A Bad Boy Billionaire: Forbidden Alpha Male Romance

by Heidi Hunter

  “No, no,” I said coming over. I hoped she spoke English.

  “I thought you might want to test me out,” she said weakly, still trying to read me.

  “I paid for your freedom. You're free now.” I motioned to the door. “You can leave whenever you want.”

  “I can leave?” She tilted her head slightly, as if she didn't comprehend or believe me.

  “Yes. I saw your eyes in that alley and saw you were bound so I used a little extra money I had lying around so you can be free and start a new life.”

  “Some money you had lying around?”

  “Yeah, a have a few million,” I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. I had a few thousand million. Maybe more. I hadn't checked in a while. She didn't need to know that. To her I could be a low level millionaire. They were still uncommon in the world.

  She continued looking me over as I walked to the mini-bar and made myself a stiffer drink, some American whiskey. “Of course, with your new found freedom, you can stick around and have a drink with me. Maybe get some dinner and talk.”

  “Don't play games with me.” I couldn't place my finger on her accent, but it sounded Nordic.

  “I'm not. You can go or stay. The decision is yours. The decision is always yours in that life if you haven't figured that out yet.” I wasn't sure of her age, but she looked to be in her early twenties.

  “I want to stay a while.”

  “Great,” I said. “What should I call you?”

  “My name is Ingrid. And you?”

  “My name isn't important.” I took another sip of whiskey.

  “What should I call you?”

  “Call me whatever you want. What do I look like?”

  She walked over to where I was standing, examining me more closely. “I would say a Charles. Or maybe a Theodore.”

  “Fucking Theodore, huh?” I laughed. “How about Teddy. That work for you?”

  “My Teddy,” she said, reaching out to grab my hand in both of hers. “I want to thank you for what you've done tonight.” She knelt down and kissed the back of my hand.

  “Get up, get up. I don't want any of that shit. I was serious that you're free. You're not beholden to me at all. Money doesn't mean a lot when you have enough to live the rest of your life.”

  She stood up. “Can I get a drink before I go?”

  “Yeah, of course. What do you want?”

  “Whatever you're having.” She nodded her head toward my drink. I emptied my glass and poured us both another of the aged whiskey. I placed two ice cubes in each.

  “To freedom,” I said, holding out my glass.

  “To freedom,” she repeated, then clinked her glass with mine.

  After a few drinks, she began to tell me her story. She had moved to Paris from Switzerland after being promised a career in fashion. When she arrived, she was horrified to learn the truth. After being sold into sexual slavery, she had to learn to hide her feelings to survive. Times were tough, but she didn't know how to escape, didn't know how to get home.

  She fall asleep with her head in my lap as she told the story. Soon she was asleep. I didn't move an inch, not wanting to wake her. I looked down at her face, noticing her aquiline nose, her slender cheeks. Maybe she was a Roman goddess from ancient times who had been brought to me by a future me with a time machine. In the entire timeline she was my soul mate.

  She opened her eyes about an hour later, just as I was finishing up my science fiction fantasy of her. I would write the notes up later. She smiled at me as she looked up, yawning. I reached down and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and behind her ear.

  “I can't believe I fell asleep,” she said.

  “You're probably tired.”

  “You don't know how tired.” I saw a hardness come back over her, enveloping her like a cloud of dark, dank smog.

  “Well, you can sleep all you want now. But...” I lifted her head gently. “I need you to move because I think my feet fell asleep.” I could feel a thousand pins in my legs as I tried to wake them up.

  “I'm so sorry,” she said, panicking.

  “It's okay. Really. It happens.”

  She seemed worried and upset, so I made her another drink. She declined and asked if she could sleep there for the night. I agreed and we buried ourselves under the covers, both in our underwear. She reached out and placed her arm over my chest as she moved as close as she could. I fell asleep to the sound of her breathing.

  We spent the next morning and afternoon shopping. She was ready to go, but I felt a desire to buy her some clothes and get her started on her new life. I didn't want to leave her side. I had the means to protect her and I wanted to do that more than anything else. My money meant nothing if I couldn't help people. She seemed worthy of my attention – and not just because I found myself attracted to her.

  I wanted to kiss her face in the morning when I woke up before her, but instead I untangled myself and ordered us breakfast. She ate almost as much as me. After eating, we had coffee on the patio and looked out at the city. I saw the entire world to explore and she saw Paris and wondered how she could escape. I could see the fear of the unknown in her eyes, in the wrinkles on her forehead. How to reassure her?

  “Let's go shopping today,” I said, sitting up. “I haven't been in a while and I can get you some clothes and what-not so you can start your new life properly.”

  “I couldn't accept. You've already done so much.”

