Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle (47 page)

I took a break from talking to down a few gulps of water while Bo scratched his grizzled old chin. He was blind in his left eye, and he always seemed to be plotting something, mulling something over whenever I looked into the milky white orb that had once helped him to dodge and return blows with Muhammad Ali.

“Guys with it, they show it in different ways. I’d be careful with this feller, is all I’m saying. Might be a basket case. Might be man of the year. Probably somewhere in between, so it’s hard to say.”

I nodded. I didn’t have anything else to add. David Birch was still mostly a mystery to me—even though he had just been extremely intimate with the most forbidden and delicate parts of my body… And had not be gentle with them at all.

“All I’m saying is, kiddo… Be careful.”

~

When I got home, I showered once more—my third shower of the day. I always felt empowered after boxing. I always felt like I could take on the world and I was half-tempted to call David Birch right away, to tell him he could shove it—tell him that I was my own woman, that he had no right to threaten the agency into firing me.

But instead, I decided it would be more prudent to get some homework done. I had three lab reports due at the end of the week and I hadn’t even begun them. As I sifted through my email, piecing together bits of data that my lab partners had sent me—if they only knew what I did with my life when I wasn’t in lab!—curiosity got the better of me. I googled David Birch.

I got his company’s CEO bio page. It basically gave a gussied up version of his resume—born to a single-mother who worked at a truck stop in Montana. Valedictorian. Stanford.

Then—Marine Corps OCS and two tours in Afghanistan before being honorably discharged after a grenade knocked out his hearing.

Weird. I hadn’t noticed him being deaf. But it did prove Bo right.

After he came back from the war, he went to business school and from there, joined a private equity firm. Two years later, he left with several associates from the firm to start his own outfit. And now, he was a billionaire.

Not bad, Birch. Not bad at all.

There was surprisingly little information about him online besides what the company website said. He had gotten a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star in Afghanistan but that was about it as far as personal information went. He never showed up in gossip columns. He was never photographed stepping out with Jennifer Lawrence or Selena Gomez.

For all intents and purposes, he seemed like a powerfully private man. Interesting that a man so intent on maintaining his own privacy should be so good at stealing it from other people, so good at invading other people’s lives.

But then, maybe that’s where it all stemmed from? He knew how to maintain privacy and that taught him better than else how to take it away from other people.

I glanced at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. It was already late. I had let more than an hour go by researching David Birch. There was nothing else to find and besides, it wasn’t healthy to let him take over my life like this. At least… Not yet.

I’d call him in the morning. And I wouldn’t think about him until then. I had work to do. At least… That’s what I told myself.

~

As soon as I woke up the next morning, I wanted to call him. What would I even say? I forced myself to wait till 8 AM, instead focusing on making myself a nice breakfast and reviewing the problem sets assigned for this week’s organic chemistry lectures.

But once the clock struck eight, I dug out the business card and dialed the number.

It rang and rang and rang. Maybe he wasn’t awake yet. Maybe he was in a meeting.

Maybe he had some other young thing in his lap right now.

The call went to voice mail.

“This is David Birch’s cell phone….” An uncomfortable pause. He clearly wasn’t used to dealing with his own technological issues. He probably had an assistant do stuff like this usually. Or maybe he wanted to add something threatening in? Something like “You’d better have a damned good reason for having this number…”

“I’m not available right now, so please leave your name, number, and I’ll get back to you shortly.”

Then, the ubiquitous, ever present beep.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, mister billionaire,” I blurted out. I sounded like a child but I didn’t care. All the anger of the past day came flooding back. Sure, I had managed to beat it down with boxing and chemistry, but now it was erupting and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“You think it’s okay to interfere in people’s lives like that? That was my job. You… you know what I’m talking about.”

I was afraid to say anything on the voice mail that directly implicated me in prostitution so I did my best to keep things purposely vague.

“You can’t treat people like that. You can’t treat me like that. That was rotten of you, you bastard… You… Fuck…”

I was petering out, losing steam. I needed to end this.

“I want you to call them right away and tell them you made a mistake, that they need to give me my old job back. Or… or else.”

I felt my cheeks burning. This was dumb. So, so, so dumb. I wished I could erase the message. I wished I could do it all over again. I wished I could have just avoided meeting with him altogether in the first place.

The voicemail clicked off. That was it. I wasn’t about to leave a second message.

I tried to put the message out of my mind. I had to get ready for class, after all. But it was too hard to forget the way I had embarrassed myself. I could imagine David listening to it over and over again, laughing, maybe even playing it for his friends and colleagues—here, listen to the vague threats that last night’s hooker left me!

I felt like I was on the verge of tears all day. I could barely pay attention in lecture. I hid in the back of the hall, glowering at my computer screen as I willed my fingers to take notes.

