Bad Boy Rich

by Kat T. Masen

  He rests his forehead against mine, breathing into my face as we both take a moment to catch ourselves.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever had a taste of something as Rich. Don’t think for a second that bad boy means you’ll be left unsatisfied. Quite the contrary. I can guarantee you, that afterwards, baby—you’ll continue begging for more.”

  My eyes lock into his, wild and desperate for him to enter me. As we take this moment to stare at each other, his reflection is exactly how I imagined he would be—wild, uncensored and uncaring of what else is happening outside the world of us.

  Keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he runs his hand along my chest, sliding into my dress and cupping my breast. I’m holding in a breath; stopping myself from finishing, all because of his touch. When I think I have controlled myself, he narrows his grip into a pinch and squeezes on my nipple.

  The agony, and yet pleasure, spreads through me—my back arching from this delightful pain.

  “Are you ready?” he whispers into my ear as his tongue runs along my lobe.

  “For you, yes. I’ve been waiting.”

  His hands wander down, and I hear the zipper of his pants unzip. My eyes close—for how long, I am unsure—allowing myself to feel this moment. I can feel him move my panties, his fingers brushing against my clit as my breathing becomes erratic.

  What is he doing to me? Liam never felt like this. Okay, shit. This is not the time to think about Liam. This is the moment to think about Wesley. Stop getting lost in a sea of thoughts.

  My panties are shifted aside, soaked from my arousal which turns Wesley on. He murmurs something about how wet I am, but I’m lost, can barely climb out of this abyss I’m falling into.

  The sound of foil tearing distracts me momentarily. I’m grateful that he is smart enough to think about protection since I was not. That’s right, your horny ass would have ridden him bareback. That would have been a stupid, stupid mistake.

  Slowly, he enters me, my body tightening and unbeknown to me—I wince slightly in pain.

  “Are you okay?” He kisses my mouth, not allowing me to answer the question.

  He is bigger than usual, not in length—but girth. I take a moment to wiggle my hips, positioning him so our bodies sat in sync.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “I’m ready.”

  Being ready didn’t just mean this moment—I was ready for all of him. I knew that his words were set in stone. After this moment, I would be begging for more.

  I would become addicted to the pleasure.

  Addicted to the pain.

  Addicted to Bad Boy Rich.

  I motion my hips, rocking back and forth, watching him struggle as the sweat beads form on his forehead, eyes shut tight and face clenching as he tries to control himself. I love watching him. Seeing what I’m doing to him. Watching the veins in his neck pop out while he drives into me, slow and steady, in and out, a pattern that starts a tide of tingles spread across my entire body until I beg him through moans to enter me harder.

  He growls at my pleas, pounding me harder, the heat stifling between us until I begin to dissolve on the spot, riding the wave of pleasure that consumes me and makes my vision blurred.

  I’m oblivious that he has gripped onto my ass tight, slamming hard one more time before he lets out a groan, pulsating and twitching while burying his head into my neck.

  Our heavy breathing echoes in the still of the night. He withdraws from me; my legs shaking uncontrollably and relying on him for support. I hold onto his shoulder as he removes the rubber and looks around, unsure of how to discard it.

  “Here, give it to me.”

  He laughs. “Really? What exactly do you plan to do with it?”

  “Uh, toss it into my purse so not to traumatize the kids that come through here tomorrow.” I take it off him, grabbing some tissues in my purse and wrapping them around it before placing it in. “Wait, what did you think I was going to do with it?”

  “Hey, I don’t know. You could play the innocent card but be as kinky as fuck.”

  “True, wait till you see what I can do with some ping pong balls and a banana,” I joke. “Round two…your place?”

  He leans into kiss me, unable to hide his grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  My eyes open in a state of panic; my body following moments later.

  Sunlight peeps through the drapes, forcing me to squint which only makes my head pound harder. Lifting my arm to shield myself from the god-awful sunlight, I yelp as my muscles ache making it barely possible to do so.