  I insisted. I bought her clothes, and jewelry, and a car, and an apartment building so she would have a place to live and an income. During this entire month of shopping, we slept in the same bed but only cuddled. She tried to come on to me, but I turned her away. I assured her I wasn't gay but that I wasn't ready to take her yet. She would know when I was ready, I promised.

  She took to her new life really well. An idea of hers increased income of the apartment complex and made me money from the small percentage of the company I still owned. This is what made me want her. She was a hustler and smart – street smart and book smart. She had a college degree in fashion design and used some of her new money to launch a line of clothes that quickly became popular.

  After this, I couldn't resist her any longer. In her penthouse and overlooking the city where I'd rescued her, I took her on the balcony from behind. I raised the dress she was wearing – one she had designed – and pulled down my zipper. My cock sprang out and pressed against the cheeks of her ass. I grabbed hold of it and guided it to the entrance of her pussy.

  She pressed back against me and I entered her – just an inch. I slowly pressed in further and she opened up, inviting me in deeper. As she grabbed the rail, I began pounding into her. I reached around and started massaging and teasing her clit with my fingers as I moved in and out. I didn't last long, cumming inside her as she screamed.

  I didn't pull out right away and kept stimulating her with my hand. Her breathing got faster as she finally reached an orgasm and I felt her body shake as I slipped out of her. She rushed off to the bathroom to clean up, but I followed her. She jumped in the shower, giggling, and I started licking her legs, her lower lips.

  As the water sprayed down, I knelt in front of her and used my tongue to clean her out as she held onto my head and came again. I joined her standing and we soaped each other and rinsed off, planning what we were going to do the rest of the day. She had to work, and I had to walk around the city and think about my next book. We went our separate ways with an agreement to meet again that evening.

  I took her to a fancy restaurant so she could show off another of her dresses in public. She was becoming quite the local celebrity. She was really talented when it came to fashion – and when it came to cumming. She had many talents. After dinner in our private room in the restaurant, we shared a bottle of wine and talked.

  And then time did strange things as Einstein rolled over in his grave. I didn't know how to tell her the truth, so I didn't. She was doing so well I let her treat me to a trip around the world. W
e started in Asia but soon moved to Eastern Europe and then her home. I met her parents who were both nice. I was really beginning to think she was the one.

  Then, when we returned to Paris, she dove into work and stopped calling as much. I found out through a trusted source she had taken two lovers. She was spending on them lavishly. I wasn't upset that she wanted someone else, I was mad she hadn't told me the truth. What could I expect when I lied to every woman I met? I couldn't tell them I was part of the one percent or I would never knew why they truly loved me.

  She was a lot younger than me anyway. And I had saved her and maybe shouldn't have slept with her at all. I couldn't help she had insisted that morning on her balcony. I remembered her tightness fondly for a long time afterward, even as I plunged my penis into fresh pussy. Hemingway said the best way to forget a woman was to find a new one, which is what I did. Papa had a way of knowing what to say at the right moment.

  Whether her tears were real or not when I told her I was leaving never to return I won't ever know. Who can know the mind of a woman? You can memorize every curve of her body and every inch of her womanhood, but the most precious part – her mind – is a mystery even to the most effeminate man. She paid back all the money I had spent on her, wishing truly to be free, and I had to let her fly away like a bird. If she loved me, she would come back to me.

  Pussy and Poetry

  I flip the notebook over and write,

  “I flip her over and enter her from

  behind.” And in the back of my mind,

  I see this as a way to unwind after a day

  or a month or a year of chasing a project to

  the very end. And the way her hips fit so per-

  fectly with the way she purrs at me as she

  rocks back and forth and forward and

  backwards in words and motions

  as sounds like the Ocean

  rocking like the Stones

  who can't get satellite

  satisfaction or any

  sort of traction.

  Am I dumb or am I just happy?

