His: A Claimed by the Billionaire novella

By

Kami Kayne

Published By Novel Mind Books

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 Kami Kayne

All rights reserved

Sweet Surrender

Sweet Seduction

Falling for Angel

Staking His Claim

Yes, Daddy

Naughty

She’s No Angel

His: A Claimed by the Billionaire novella

So Wrong 2: The Ultimate Taboo Box Set

Open your legs, Allison. Open them now. I
want to see what’s mine.

Eighteen year old Allison loves her disabled
mother. In fact, Allison would do anything for her, especially now
that she is wheelchair-bound. But she has no idea her love and
commitment are about to be tested…in a BIG way. Her virginity is
part of her mother’s new employment agreement, and Ryan Sharpe, her
mother’s demanding new boss, likes to do it
hard
. When Ryan
makes his expectations clear, how far will Allison go to save her
mother's job and their future?
Warning: This 10,000 word erotic novella contains explicit
descriptions of sex between a curvy eighteen year old virgin and an
alpha billionaire with a secret agenda. Intended for ADULTS ONLY,
this story contains scenes of graphic, rough sex; orgasm denial;
spanking; and a hard deflowering.

“Open your legs, Allison. Open them now. I
want to see what’s mine.”

His? I was
his
?

Oh my God.

My body was his. Even the parts
down
there
.

Especially the parts down there.

The authority in his voice was so sexy. This
was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Sure, I was a
virgin…who hadn’t ever sucked cock…or done a lot of other stuff
before. But I had made out with my share of boys.

Boys. That was what they were.

Mr. Sharpe was no boy. He was a
man
.
Strong. Domineering. Powerful. There was most definitely a
difference.

“Allison.”

I turned sideways so my body was angled
toward him and leaned back, knees bent, feet resting on the
seat.

His gaze was so hot it scalded my skin. “You
heard me.”

I nodded.

He grabbed my wrist, fingers clamped tightly
around it like a cuff. “On your knees. Now. Lay over my lap.”

Shocked by the sharpness in his voice, I slid
to the floor then rested my upper body on his thighs.

What was he going to do? Spank me like a
naughty child?

“P-please…” I whispered.

His hand caressed my naked ass.
“Silence.”

BBW,
billionaire, curves, virgin, creampie, breeding,
spanking

When I was a kid I used to dream of meeting a
real prince, like Prince William. He would take one look at me,
fall madly in love with me, beg me to marry him, and we would live
happily ever after in his castle on a mountain. Just like
Cinderella.

And why shouldn’t that happen? I deserved to
be happy, right? Especially after the crappy life I’ve led so
far.

Ten years of watching my mom’s health
decline.

Ten years of food stamps and disability, of
scraping to get by.

Ten years of clinging to hope when reality
kept telling me I was being a total idiot for even imagining my
dreams might come true.

All this time I’ve been waiting, anticipating
meeting him. Meeting my prince charming.

It happened.

Today.

On my eighteenth birthday.

He was tall. His shoulders were broad enough
to carry the weight of the world. His features were striking and
masculine and everything I’d imagined. But his eyes were different.
Instead of soft and gentle, they were sharp. Piercing. The color of
steel. And, like steel, they sliced right through to my soul,
leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable and unsteady on my
feet.

He wasn’t a royal from a distant country.
Based on his very American accent, I would guess he was one hundred
percent American. The prince of an industry. A business tycoon.
With power and money.

And he was older than I’d expected. At least
thirty.

“Honey, this is Ryan Sharpe,” my mom said as
she motioned toward the intimidating man standing next to the
limousine parked outside our dingy bungalow. The car looked out of
place on our narrow street, packed with beaters and broken down
trucks. Just as the man himself, wearing clothes that fit as if
they’d been made just for him, looked out of place standing on the
cracked, tilting sidewalk, littered with broken toys abandoned by
the kids next door. “Mr. Sharpe offered to take you out to dinner
for your birthday.”

“That’s very kind of you.” It felt surreal,
extending my hand to shake his. Was this really happening? Was I
meeting a genuine billionaire? “Thanks. But…”

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” He motioned
to the limo. “Please.”

Mom rolled her wheelchair back slightly, and
suddenly I realized what she’d said,
you
. She’d said, take
you
to dinner.

Not us.

“Mom, I thought you would be coming too.” I
hesitated. Something was wrong. I knew what Mom had told me
earlier. I remembered it clearly. She’d said that the boss at her
new temp job had found out about my birthday and he had invited
both of us out to dinner to celebrate. While she’d spent more time
helping me pick out my outfit than her own, I still had expected
her to come with us.

Mom shook her head. “I’m not feeling well.
Are you too disappointed?”

I was disappointed.

And a little confused.

I had thought Mr. Sharpe had invited us out
to dinner to get to know my mom better. She was closer to his age
than I was, thirty-six. She was beautiful, with long, thick
mahogany hair and huge blue eyes. She was single. She was thin and
petite and graceful, even though she was sick, while I was tall and
curvy and awkward. And, after Dad had run off ten years ago, after
she’d been diagnosed with MS, she deserved her own prince charming
as much as anyone. Actually, she didn’t just deserve a prince
charming, she needed one. Especially now that she was no longer
able to walk.