  “Why are you up?”

  The voice—unfamiliar at first—registers when his hand runs down my back, then ’round my front, cupping my breast. They are sore. Everything is sore.

  Scattered around are several empty packets of rubbers. Shit…how many times did we have sex last night? Wesley yanks me towards him as I fall back onto the bed; my head knocking into his hard chest.

  “What time is it?”

  “Time for me to fuck you,” he teases, turning me around so we are spooning.

  He doesn’t warn me, rubbing my clit a few times before he enters me whole. I gasp, in pain, again, and thankfully he moves slow, breathing into my skin which causes me to shiver with delight.

  I extend my arm, reaching back and around his head, exposing my chest. His body tenses, followed by a few quick breaths, until he begins to thrust into me again.

  “You’re insatiable,” I cry, moaning straight after. “I have to go…I’ll be late for work.”

  “You’ll go, when I’m finished.” Refusing to listen, he seizes my breast with his hand, tugging on my nipple with such force. “And… I’m not finished.”

  “Wesley,” I moan, consciously looking at the time and knowing I only had two hours till I had to meet Emerson at the studio. Also, factoring in that I had to rush home, shower and change.

  He made it impossible for me to think about anything else but him, touching every part of me that ached from last night. I knew he was close—hell, I was close, and just when I think he will come inside me and the panic of him not wearing a rubber is a cold harsh reality, he pulls himself out and kneels beside me.

  In the daylight, I see all of him. Extremely fit torso with tattoos inked across his breastbone. I wanted to ask him about them; discover the meaning behind the design. But now wasn’t the moment, not when the obvious is pointing right at me.

  His cock is perfect.

  I didn’t know if there was such a thing as a perfect cock but if there was—I was staring right at it. Obviously hard, perfect color, perfect shape, and—perfect size.

  My God Milana, stop obsessing…this is so not you.

  With a handful of my long hair, he guides himself into my mouth, moaning each time the tip of his cock passes my lips. He tasted so good; covered in my juices which only aroused me more. His bites hard on his bottom lip before belting out a loud groan as the warm liquid shoots into the back of my throat.

  Crap, I had never swallowed before. I had no idea what to do.

  Hurry… think!

  He hands me a tissue with a satisfied grin on his face. I take it, mid-swallow.

  Shit…too late. I had just popped my cum-swallowing cherry and by accident too.

  “I really have to go.”

  Wesley moves towards my legs, positioning himself in between them.

  “I’m not finished.”

  “But you came. In my mouth…” I softy laugh. “I really need to go.”

  He pushes my thighs apart, causing me to yelp, running his tongue around my clit. “I said, I am not finished.”

  My head falls back into the pillow, defeated, with a smile.

  When it came to Wesley Rich—it was impossible to say no.

  My fingers cramp as I struggle to capture all the key points that Emerson is telling us. “There’s Kimmel tomorrow night, thankfully, local.” She signs a document, handing it over to me. “Interviews lined up with some magazines in New York which means I need a few outfits for
the city since I heard a cold snap is about to hit the east coast.”

  Aurora—Emerson’s stylist—points to her iPad with an enthusiastic smile; her red-framed glasses matching her shade of lipstick. Unlike Sonia, Aurora was great to work with. She had this sense of style, lived and breathed fashion, and was half-Korean like me.

  “Burgundy is sooo in right now. I’d love to see you in a burgundy cashmere coat coupled with some black patent boots,” she sings with excitement, hugging her iPad.

  “I’ll leave it with you.” Emerson laughs. “Then the week after next—we have Vancouver. Are you alright to join me on that trip along with New York?”

  “Of course,” I tell her, guilty that I was lying to her about Wesley.

  I knew there would be a time and place to admit the truth and now was not that time.

  Although Wesley and I had agreed to be in a relationship, we had barely spoken about anything aside from our exchange of words during sex. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that what I read online piqued my curiosity or that woman from last night. After meeting his mother, Gina, I didn’t quite understand the dynamic of their relationship. Again, questions that lingered and needed some sort of answer.

