My Billionaire (Trilogy)(Erotic Romance Stories) Read online

  My Billionaire

  Trilogy

  M.J. Bradley

  Copyright © 2013 by M.J. Bradley. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without the prior written consent of the author.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, incidents and events are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  BOOK 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  BOOK 2

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  BOOK 3

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  My Billionaire

  Book 1

  M.J. Bradley

  Chapter 1

  Molly was more excited for college than she could articulate. Every time she tried to put into words how she felt her throat dried up and all that came out was a pathetic rasp. She was nervous, too — of course. But excitement was the main thing she felt. Excitement was the thing that kept her up all night and made her count down the days. There were only four left now — four days and then she would be free and independent and wouldn’t have to answer to anybody. That was the dream, anyway.

  She leaned up in bed and stared out the window. The sun was rising and birds were tweeting and outside she could hear two people laughing — the light burned in through her window, blossomed across the ceiling, and then settled on her leg. Suddenly there was a bang and her dog came pounding in and jumped on the bed. She laughed and leaned down and stroked him, and he jumped up and licked her face.

  “Max,” she laughed. “Stop — you’re tickling me!”

  He didn’t stop. He was waggling his tail and kept licking her. She didn’t have anything to do today — she thought she might go to the shop and buy some things for the trip. She looked around the room and smiled reflectively — it was filled with boxes and notepads and pens and books. Everything she needed she had. Going shopping would be pointless. She sighed and lay back and stared up at the ceiling. She lay like that for a long time, watching the sun as it spread across the flaky white paint and holding Max in her arms. Eventually she got up and went into the kitchen.

  Her mom was standing there covered in cake mix with a wooden spoon in her hand and a sour expression on her face — her usual bright complexion was darker.

  “Why the long face?” Molly said.

  She stared down at her mix and then back up at Molly and then back down at the mix. It was around a minute before she spoke. Molly went to the tap and poured herself some water, drank it, and then poured herself some more. She even had time to start washing the glass. Then she finally spoke: “I need eggs. I don’t have enough eggs. Can you get me eggs?”

  Molly looked at her. The things her mom got in bad moods about were astonishing. Molly had expected something a tad more serious — maybe a flat tire or a broken nail, not “I need more eggs.” It was absurd. “Go and get some then,” Molly said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

  “Go and get some, she says,” she muttered, and then to Molly: “Look at me! I look like a cake has just ejaculated all over me!”

  “Mother!” Molly cried. “Don’t say things like that to me — you know I don’t like it.”

  Her mom looked at the ground foolishly and fidgeted with the spoon. Then she said: “I know — I’m sorry.” She was still smiling, though — that devilish little grin that only served to emphasize the difference in the two women’s views on sex. Her mom was frisky and cheeky — Molly could barely even say the word “sex” without blushing. She didn’t know why she was like that — she just was. She had never given it much thought. She just accepted that she was shy and moved on with her life. What was she supposed to do? Go around saying “dick” and “tits” until she was comfortable with it? No — she was born shy, she had lived her whole life shy, and she would die shy. There was nothing wrong with that as far as she could tell.

  Mom was staring at her, open-mouthed, her eyebrows furrowed, still fidgeting with that bloody wooden spoon. Finally Molly said: “I’ll get the eggs. Happy?”

  Her face lit up into an ear-to-ear smile and she turned back to the bowl. “Be quick,” she said with her back turned. “I want to make a lot so you can take some with you on Monday.”

  Molly nodded and walked upstairs. She got changed into a baggy t-shirt and jeans — she wasn’t one for dressing lightly. She didn’t particularly like her body, so she didn’t see the point in wearing clothes that showed any part of it. As she did up the zip on her jeans she glanced out the window. A woman walked past, her skirt crawling up between her buttocks, and her pasty white legs on full show. Molly didn’t understand that — how could someone dress like that and feel comfortable? If she dressed like that she’d spend the whole time she was outside looking at herself in mirrors or car windows or doors — anything reflective — checking if she looked okay. No — she didn’t need that hassle. Jeans and a t-shirt it was — much simpler.

  She thought about taking Max with her but decided against it — she would have to tie him up outside the shop and he didn’t like that. She left the house as her dad was leaving for work. He was a tall man with a tie and a stern upper lip. He nodded at her shortly and got into the car — she wasn’t very close with her dad. She didn’t know why. He had always been a distant, reserved man. Perhaps it was his upbringing, she thought as she felt the breeze caress her neck. It was pleasantly cold and refreshing, and she craned her head sideways to feel it a little more.