When the class ended, I wandered out of class, feeling like I had understood nothing, like I had heard nothing. I really might as well have skipped class. Stupid David Birch. This was all his fault.

As I streamed out of the chemistry building with the hordes of NYU undergrads, I bumped into a solid, well-suited figure. I looked up—my eyes had been focused on my dirty sneakers. I wasn’t exactly the type of girl who gets all dressed up for class.

It was, of course, David Birch.

“I got your message,” he said with a smooth grin. “And I’ve got twenty minutes until my next meeting. It’s in midtown. Ride with me?”

He gestured to the limo parked directly behind him.

“I don’t know. Are you paying me for this?” I asked coldly. “I guess I could take PayPal.”

“Why don’t we discuss it in the car?”

I knew it was dangerous and stupid but I followed him into the limo. As I turned around and watched the tinted windows roll up, cutting me off from all the students milling around outside, I wondered what they thought—seeing this slobby girl get into a car with—with that man…

~

“It was terrible of you to get me fired from the agency,” I growled at David as soon as we were off.

“I know, I know… But what can I say? I don’t like to share my toys.”

“I’m not your toy,” I growled back. “I’m my own person and…”

David was already undoing his pants. So. This was what he wanted.

“If you want money, I’ll just give you cash. What’s your going rate for a blow job?”

“The agency always handled that.”

“Maybe I can just pay you in gifts?”

“I’d prefer cash,” I said coolly. “I don’t want you thinking this is anything more than it is…”

I reached into his pants and slid down his boxers. His hard, magnificent cock sprang out. God, but it was a nice cock—I felt my insides churn pleasantly at the memory of having him inside me, the pleasant ache of what his meat had done to me still echoing in my body…

I began to lick him, starting at the base of his cock, sliding my tongue up ever so slowly, working my way from his shaft up to the thick head of his dick. Mr. Birch sighed in delight, leaning back in the limo seat.

“God, but nothing hits the spot like a hot, wet mouth in the middle of the day.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I murmured as he ran his hand through my hair. I began to suckle his balls, teasing and nibbling at his wrinkled flesh. He glanced out the window.

“We’re getting close. You should go to work.”

As if this weren’t work already! He didn’t understand anything about teasing… About building anticipation… What did I expect, after all? He was still a man.

I engulfed him with my mouth, allowing his cock to invade me, impaling my face on his shaft. I gagged a little as I let it slide down my throat, closing my eyes in concentration as I forced myself, forced my throat to accept his thickness, to accept the fat cock that was working its way into me, into my mouth…

Then, I began to bob my head. David grunted in delight, his hips bucking as I sucked him, bucking as I played with his balls, teasing his hot skin and tugging at his shaft.

“Fuck, that’s good…” he growled, grabbing me hard by the hair and pressing my face into his crotch. I gagged and gasped on his cock but I kept my composure, working harder and harder, working faster, slurping shamelessly at his cock as I sucked him.

“Fuck…” he moaned, pressing his hips forward. Suddenly, I felt his cock begin to spasm and pulse in my mouth. I knew what was coming and I took his shaft as deep as I could, gagging myself on his cock as I forced it into my mouth hole. Finally, he began to pump his load into me, spraying his seed down my throat. The hot, sticky cum hit the back of my throat in steady succession, eliciting gags from my body as I took his cum.

Finally, as he finished, I pulled off his cock, gasping and a little dizzy—both from lack of oxygen and from having been on my knees in the back of a moving car.

“That wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, cum still leaking out of my mouth.

The partition rolled down suddenly.

“Mr. Birch, we’re here, sir.”

“Excellent, James. Well-driven.”

“Cash,” I growled, glaring at him. “Now.”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have any cash on me…” Birch said with mock disappointment. He went into what seemed like some sort of mini-bar cabinet built into the woodwork of the limousine’s interior.

“All I’ve got… Is this.”

He revealed the contents of the cabinet: a Tiffany’s necklace. With a diamond. A big fucking diamond.

“Holy shit,” I gasped. He fastened it around my neck and I almost burst out laughing. It looked positively ridiculous against my ratty old sweatshirt. There was no way I could wear something so nice. I immediately took it off and slid it into my pocket.

“And there’s more where that came from—of course.”

“Of course,” I said with an eye roll.

“James will take you home. Since you so kindly called and left me a message, I have your number—so I’ll call you when I need you again.”

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “Call whenever. I’m a free agent now, I guess.”

And with that, Birch blew me a kiss and, having zipped up his pants and re-fastened his belt, piled out of the limo.

Paris

I didn’t hear from David Birch until next Friday. That morning, as I was coming home from the gym, my phone rang and when I glanced down, Birch’s name was blinking.

