited me to this auction. Mack Range is one of my closest friends and the owner of a company we often do business with. We’ve been to several parties together and he knows I have no trouble getting women when I want them.
Annoyed, I quickly call Mack up. He answers on the third ring.
“Locks!” he says. “What do you want? I thought you were too busy to talk right now.”
“I just got a really strange message, Mack. From The Syndicate. Know about it?”
There’s a pause, and for a second I think we got disconnected. When Mack finally speaks, he sounds hurried and distracted.
“Let’s meet for lunch,” he says. “I’m buying. We’ll talk about it then.”
“Mack,” I grumble. “You know I can’t. Just tell me what the deal is with this.”
“We can’t talk about it over the phone,” he says softly. “Luciano’s at two. Okay?”
I pause, head cocked. What’s so damn important that we can’t talk about it over the phone?
But then again, the message did say that it was very private. It wasn’t threatening, not exactly, but there’s always a veiled threat when secrecy is involved. It’s always keep this secret, or else.
I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Mack has good taste and has never steered me wrong before. Plus, this secrecy thing has me interested. I want to know more about it now just because I’m not supposed to talk about it.
“Fine,” I say. “You’re definitely buying.”
“See you then.” He hangs up quickly.
I put my phone down and shake my head, not sure what to make of this.
It’s out of nowhere. I was at a party with Mack maybe two months ago, before this merger got too insane. We were talking about women and relationships, and he did say something a little strange. He mentioned paying top dollar for a girlfriend at the time, which I assumed meant that he just pays for lunches and hotel rooms. I laughed and said I was always looking for a deal.
Maybe this is what he was talking about. Maybe he meant he literally pays top dollar.
I’ve never bought pussy before. I never had to. But then again, Mack never has either, or at least I didn’t think he needed to. He’s around my age, a little less rich, but still pretty handsome. I’ve never seen him struggle bringing a woman home before.
If he’s paying for it from these people, it must be serious. Still, the idea of paying for it just seems so strange and foreign to me.
The day passes quickly as I dive back into work. It’s one forty-five by the time I look up again and have to practically run downstairs to get into the company car that takes me over to Luciano’s, a little Italian place on the edge of town.
I’m uncertain as I climb out of the car and instruct the driver to wait for me. I don’t think I’ll stay the whole lunch, considering the mountain of paperwork I have back at the office waiting for me. Besides, this whole thing is about prostitutes, and I’m just... not that interested.
I feel strangely nervous as I step into Luciano’s. I’m not sure why, since Mack is one of my closest friends, but there’s something about this whole thing that has me on edge. The hostess points me to a private booth in the back corner, away from the normal lunch crowd.
I slide into the booth across from Mack. “Didn’t think you’d show,” he says.
“I keep my appointments.” He grins and we shake hands.
Mack has that young boyish charm about him. His beard is close cropped and trimmed, and he always looks very put together. I remember when he first got started, the guy couldn’t wear anything but sweatshirts and jeans. Now he’s in a three-piece suit with an expensive watch. It’s almost like that programmer punk from back in the day doesn’t exist anymore.
I’ve changed over the yea
rs, too. I’m just as driven as I once was, but all my youthful naiveté has been beaten out of me. You don’t get this far in business without learning how the world works and how to master it. That inevitably changes a man.
“So, what’s good here?” I ask him.
“The martinis.” He grins.
“Can’t. I have work to do.”
“I bet. All the more reason.” Mack signals at the waitress and she brings over two drinks, obviously already prepared.
I sigh and take mine, thanking her, and take a sip. It’s a good martini, and I can’t help but wonder why Mack is buttering me up.
“Okay, Ethan,” he says. “Before you yell at me, just listen.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to yell.”
“You have that look.”
“What look?”
“You know the one.” He smirks at me. “It’s the ‘I’m a disappointed CEO’ look. Doesn’t work on me, but it can be fucking intimidating anyway.”
“Didn’t know I had a look,” I say, laughing. “But go ahead. Give me your pitch.”
He leans toward me, getting serious all of a sudden. “The pitch is simple. You won’t be disappointed.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
He nods. “That’s it. If you do this thing, you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’m a little disappointed right now. I expected some kind of hard sell.”
“I don’t need to,” he says, shrugging. “Truth is, you’re lucky to get invited.”
“Lucky?” I give him a look. “I don’t need to pay for pussy, you know.”
“Oh, I know that.” He sips his martini and eyes me. “But that’s not what we’re talking about.”
I pause, not sure what he means. “The text said an auction,” I say.
“It’s an auction and it’s for women, but it’s not just for pussy.”
“What else to they do?” I ask. “Clean your house?”
“Maybe,” he says, a serious look on his face. “Truth is, man, they’ll do whatever you want. For as long as you’re paying. And these girls, they’re beautiful. Untouched. Unspoiled. They’re not a bunch of old pros. They’re... special.”