  The walk took longer than she thought it would, and she was glad when she got there. The supermarket was one of those unnecessarily big ones — they sold everything from eggs to car batteries to knives to parachutes to wheels to engines to pet aliens (okay — perhaps not all those things). She walked through the big double doors and looked down the main aisle — it was ludicrously long and filled with people. She could hear the scrape of their shoes on the floor. Their voices seemed to rise towards the massive ceiling, so it sounded like there were two sets of shoppers — the real ones and the ghost ones, talking above. She squinted and found what she was looking for and made towards it.

  It was so busy that she literally had to squeeze between two people at one point. She thought for a moment on the wondrousness of supermarkets — nowhere else could you see such a mix of different people. All dividing lines disappeared and who you were outside those electric doors didn’t matter — you were just another shopper now, amidst a sea of shoppers.

  That was what she was thinking when she saw him.

  He was tall with long, black hair. He wore a suit, and he wore it well — it was tight-fitting and hugged his lithe body. He was talking heatedly with another man in a suit near a door marked “employees only.” As Molly watched he laughed and patted the other man on the shoulder, and then turned and made to walk away — but then he caught her eye. She suppressed a squeal — she didn’t know why, but she would have squealed if she hadn’t made the conscious effort to stop it — and looked away. She was near the eggs now, so she focused on them.

  She felt more than heard his presence behind her, and her whole body froze. She felt like a shadow had just descended o
n the entire aisle. Who was this man and why was he standing behind her? She suppressed the urge to turn around. She didn’t know why but the idea of turning around was terrifying to her. Well, she did know why — he was incredibly attractive and he was close to her. She wasn’t very good with attractive men. She wasn’t very good with men in general. Finally she heard him — heavy breathing, in and out, slow, rugged breaths.

  “Do I know you?” he said. His voice was deep and raspy.

  Molly swallowed and turned around — this was ridiculous. She was here to get eggs. If this man wanted to bother her she would deal with it and then get the eggs and return home. She couldn’t keep Mom waiting. When she saw him up close all confidence drained from her. She felt like a child standing before a giant stone statue, huge and incomprehensible and strange.

  She tried to keep her voice steady when she spoke: “No — I don’t think so.”

  He looked away. He was trembling, she realized with a start. Why was he trembling? “My name is Damien,” he said.

  Then — an elongated pause. He clearly wanted her to give him her name. She didn’t see the harm in giving him her first name. “I’m Molly,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, holding his hand.

  She took his hand and shook it. It was warm and coated in a thin layer of sweat. She made to pull away, but he gripped her a little harder. Her heart pounded in her mouth and her body was screaming at her to run — but she didn’t. She just stood there, her hand in his tightening grip, staring into his eyes. They were mismatched. One was blue and one green — they were beautiful, she thought. His hair fell in curls to his shoulders and his face was covered in a light beard.

  He leaned in and whispered in her ear: “If you want me to stop just say. If not — come with me.”

  She looked around. There were five or six other people in the aisle. One woman looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. She knew what she should do — she should go home and forget this strange experience and give her mom the eggs and help her with the cakes. If that was what she should do, why did she say what she said?

  “I’ll come with you.”

  He smiled and took her by the hand and led her towards the “employees only” door. Within was a large factory-looking room with employees walking around or standing near machines. A man walked around with a clipboard, ticking things every now and then and looking down his nose at the other workers. Damien took Molly past them all and into an office. It was small and simple — just a table and two chairs and a bookshelf. He closed the blinds.

  She was more nervous and confused and excited and scared than she had ever been in her entire life. The emotions rushed through her, not one by one, but all at once, so that even she didn’t know what exactly she was feeling. She knew — in her mind, she knew that she should turn and leave. This was not normal. This didn’t happen. But she couldn’t. It may not be normal but it was new and exciting. In that moment that was more important than her other feelings.

  Damien gestured at her to sit. She walked over to the chair opposite the main one and sat down. She was suddenly very aware of how she looked — she hadn’t even bothered to put on makeup or do her hair. She must look a state — that this man was doing what he was doing was perplexing to her. For some reason she didn’t think he was going to hurt her. Her fear didn’t stem from that. Her fear was that he was going to laugh at her and tell her that this was a joke and she was too ugly — she was not worthy to even talk to a man like him.

  He walked around and sat opposite her. He stared intensely into her eyes — that’s all he did for a long time. She squirmed under his gaze, like an ant under a magnifying glass. Finally she spoke just to break the silence: “Who are you?”

  He laughed. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay — why did you want me to come into the office?”

  He smiled and leaned forward and looked her up and down. She found herself drawing her shoulders back and immediately felt foolish — like doing that would make her look any more presentable. “I’ll tell you what I want to do to you,” he said. “If you don’t want me to do it, just say and I’ll let you leave. If you answer how I want you to answer, then stay. How does that sound?”

  She cleared her throat. “That sounds — um, okay.”

  He told her what he wanted her to do.

  As he spoke she felt things that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Her whole body was hot and her palms were sweaty and her head pulsed. “So,” he concluded. “What do you say?”