Yes, I had entered him as one of my contacts. I felt like I owed it to him, after the necklace—if nothing else.

Answering him was one of the hardest things I had ever done but the fact was, I knew not answering him would be even harder. I knew what I had to do.

In fact… I knew what I wanted to do.

“Hel… Hello?” I answered nervously, biting my lip without realizing it.

“Latoya. What are you doing this weekend?”

His voice was cool, calm, collected.

“I… I don’t know… Studying…” I replied lamely.

“No new clients?”

In fact, I hadn’t managed to get any. I made a few half hearted attempt on craigslist to lure in new clients but it hadn’t gone anywhere. Instead of clients willing to pay my hefty hourly fee (at four-hundred dollars an hour, with a three hour minimum, I was anything but cheap), all I got were spam bots demanding that I sign up for scam sites which promised to divert hundreds of viewers an hour to my cam girl site. No thanks.

“No… None.”

“Good. Well, one of your old clients wants to see you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to see him.”

I waited to see what he would say.

“You make me angry sometimes, Latoya…” he growled.

“Do I?”

“You do. And I think you like making me angry.”

“I smiled in spite of myself.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“We’ve got tickets for a red-eye to Paris. It’s first class. I’ll have my driver pick you up.”

I froze.

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke, Latoya. Not about things like this.”

And then he hung up.

I sat down in shock. Had he really just invited me to Paris for the weekend? That was like an eight hour flight! That was insane. There was no way I could go. No way.

But then I checked my email. It had to be a joke.

But no. There was the ticket. The ticket to Paris.

Attached to the email was a little message.

“Don’t disappoint me. Be ready to go at 4 AM. And you’re going to miss your Monday classes.”

I groaned inwardly. I had a test on Monday. What the hell was I supposed to do?

Jesus Christ, Latoya. What is there to do? Go to Paris. Go to fucking Paris on this billionaire’s dollar.

~

And so, the next morning, I was up bright and early. Bright, maybe, is a misnomer—it wasn’t yet bright outside yet. The sun had not yet risen and people were still partying from the night before, dance music still blasting through the streets and down the halls of my building.

But I didn’t care. I was going to Paris.

At 4 AM sharp, a black car rolled up outside my building. I knew what it was even before I got the call.

“Ms. Wright?”

“Yes?” I asked, answering the mysterious call from a hidden number at four in the morning. In any other situation, it would have been terrifying but here, it was magical.

“The car is waiting for you downstairs.”

And so, taking a day bag with a few changes of clothing (the nicest stuff I owned) and a backpack with my laptop and notebooks (to do homework… fat chance), I trudged downstairs, too excited to be sleepy.

I expected to see Birch in the car when I climbed in but I was greeted by an empty back seat and a garment bag.

“Er, are we picking up Mr. Birch on the way to the airport?” I asked the driver timidly.

“Mr. Birch won’t be able to make the flight—he’ll be on a later one. But he sent the garment bag along for you—a few items in there that you’re to take on the flight.”

Items, huh? As the car pulled away from the curb outside my apartment, I unzipped the back and gasped. A blood red Vera Wang dress. It was gorgeous and it looked like it would fit my curves beautifully. I didn’t know what to say.

And of course, I brought my necklace. I wanted to be perfect for him.

Perfect. I did want to be perfect for him. Okay, David Birch. You win. We can play this game and I’ll let you win. I’ll lose, so long as this is what losing means…

I got to the airport in record time owing to the empty streets. The driver courteously opened the door for me as porters rushed over to collect my bags. I could tell that David had planned this all out. He was clearly showing off, even now—and it showed.

And he hadn’t been lying about first class. Let me tell you, if you’ve never flown first class… Well, I never once in my life thought I’d be flying first class but it truly is an experience. Most everyone else on the flight was asleep but the flight attendants immediately brought me a glass of champagne and a small tasting plate of caviar—seriously.

My stomach delightfully full of salty fish eggs and fine, dry champagne, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, only to awake in Charles de Gaulle international airport…

~

Birch had booked a room for us in the Bristol Hotel. When the private driver pulled up to the hotel, I had to gasp. In a city fully of beautiful, luxurious sights—this one really took the cake.

They were expecting my arrival too. Even though it was early, the porters seemed perfectly on their toes and dashed about, taking my bags and leading me up to my room—a magnificent suite with a gorgeous view of Parisian rooftops and, in the distance, with the sun rising behind it, the Eiffel Tower.

And there, in the room was…

Holding a glass of champagne in his hand, shirtless, having just come back from a run, apparently (who drinks champagne after a run?)…

Was David Birch.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said with a perfectly delicious, perfectly cold smile.