  And then there was the possibility that our relationship would leak out to the public. So far, paparazzi haven’t followed me anywhere. Wesley warned me how cunning they can be and to always be on guard. Many of the things that came attached to the name Wesley Rich.

  Emerson continues to tell us about a few more events, meetings and upcoming trips she had planned for the next few months. I take a sip of my coffee, welcoming the warm liquid while waiting impatiently for it to kick in and give me that much-needed boost. Last night took it out of me. So far, during this meeting, I managed to hold in every single yawn. I had no doubt I would sleep like a baby tonight and welcomed the solace to gain some perspective on the last twenty-four hours.

  The day dragged on and every minute became harder to get through. Emerson had a ton of energy today; bouncing ideas and demanding some input. It was great, I shouldn’t complain, but the exhaustion became too much and by the time we called it a day—I wanted to cry with relief.

  “Oh, one more thing,” she says while grabbing her keys. “I have a meeting with Wesley tomorrow. I would prefer it if you didn’t mention anything to Logan. It’s best that I keep it on the down low.”

  Suddenly, my exhaustion disappears and I’m alert as anything.

  “Why…I mean, you don’t have to go. I know you’re busy and all. Let me do this. I can take care of it…it’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

  Emerson’s lips curl up in a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have thrown Wesley onto you in the first place. He’s my mess and besides, I just wanted to talk to him about a few private things.”

  Logan’s warning echoes in my head, but more notably—my unbeknown jealousy—even louder.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Logan might get angry.”

  “I can deal with Logan. I’m more worried about Wesley,” she tells me, obviously hiding something.

  “I mean, I’m just saying as a friend more than your assistant. I’m here. Don’t feel like you’re burdening me.”

  She places her hand on mine in an attempt to calm my anxiety.

  “Milana, I got this. Relax.”

  I had no words left without giving away my take on Emerson and Wesley being alone together. I didn’t like it. The thought made me ill. I had been his girlfriend for two seconds and had turned into this jealous beast. Women back home would often make advances at Liam while he worked on their cars and I barely batted an eyelash.

  But this…this was something else.

  We say our goodbyes, and the second I am alone in the car, I read through the messages from Wesley.

  Miss me yet?

  I can still smell you on my fingers.

  Ready for round 3? Wait…or maybe it’s round 10?

  I smile, unthinkingly, unable to contain the small amount of joy that creeped in when I read the texts. Though half way through a text I’m writing—encouraging his flirty behavior—my conversation with Emerson comes back to me like a tsunami; reminding me of this so-called ‘meeting’ tomorrow.

  Resting my head against the driver’s chair, I close my eyes for a brief moment. The conversation between me and Phoebe replays in my head, over and over. We rarely argued. Only over petty things like the time she borrowed my favorite sweater and claimed the underarm pulled before I lent it to her. To the time she made me watch a midnight session of one of those Twilight movies only for me to fall asleep in the first scene.

  Both times—we were mad at each other. The difference was, we made up within an hour. It was impossible to be mad at Phoebe yet this time was different. We were miles apart. She said words that could not easily be forgiven, and—she said I had changed.

  I didn’t understand her defending Liam and making such a false statement on how much I had changed. I was living life the only way I knew how. Okay, so maybe I had to toughen up a bit, the LA crowd were sometimes heartless and unforgiving. You made one mistake and it would spread like fire. As far as my job was concerned, I seemed to be doing fine. Emerson often complimented my organization skills and talent to retain information.

  And then there’s Wesley.

  He wasn’t like any boyfriend I have had. Dangerously smart and equally as sexy. Something about him excited me, allowed me to live on the edge if only for this one moment. And then, out of the blue, I think about Mom.

  I dial her number, realizing I hadn’t called her in a few days.

  “Milly, is that you?”

  “Yes Mom,” I croak.