  “Um — yes. I mean — okay, yes.”

  He smiled and stood and so did she. He leaned down and kissed her lips, grabbing the back of her head. She moaned out and went limp in his arms — she wasn’t used to this. This felt amazing. He grabbed her arms and wrapped them around him, and then hugged him close. His tongue was in her mouth, slithering around — he tasted hot and salty. He broke off the kiss and grabbed her by the neck, digging his nails in.

  “What are you?” he said. His voice was different now — and she liked it.

  “Your slut,” she said, staring into his mismatched eyes. “I’m your personal little slut, Damien.”

  “Yes you are,” he said.

  He pulled her t-shirt over her head and undid her bra so quickly she didn’t even realize what was happening until she was standing there topless. The office was cold and her nipples went hard immediately. Her breasts were perky and white, and Damien stared at them for a few moments before rubbing one. He palmed the flesh and then tweaked a nipple. It hurt but it felt good too — the mixed feeling pulsed through her body and she had to bite down on her lip to stop from screaming out. Damien smiled at that and then leaned down and kissed her neck. At first he did it softly — then he bit and sucked and licked.

  He stopped and looked her at her intensely in the eye. “You want me to make you come, don’t you?” he said.

  She nodded. Then, seemingly out of nowhere — blinding pain and her head jarred to the side. It took her a few seconds to realize that he had slapped her. She knew that should make her scared — it only made her hornier. Her pussy was wet and hot and ached.

  “Say it,” he snapped.

  “I — please, make me come.”

  He nodded and grabbed her by the waist and threw her onto the table. He undid her jeans and pulled them down, and then rubbed her pussy over the top of her underwear. His fingers came teasingly close to her clit more times than she could count but never touched it. It was screaming out to be touched — all she wanted was for him to touch it. He looked up at her and smiled. “You’re a wet little slut,” he said.

  She spoke without thinking: “You make me wet. I”m your little wet cunt. You can do whatever you want to me.”

  She didn’t know where the words came from, but as she spoke them she got even hotter. She pulled down her underwear and dropped them into the pile of clothes. Noises filtered in through the closed blinds — people talking, machinery working, shoes against concrete — but all Molly knew was Damien’s touch. Now she was completely naked — he was still in his suit — and he slid his hand up her leg.

  His hand was close to her pussy now. She could feel her wetness on her inner thighs. Everything seemed to pause for a second when he was an inch away from her clit — her whole body froze in anticipation and she thought she might cry out if he took much longer. Finally he touched her — it was electric. He pressed his middle finger down hard on her clit and moved it side to side. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes and ignored everything but that one magical spot.

  She could hear herself moaning — moaning loudly, but she didn’t care. He kept rubbing her clit for a long time. Every second everything got hotter and more intense — her mind was a red haze, and all she knew was pleasure. Then he slid a finger inside of her. He still rubbed her clit, and now he wiggled his finger around inside of her too — going deep and massaging her. Her whole body contorted and she screamed out. She felt a strong han
d clamp over her mouth.

  “Be quiet,” Damien spat. “Only make noise when I tell you to.”

  She nodded and he removed his hand. He put another finger inside of her and rubbed her clit faster and faster. It was too much — it felt too amazing. She was close to coming, but she didn’t want to. She wanted this to last forever. She wished that time wasn’t real and that this moment was all that existed — hanging forever in otherworldly euphoria.

  “Tell me what you are,” he said. “Tell me — now.”

  “I’m a dirty girl,” she moaned, her body gyrating involuntarily. “I’m a slut — your slut Damien. I’m your sex toy. You can do anything you want to me. I’m a bitch, a fucking horny bitch.”

  “You’re right,” he said. He went deeper into her and wiggled his fingers faster. She bit down and had to focus hard to stop from crying out. It felt too amazing — she hadn’t known that pleasure like this existed. His finger was still on her clit. She didn’t know which was hotter, her sweet-spot or her clit. Both were burning.

  Her eyes were still closed but she could feel his breath on her neck and sense his presence — he was close to her. He whispered in her ear: “I could fuck you now, you know. I could get my cock out and fuck you hard. Would you like that? Would you?”

  He moved his fingers even faster and rubbed her clit harder and then everything went still — then she breathed heavily and contorted and screamed out. She wanted him inside of her — yes. He had made her come and she wanted him to do it again and again and fuck her. Her mind seared and every inch of her skin tingled. “Yes,” she moaned as she came. “Yes — fuck me hard, Damien. Please, please, fuck me hard.”

  She spread her legs wide and waited for him to enter her. She wanted it now — in that moment she wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything. Then he took his fingers away and moved to the other side of the room. She opened her eyes and stared at him. Her chest was heaving and she was struggling to breathe. She had never had an orgasm like that before. There was something special about that orgasm, something new.