Markus Spears had been traded to the New York Tigers , and we hadn’t heard from him again unless it was about game stats. Jacob’s past had been buried under his successes and our relationship. Sure, there would be days when it resurfaced again. Your past was never just in your past when you were famous. But, it didn’t haunt him anymore, and it didn’t affect his present. What more could a man ask for?
The game went well and by halftime, the score was forty-seven to fifteen. They were going to steamroll these Stallions right back to Denver.
Jacob walked onto the field before the halftime entertainment started and a spotlight zeroed in on him.
“What’s happening?” I asked Kyle.
He only shrugged at me, but he was smiling.
“Kina and Kyle Peterson, please come down to the field,” Jacob said, his voice booming over the loudspeakers.
“What is this?” I asked.
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know, but I guess we better get going. The world is watching.”
I swallowed hard and followed Kyle through the corridors that eventually led us to the tunnel that opened onto the field. When Jacob saw me, he grinned. I thought being in front of all these people would be intimidating, but the lights were so bright, I hardly saw them. I could only hear their roar when we walked out onto the field.
“First,” Jacob said. “I want to award Kyle with this team jersey.”
He held up a team jersey with his name and number on it and the crowd went wild. Kyle clapped Jacob on the back and accepted the jersey, pulling it on. He turned around and pointed at the number and the crowd went wild.
“Why did you keep this secret from me?” I asked Jacob.
He grinned at me. “You’ll see, babe.”
He pressed the mic to his lips again and music started playing over the sound system. For a moment, I thought he was going to start singing, but then he dropped to one knee.
“Oh, my God,” I said, clapping my hands to my mouth. The crowds roared.
“Kina Peterson, love of my life,” Jacob said into the mic. “Will you marry me?” He held out a velvet box.
The whole world was watching. The stadium was full and cameras all over the world were trained on my face. This was the most elaborate proposal I had ever heard of. And I knew exactly what to say.
I grabbed the mic from Jacob. “Yes!”
The crowd exploded, and it was like thunder. Jacob took the ring out of the box and slid it onto my finger. The diamond was so big, it was almost overkill. Almost, but not quite. I was laughing and crying at the same time, and Jacob got to his feet to pull me against him. He spun me around, dipped me, and kissed me.
When he planted me back on my feet, I was giddy with happiness, dizzy with the dip. Kyle looked at me, grinning from ear to ear.
“You knew about this,” I said.
Kyle laughed and nodded. “And I’m more than happy to have gained a brother,” he said.
He gave Jacob a man hug, the two men clapping each other on the backs.
“My sweetheart, I have to get back to winning this game,” Jacob said, pulling me against him again. “But I will see you afterward, and we will seal the deal.”
He winked at me.
When we left the field, the crowd was still going mad. I made my way to our seats, feeling like I was walking on air.
Brian and Sadie, and Hanson and Lacey, came over to congratulate us. Liam was with them, babbling up a storm.
“I can tell you’re so happy,” Lacey said, as she hugged me.
“Yes!” I told her. “I never knew falling in love could be so great.”
“See?” she asked. “I told you so. You should listen to your best friend more often.”
“Yes, I really should,” I agreed.
The Sharks won. The score was ridiculous, they were so far ahead. They could have called the game halfway through; it was pointless for the Stallions to even try to catch up.
“I’m going home,” Kyle said. “I have work in the morning, and I’m tired.”
I nodded and hugged my brother.
“Congratulations, sis,” Kyle said. “I’m so happy for you. Jacob’s a great guy.”
I smiled and thanked him. Jacob really was the best guy.
I made my way down to the locker room where the boys were getting showered and dressed after their game. I waited outside. One by one, the men came out. They all congratulated me, hugging me, kissing me on the cheek. It felt like we were one big family.
When Jacob didn’t show, I knocked on the locker room door and opened it.
“There you are,” I said and stepped in. Jacob was the only one left. I reached for the door and locked it.
Jacob grinned at me, noticing what I’d did.
“I was looking for you,” I said.
I walked to him and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close for a deep kiss. He was freshly showered and smelled like soap and clean clothes. I felt his erection against my hip. I reached between our bodies and stroked him, rubbing my hand up and down his shaft.
Jacob made a growling noise at the back of his throat. And pulled my shirt up roughly, pulling down the cup of my bra and exposing my breast. He took my nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, grazing me lightly with his teeth. I gasped and tipped my head back.
While he sucked on me, his fingers pushed into my pants, and he started working them over my hips. He was getting me naked, and I liked it. Jacob had to step back to finish the job. My pants were on my knees, and I pulled his down in front, pulling out his dick.
I ran my hand up and down it a few times, jacking him off. He groaned, his pupils dilated.
When he reached between my legs, we could both tell how wet I was. Lust overtook him, and Jacob guided me backward until my back hit the wall. I kicked off my shoes while he put on a condom.
My pants pulled off my leg as I lifted it and Jacob wrapped his hand around my thigh. He pinned me against the wall with his body, his cock against my pussy. I helped him to my entrance with my hand, and he pushed into me.