  Nirvana around the corner or

  another meaningless sexual

  escapade or chapter to turn

  into a poem for later release

  over and over I analyze all the

  time I spend chasing the perfect

  woman to have and to hold and to

  love and not obsess over or write a-

  bout. A long bout with writer's block

  and then pussy and poetry as the waves

  of emotion wash over me and I thrust while

  in the back of my mind I'm already composing

  the lines to make the memory of the moment more

  concrete. Sitting on the edge of your seat you wait

  to feel the weight of me on top of her between her

  legs and the way the feeling exceeds all expectations

  excites me even more. She's a slut and not a whore. The

  latter do it for money while the former like the sexual as

  much or maybe even more than men. That urge to reproduce

  built upon a feeling that lasts only minutes or maybe half an

  hour for most but those others – throughout time – spending

  all their time learning the positions and the defensive postures

  necessary to score well and often, aka sport fucking and with

  so much money it's not even a fair fight although in some

  ways it's even harder for me. And my cock is the same

  size no matter what. One scientist guy said he could

  install a rod and make it larger – length AND girth -

  but that I would need batteries, oil and lots of

  check-ups. My plan to retire to the island

  would have to be put on hold so I

  hold onto my penis the same size

  now, maybe a little stretched out,

  and the head a little to the left. I

  don't want to leave out any of the

  rest so I picture her chest in my

  mind and all time slips away as

  if her clothes and the blood once

  again flows to a central spot – my

  cock tightens and hardens and it

  now has a mind of its own as with

  my eyes closed I grip tightly and

  slowly move up and down as if

  on the deck of a ship in a novel

  by Melville and I remember the

  walk from English Lit Class w/

  one of the name not forgotten

  hers of my past and we should

  have dipped into the tree farm

  and tasted the fruit so sweet &

  delicious – there in the refrig-

  erator. An orator as poet so red

  and simple in the sun. Guess

  which one? Succulent gasps

  of air as the mind clouds and

  release draws near I start to

  float and fly in my mind as

  my fingers grip and now

  glide precum flowing

  from the tip of my

  head like a mush-

  room the sound

  of an ancient

  boom sounds

  and echoes and

  rebounds as that

  final moment draws

  near and up and out and

  my chest feels the warmth

  as I can once again breathe

  and think and wonder if she

  thinks of me the same way.

  A billion dollars times many

  and I still love the way my

  own hand feels on my

  body so familiar

  but i'm not

  quite done

  and ring up

  someone -

  another

  woman.

  “You got here fast.”

  “I like you.”

  “You're just saying that.”

  “Don't start acting like that.”

  “I like that you're honest. Come in.”

  She walks in the room and looks around.

  “No food or freaky shit? What's up? Stocks down?”

  “Money doesn't matter Monica. You know what I want.”

  “Rhymes with bunt?”

  “Teases my tongue.”

  “Miss the taste?”

  “I did. I did.”

  “You smell of sex.”

  “I need to take a shower.”

  “Not going to tell me who?”

  “Smell my hand?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Didn't think so.”

  “You think too damn much. Shower

  and that soap I sent you and then you

  can go down on me outside or maybe

  in here. It's a bit chilly.”

  “Your nipples are hard.”

  “And you get smaller.”

  “Hey!”

  “Honestly, you're small enough already. You pay extra for honesty.”

  “I know. Let's not talk. Let's wash.”

  Short walk and we're in a room of jets and streams of water and she's washing my back and me hers and I reach up and soap her tits. We kiss, the water streaming down as we rinse. Towels and a short walk to the master bedroom. We're on the bed.

  “Did you miss my pussy?”

  “I did.”

  “A lot?”

  “I missed your pussy a lot.”

  “Not your pussy. My pussy.”

  “I said your pussy.”

  “I know. I just like to hear you say it.”

  “You like dirty talk too?”

  “I do.”

  “I want to eat your pussy and taste your

  juices I want to make you forget the

  world and take you to the edge

  of the waterfall and make you

  go over the edge and fall in

  bliss and I want to

  kiss...”

  “Actions are louder than words.”
<
br />   And I move down and the smell is

  intensely wonderful some type of

  Amazon fruit maybe and her legs

  spread as I kiss the top of her foot

  and make my way down the leg as

  her chest rises and falls my hands

  reach out and find her nipples as

  i'm at her inner thighs and kiss

  and press my lips and tongue

  against her sensitive spots

  lightly at first and her

  body moves as I am

  watching her open

  up down there and

  I stare into the primal

  essence of her being and

  my mouth becomes one with

  her and I move my head and

  make sure to mix it up just

  enough to keep her guessing

  as to what's coming next. She

  is who is coming next, but she

  doesn't know about the final

  barrage of kisses and the

  dance I have planned

  with my tongue across

  her lips and then up to

  her clit cutting her off

  at the pass as she gasps

  for air and I press firmly

  and stroke it as if some-

  thing larger and my hands

  now sore from stroking her

  breasts snake back down and

  I use two fingers at her entrance

  and wiggle them as I work my way

  in and I know she's on the edge as she

  thrusts her hips up trying to get me to

  go faster or harder or longer or shorter

  or whatever it takes to get her to that

  magical place where you can forget

  your face as the space around you is

  the land that time forgot.

  “Yes, that's it. Right there,” she moans,

  encouraging me to continue the struggle

  to get here there and show her pleasure.

  She gives me further directions to find

  the final destination and I push through

  with all I have and her back arches into

  the air as she screams into the hollow

  and empty mansion. She settles down

  and I crawl up, kissing her stomach

  and then each breast tenderly and