There she was, the picture of feminine
beauty, sitting in that stupid wheelchair, more or less shoving me
out the door, encouraging me to go out with the man that should be
taking her out.

God, she was at it again.

When she had first come to the realization
that she would spend the rest of her life in that damn chair, she’d
become withdrawn, depressed. I thought she’d given up on life. But
lately, when she’d found the temp job at Sharpe Industries, she’d
seemed to have come alive again. She talked nonstop about her job,
her coworkers, her boss. I hadn’t seen her this happy in ages.

But now she was backsliding again, falling
back into a depression.

“Um,” I mumbled, not sure what to say. With
her big, pleading eyes and tip of the head, she was encouraging me
to go without her. Why? “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry. You can bring something back
for me later.” Mom jerked her head toward the car. “Go. Please. I
don’t want to ruin this night for you. It’s your birthday.”

“But we’ve always celebrated our birthdays
together. You and me. Always.”

“I’ll make a cake. We’ll celebrate just like
we always do.”

I glanced at Mr. Sharpe, who was waiting
patiently beside the car. He didn’t deserve to be stood up after
having made such a generous offer and going to the trouble of
hiring the limo and everything. I nodded. “I’ll bring you something
back.”

“Thank you, honey. Go, have fun.” She gave me
a little shaky-handed wave and I returned it before brushing past
Mr. Sharpe to duck into the car.

I’ve see what limos look like on the inside,
but only on TV. The reality was so much better. The leather of the
seats was so soft and it smelled amazing. Sitting inside the huge
car, I felt luxurious. As the vehicle prowled the crowded street, I
watched the people sitting on their porches staring and pointing.
It was as if I were in a parade.

“Would you like something to drink?” Mr.
Sharpe asked. He was sitting beside me, close enough that I could
feel the heat of his body warming my arm. I was trying hard not to
notice how amazing he smelled, too, or how sexy the five-o’clock
shadow on his jaw made him look. This guy was almost old enough to
be my dad.

“No, thanks.” I turned to watch as he helped
himself to a bottle of water in the vehicle’s refrigerator. “Thanks
for taking me out for dinner. I’m sorry about my mom. I’m guessing
you weren’t expecting to get stuck having dinner with a kid.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He lifted his glass.
“For one thing, you aren’t a kid in my eyes. You’re an adult. A
woman. A beautiful woman.”

My heart literally stopped. For at least a
second or two.

Was this guy…was he coming on to me? I opened
my mouth to respond, but no words would come out. What the hell was
I supposed to say? That he was supposed to be saying those words to
my mom because she was prettier than me, skinnier than me? Was I
supposed to point out that he was too old for me?

Maybe he wasn’t too old. Now that I’d gotten
a good, close look at him, I guessed he was younger than I had
originally thought. Maybe late twenties. Ten years. There might be
ten years between us.

Was that too many?

Watching me closely with those penetrating
eyes, he swallowed some of the water he had poured into a glass.
“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Good.” Sliding closer, he lifted his left
arm, draped it over the back of the seat, and twisted to face
me.

The hairs on my nape stood on end. My face
was getting hot. I could feel it. I couldn’t look him in the eye
anymore. Not when he was this close. So I stared down at his shoes.
They were nice shoes. Polished. They looked like they’d never
stepped outside of a shoe store. Mine, on the other hand, were worn
and scuffed.

What was this man doing with me? A guy like
this could have dinner with any woman he wanted. Right this minute
he could have been going out with a woman with perfect hair and a
perfect body. A woman like my mom…ten years ago.

“Allison.”

I lifted my head but I stared at his chest
instead of looking him in the eye. His crisp shirt was
wrinkle-free. Perfectly pressed.

He grasped my chin. “Allison,” he
repeated.

Damn it. He wasn’t going to let me keep
staring at his chest. I dragged my gaze up. It skimmed up his neck,
over a square jaw sprinkled with stubble, over a perfect mouth with
lips that looked extremely kissable, along the narrow blade of a
nose and finally stopped at those intense eyes of his. They
reminded me—he reminded me—of Christian Grey from my favorite book,
Fifty Shades of Grey.

“There you are. Are you afraid of me?” he
asked, his lips curling up at the corners.

“No, of course not.”

“Good. Then what’s wrong?”

“I just…it’s the compliment. I wasn’t
expecting it.”

“Why?” he asked, still holding my chin.
“Don’t you believe you’re beautiful?”

Without knowing it, he’d hit the target dead
in the center. Bulls eye. Did I believe I was beautiful? Absolutely
not. I was normal. Average. Acceptable. “I believe…my mother is
beautiful.”

“Ah.” His brows rose. Did any guy in the
world have more perfect eyebrows? “Yes, she is. She is a stunningly
beautiful woman. But…”

“But…?” My heart twisted. Had he decided he
wasn’t interested in her anymore? Why? Because she was in a
wheelchair? Did that make her less than a woman to him? Less than
perfect?

What about me? I wasn’t perfect either. I
wasn’t a living fashion doll, a size zero. I didn’t have money for
expensive pedicures and manicures or dye jobs. I came from the
wrong side of town. I didn’t go to a fancy private school for
girls. I didn’t know which fork to use if there was more than one.
“But she’s in a wheelchair?”