I cried out when he did.
Jacob didn’t start slow, easing me into it. Instead, he pounded into me right away. He fucked me hard, and it was quick and dirty. I loved it when it was like this. Later, he would take me home, and we would make love, but for now, he wanted to fuck me, and I wanted him to claim every inch of me.
I gasped and moaned as he fucked me. He looked me in the eye as he pounded into me, and my orgasm started to grow. I tried to keep it down, but it was hard not to moan and cry out as he penetrated me. The tiles in the locker room and showers didn’t help, either. The sounds of our sex echoed through the large space.
It didn’t matter now, though. If someone heard us, found us out, all that would prove was that we loved each other very much and celebrated our engagement in style. This wasn’t a scandal at all.
I stopped thinking when pleasure washed through my body. An orgasm followed, clenching all my muscles, and I cried out, grabbing Jacob’s shirt in my fists, holding onto him. Jacob orgasmed, too. He emptied himself inside me as I came undone against his body. We orgasmed together, and the connection we made every time we did this was more intense than ever. And it would only get more so.
When I finally calmed down and the orgasm subsided, Jacob pulled out with a grunt. He let my leg down, and I pulled up my pants, fixing what he’d messed up. He fixed his pants, too.
He kissed me, holding my chin with his thumb and his forefinger.
“Let’s go home, baby,” he said. “I want to finish what I started.”
I nodded. Jacob picked up his bag and held out his hand. I ducked under his arm and put my arm around his body. I unlocked the door with my free hand and together, arm in arm we headed out into the bright light that was our future.
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Bound by the Billionaire: A BDSM Romance
Copyright © 2017 Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Published by Sizzling Hot Reads
Chapter One – Paige Matthews
The holiday windows at Saks Fifth Avenue usually filled me with Christmas cheer, but tonight the twirling sugar plum fairies did nothing to calm the category-five hurricane twisting its way around my stomach. I should have known better than to take a cab through Midtown the week before Christmas. The invitation to the masquerade party said eight o’clock sharp, but thanks to the sloth-slow traffic, I would be late. That was the last thing I needed or wanted because I was about to go undercover for a story I knew would kickstart my journalism career, something I desperately needed.
On the third floor of Expose Club, a few blocks from Fifth Avenue, was a sex club. The sort of place celebrities, politicians, millionaires, and billionaires frequented when they wanted to get their rocks off, and I planned to reveal to the world exactly what happened there.
Over the past month, I’d spent countless evenings at the club staking it out both inside and out. I knew that the first two floors were regular clubs where people went to get drunk, dance, and pick up people to have regrettable sex with. But I’d also witnessed politicians, movie stars, rappers, and pop singers walk through the first-floor club to the secret elevator by the kitchen that would take them to the third floor.
Last Saturday night, I’d slipped a couple hundred bucks into a bartender’s pocket for the chance to wash glasses and watch the elevator. But I hadn’t been able to discover what was behind the proverbial curtain, or, in Expose’s case, see what was on the other side of the elevator door. I wanted more than to watch people get into an elevator; I wanted proof.
My plan was to do an exposé on Expose Club because the world deserved to know about the double lives the men and women they worshiped and voted for lived. It didn’t hurt that by shining the light on their dirty little secrets, I’d also make a name for myself.
Uncovering the kinks of the rich and famous wasn’t how I’d expected or imagined I’d begin my investigative journalism career, but my editor-in-chief, ironically named Henry Miller, left me no other choice. I had to prove my worth to him, and going undercover at a sex club was how I planned to do just that.
Ever since I’d gotten a job at The New York Reporter, Henry insisted I write the agony aunt column because, in his words, a pretty young thing like me didn’t belong on the streets investigating anyone. His overprotectiveness was because back in the day he had been my dad’s senior editor and since my dad was killed by a hit-and-run driver while working on a story, Henry felt he had to look out for me.
He didn’t. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.
For crying out loud, I was a journalism graduate from Emerson. During my last two years there, I was the news editor for The Berkeley Beacon where my responsibilities included finding stories and managing reporters. I didn’t bust my ass or live on caffeine and no sleep for four years so I could advise desperate housewives on how to bring the sexy back into their dead marriages.
Plus, after my dad’s death, I’d vowed to follow in his footsteps and become an investigative journalist at The NY Reporter. Being an agony aunt was not how I intended to honor him or spend my days.
I didn’t care if getting my story meant I had to pretend I was a submissive in a sex club. I’d researched the lifestyle enough to know I could act the part. Sure, some of the naughty books I’d read turned me on, and some of the video clips had left me more than a little wet, but it wasn’t like I’d actually have to participate in anything tonight. I was attending the party as an observer only.
The thought of being cuffed, chained, or tethered didn’t do a thing for me, but I’d be lying if I said the thought of being spanked didn’t send tingles to my clit. I’d never had sex at all before but maybe one day, if I ever found a man I wanted to sleep with, I’d ask him to spank me. I had zero interest in any other type of punishment or control, though. No thank you!