“You!” I squealed in delight, dropping my bags unceremoniously on the floor. The porter behind me dashed over to pick them up.

“How… how did you get here before me? I thought you missed the flight?!” Was he capable of time traveling now in addition to everything else? It made no sense whatsoever!

“I did. In fact, I had never planned on being on the flight. I’ve been in Berlin all week for a conference and I decided on a whim to see if the Bristol had any vacancies. When I found that Kanye had cancelled his reservation for this room… Well, I just had to snatch it up.”

He began to glide over to me, taking a long, slow sip of champagne.

“And who better to share it with than you, my dear?”

He finished the glass in a single gulp and tossed it to the porter who caught it, though not without a truly alarmed look on his face.

“We’re going to be busy but bring us another bottle in… Shall we say two hours?”

“Oui, monsieur!” the porter said with a quick nod, still slightly panicked from having seen the glass almost break as he wandered out of the room and shut the huge, gorgeously carved oak doors behind him.

“Now… Why don’t we shower? I’ve just had a workout and I’m sure you’ve had a long flight.”

I bit my lip and followed him, as if in a dream, into the huge, luxurious bathroom. It was all marble and gold fixtures, with—god, incredible!—its own balcony. There was even a hot tub out on the balcony. A bathroom with its own open air hot tub and balcony!

Birch began to strip off his sweat pants and in a second, he was totally naked. I found myself whimpering a little in delight and anticipation, admiring his chiseled abs, his powerful pecs, those broad shoulders, and powerful legs… And the flaccid, though slowly hardening cock in between his legs.

“Well, are you just going to stand there?” he asked with a quick, easy grin. “You can’t shower in those clothes!”

I was jerked out of my reverie when he crossed to me and began to strip me—by force. He caught my lips with his as he forced my sweatshirt over my head and deftly undid my bra. I gasped in surprise, feeling my breasts, my sensitive nipples, pressed up against his hard, powerful chest.

“Oh, David…” I murmured softly, running my hands over his moist, sweaty skin, savoring his powerful scent—the smell of a man who was physical and primal and, more than anything else, in charge.

“Latoya… I want to give you everything…” he whispered as he began to slide my Juicy sweatpants down, hooking his fingers into the waistband and working them down my long, shapely legs, along with my panties. “I want to make you mine… I want you to submit to me completely…”

Yes, this was what he had wanted all along. Could I give in to him? Did I dare?

Yes. Yes, I did dare.

“Yes, David… Please… I want that…”

“Good girl…” he cooed, running his hands over my hot flesh. Now, all I wore was the Tiffany’s necklace. Gently, he reached behind my neck and undid the clasp, removing it and laying it delicately, with enormous care, on the bathroom counter.

“Don’t want this getting damaged… We might get a little rough. A little wild.”

“Really?” I asked, grinning as I sank to my knees. I knew what he wanted. I knew what he liked first.

“Really.”

“But what about this, first?” I asked, sliding my lips along his cock. He was already hardening—had gotten about half hard by the time he had undressed me—but I felt the blood in his dick come alive when my lips touched it. I loved the way his cock awoke under my lips, under my tongue, twitching as I wrapped my lips around his shaft.

“Good girl…” he cooed, running a hand through my hair. I gasped as he pulled hard and whimpered as he gripped me hard, letting me lick, letting me slurp as I ran my tongue and lips all over his shaft, sloppy at first and then more practiced, more delicate.

His length was fully hard now, his thick, pink-purple cockhead standing at attention proudly. I ran the tip of my tongue from the base of his dick all the way up to the tip, teasing the hole at the very top and eliciting hot, hungry grunts from his lips.

“Don’t tease me like that.”

“You act like we don’t have time to tease…” I insisted, running my fingers along his balls and teasing them every so slightly.

I gasped as he gripped me hard by the hair.

“Now you’re in my world. Now, I use you, Latoya—for what I want.”

Those words sent delicious, electric shivers up and down my spine as he forced his cock into my mouth. I gagged but I was a pro at this: I let it slide down my throat with barely a whimper as I began to bob my head, taking his length deep, deep into my throat, letting it slide out fast before engulfing it once more in my hot, wet mouth.

“Fuck, yes, that’s right… That’s right, Latoya. Suck my cock. Suck my cock.”

He groaned in delight, his hips thrusting involuntarily into my mouth. I gagged and gasped onto his dick, surprised by the sudden invasion of the back of my throat by his cockhead. But I kept it together. I kept deep-throating him, just like every good whore knows how to…

“You’re mine now, Latoya. You don’t realize it yet but I’m going to mold you into the perfect woman… I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. You’re going to be my little sex slave—my perfect, beautiful little girl.”