  The exhaustion—coupled with missing her—brings a tear to my eye. I manage to hold it back, widening my eyes in a failed attempt.

  “I was wondering where you’ve been. Flynn says you’ve been busy with work. You know, Milly, I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Work has been busy, Mom.” I pause, letting out a sigh. “So, what else has Flynn told you?”

  “Nothing much. He has a gig two Fridays from now and one of the executive producers of Platinum Records will be there watching them.”

  I had no clue, but happy that Flynn would finally get this opportunity. That is until I realize I would be in Vancouver.

  “Shoot,” I say. “I think I’m in Vancouver for work.”

  “Oh honey, I’m sure Flynn won’t mind.”

  “It’s not that, Mom…” I yearn to tell her what’s going on; needing to get it all off chest. Needing some sort of guidance as to whether or not it was possible to fall head over lust for a man in such a short time. But instead, typical me, bottles it up. Not wanting to burden her with my troubles.

  There’s a slight muffle in the background, voices amongst some music being played. Mom asks me to hold on for a moment, returning a minute later.

  “Milly, I have to go. We have this dinner thing tonight and I promised to help set up. It was nice talking to you, sweetie. I’m glad you answered for once.”

  “I called you, Mom.”

  Mom laughs, quick to correct herself. “That’s right. Silly me. I love you honey. Take care will you.”

  “Always, Mom.”

  I hang up the phone, holding it against my chest and letting that lonesome tear fall graciously down my face. Closing my eyes for just a moment, I listen to her voice inside my head, opening my eyes in what only felt like minutes later.

  It’s dark, and the clock on the car says it’s eight-fifteen. Shit! I had fallen asleep in the car. In a state of panic, I turn the ignition on and speed out of the street and onto the freeway home. By the time I reach our apartment, it’s just after eight-thirty. Joe is out on the pavement, playing a game of backgammon with an undefeated Clifford from across the street. They’re both ranting as usual; something about their fathers in the war and ungrateful children of today.

  I quickly say hello, then run upstairs urgently needing to pee. When I open the apartm
ent door, Flynn is lounging with some redheaded chick. A face that did not look familiar therefore not the woman of the other morning. I wave hello before bolting to the bathroom, relieving myself, then exiting in a happier mood.

  “Have you guys eaten?” I grab a menu off the table, realizing only now that I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

  “We can grab some pizzas,” Flynn suggests, eyeing me cautiously. “Kail, my sister, Milly.”

  “Hey,” she mumbles, unimpressed.

  “Hey…” I respond back, with a quick smile. “Sure, order me my usual. I’m just going to get changed.”

  I begin tearing my blouse off as I walk into my room. All of a sudden, I halt—the image of Wesley sitting on my bed startles me.

  How? Why didn’t Flynn tell me he was here? My brother is the biggest pain the backside.

  Wesley is anything but happy. Grinding his teeth with his nostrils flaring at the same time. He’s dressed in a pair of shorts, tee and sneakers, looking rather casual. His hair looked like it had grown since this morning—which is impossible—yet limping against his face till he combs it back with his fingers in a frustrated move.

  “Oh, you’re here.”

  Silence falls. I throw my bag onto the bed and the second it lands, he grabs it, unzipping the zipper and fumbling around, removing my cell.

  Holding it up, he gestures with an agitated expression. “Would you look at that? You do have battery! And your cell does work. Did it not occur to you to respond to any of my calls or texts?”

  “I fell asleep,” I tell him, acting in defense. “I was exhausted from last night.”

  “You fucking read my texts!” he yells, erratic and throwing my cell onto the bed. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Milana.”

  “Bullshit?” I question, equally annoyed at his childish behavior. “Last week, you didn’t speak to me for days.”

  “That was different. We weren’t in a relationship.” He’s quick to remind me. “Do you know what happens in a relationship? You communicate. You don’t tell lies. I don’t know what type of a relationship you and that little farmer boy had but that’s not how it works, okay?”