The lack of romance in my life wasn’t because I wasn’t pretty or because men found me unattractive. I was what most people described as the girl next door. With my long blonde hair, green eyes and curvy body I got my fair share of appreciative glances and invitations to dinner, but so far, none of those dinner dates turned into anything more. I guess most men didn’t like my ambition or my competitive nature. Their loss.
Getting an invitation to the party wasn’t easy or cheap. I went to Mike Russo, one of my dad’s old contacts and asked him to help. Mike was the kind of guy who could get anything for anyone… at a hefty price tag.
I’d used the inheritance money left to me by my grandmother to pay for the invitation. I could see her spinning in her grave because her only granddaughter was going to a sex club, and not only that but she’d also paid five-thousand dollars for the pleasure. I made a sign of the cross and for the millionth time prayed for her forgiveness.
Going undercover with no one knowing was risky, but it was a risk I wanted to take. Not even my best friend Jessica, who was now on her way to Jamaica for the holidays with her family and who usually knew everything about me including what color underwear I wore, had any knowledge about my plans. If she did, she would have ripped me a new one. She thought I was going to the newsroom’s holiday party.
Since I’m a jeans, beat-up Converse, and oversized sweater girl, Jessica jumped at the chance to help me get ready for tonight. As if she needed any excuse to play with hair and makeup. Much to her parents’ chagrin, she dropped out of Fordham’s business program last year to become a makeup artist—something she kicked ass at.
I was in the chair for two hours while Jessica contoured and highlighted my face. For the first time in my life, I had cheekbones. She also tortured my follicles by straightening and then loosely curling my hair before spraying it into submission. Maybe all the primping and preening was worth it, because I actually felt a little bit sexy.
I wiggled my butt against the squeaky pleather cab seat and inched down the hem of the black dress Jessica found for me at a consignment store. That girl had consignment shopping down to a fine art. She knew the best places in town to get next to new designer dresses at ridiculous prices. The bandage style, off the shoulder LBD she found sucked in my jiggly stomach and lifted up my more-than-a handful boobs and butt. While I didn’t look skinny, I looked toned and healthy.
And then there were my shoes. By no means was I a shoe person but the glitter-covered pointy-toe pumps on my feet were to die for. The color faded from deep black on the front to rose gold on the back, and the leather lining felt like butter.
Since the club had a strict no electronics policy, I had to be clever when it came to concealing my phone because I intended to record as much of the evening as I could. I was no seamstress, but thanks to a YouTube video, I’d sewn a phone-sized panel into the lining of my dress at the back. I’d also included a small hole for the camera lens. There was no way anyone would find my phone unless I got naked, and even then, the lining should keep it hidden.
I also wore a silver masquerade mask which I found on Amazon for ten bucks. Pink and silver feathers decorated the lace bridge and sparkling Swarovski crystals lined the eyes. The mask covered the upper half of my face, and there was no way anyone would recognize me.
The cab pulled to a stop opposite the club, and after I paid the driver, I took a deep now or never breath before stepping outside.
Icy wind slapped my bare legs as if warning me not to go ahead with my plan, but I wasn’t backing out. Not now.
I pulled my black wool coat, also borrowed from Jessica, around my body to shield out the bone-chilling cold.
Excitement mixed with fear tingled my nerve endings, and I stifled the giggle bubbling up in my
throat. With the invitation clasped between my fingers, I prayed to God that going undercover would be worth it.
I weaved through a line of beeping cars driven by impatient drivers and stepped onto the blue carpet leading to the club. Fake it till you make it looped around my mind, and I held my head high as I teetered on my skyscraper-high heels towards the door.
On the front of the building, all ten stories, multicolor lights danced in time to Carol of the Bells. There was nothing quite like Christmas in New York City.
Once I reached the main door, guards resembling pit bulls flanked the entry. Each one looked like they could eat me for breakfast, and I hoped they wouldn’t get the chance. Shivers prickled up and down my back, and I forced myself to calm the fuck down. Now wasn’t the time to run away like a scared little girl.
Doing my best to keep faking it till I made it, I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. One doorman who looked like the love child of Conor McGregor and Ronda Rousey held out his hand, silently asking for my invitation. I handed it to him, and he took it without comment. He scanned it under a UV light, and a name appeared, but I didn’t get the chance to read it.
Shit on a fucking stick. The name of the original invitee must only be visible under UV light. If Conor junior asked for my ID, I was screwed.
“Jimmy,” he called out in a surprisingly soft voice. “This one’s for you.”
I froze. Common sense suggested I make a run for it. The reality of the trouble I was in if any of these people discovered I was an undercover reporter wasn’t lost on me. I should go home now and forget about my hairbrained scheme.
Jimmy, a Rottweiler in a tux with tattoos covering his neck and hands, took the invitation from Conor Jr. He turned it over in his hands, looked at the invitation, then looked at me.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
My lungs were fast forgetting how to work.
Out of Line: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Page 77