What He Wants

WHAT HE WANTS (WHAT HE WANTS, BOOK
ONE)

(AN ALPHA BILLIONAIRE EROTIC
ROMANCE)

by Hannah Ford

Copyright 2014, Hannah Ford, all
rights reserved.
 
This book is a
work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
 
This book
contains sexual situations and explicit language, and is suitable for those
readers over 18.

Noah

I wanted to fuck her as soon as I saw
her.
 
That curvy little body was
all tarted up in a tight little black dress, and those nice round tits were
practically spilling out the top.
 
Her dark hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, and she sipped
on a drink, her full pink lips pretty and pouty and just made for sucking my
dick.

I sat at the bar and watched her for a
while, biding my time.
 
She was at
some kind of party – bachelorette from what I could tell, and it was
almost enough to put me off the whole idea.
 
Women at bachelorette parties were a particular kind of
crazy, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with.
 

A couple of blonde women at the other end
of the bar were staring at me, and I tried not to encourage them by making eye contact.
 
Not that it was difficult.
 
I couldn’t stop staring at that shapely
little vixen on the other side of the room.
 
Her dress hit just below the knee, and when she turned
around, giving me a view of that gorgeous round ass, my cock got hard.

I was so transfixed that I didn’t realize
one of the blondes had made her way over to me.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she
tried.
 
I almost sighed out of
boredom, but that was too rude, even for me.
 

“I doubt it,” I said, although it was
entirely possible that she did know me from somewhere.
 
Thankfully, I knew I probably hadn’t
slept with her.
 
She wasn’t my type
– too blonde, too skinny, too much like a Barbie.

“No, I know I recognize you.”
 
She motioned to her friend, another
bottled blonde, to come over.
 
“Alexa, isn’t this Noah Cutler?”
 

Apparently she didn’t think it would make
more sense to just ask me if I was Noah Cutler.
 
I took a sip of my drink and resisted the urge to roll my
eyes.

From across the room, I watched as the
curvy bombshell made her way to a table all by herself, peeling herself off
from the rest of the party.
 

“Yes!” the blonde’s friend said.
 
“You gave that speech at my graduation
last year.
 
I absolutely loved it.”

“I’m glad,” I lied.
 
I didn’t give a shit if she loved my
speech or not.
 
College was
bullshit, the kind of thing people thought they needed, when really, I hadn’t
learned anything in college that I couldn’t have learned on my own.

I drained the rest of my drink and
concentrated on the brunette.
 
She
turned toward me, pushing her hair back from her face, and I was struck again
by her beauty.
 
She happened to
look up just at that moment, and our eyes met.

She turned away quickly, embarrassed.

I had to have her.

And then, just like that, I saw my
opening.

Some dickhead guy was making his way over
to her.
 
Jealousy and
possessiveness flooded me.
 
She was
mine.
 
And I was going to make sure
I had her tonight.

“Excuse me,” I said to the blondes.
 

And then I went to go claim my prize.

Charlotte

I saw the sexy stranger before he saw me.

He was standing in the corner of the bar,
two beautiful blonde women draped on his arm.
 
One of the women was bent over, whispering something in his
ear, and when she threw her head back and laughed, he glanced up and met my
eye.
 

I quickly looked away, embarrassed that
he’d caught me staring.
 
Men like
him – tall, dark hair, full lips, sexy stubble on his ruggedly handsome
face –weren’t interested in women like me.
 
Besides, I wasn’t here to meet a man.
 
I was here for a bachelorette party.

Not that the party was anything to get
too excited about.
 
I hated parties
as a rule, and bachelorette parties were a particularly heinous form of
torture.
 
Especially one where I
didn’t know anyone but the bride, who was a fellow law student at Middleton University.
 

I thought coming to this party might help
me meet some of my classmates – Cora seemed to know everyone in our class
-- but all it was doing so far was reminding me how much I hated to
socialize.
 
Oh, and making me
realize that Cora, even though she was engaged, apparently subscribed to the
theory that whatever happened at bachelorette parties stayed at bachelorette
parties, because she’d been throwing herself at different men all night. Right
now she was out on the dance floor, grinding on a man wearing plaid dress
pants.

I took a sip of my drink – ginger
ale with cranberry, my usual, because it made me seem like I was drinking
alcohol even when I wasn’t– and tried to look busy.
 
The last thing I wanted was one of the
party-goers to come over and try to drag me into their dance frenzy.

And then, suddenly, he was by my side.

No, not the sexy stranger I’d been trying
to avoid staring at, but another man.

This one was paunchy, slightly balding,
and had hairy knuckles.
 

“Let me buy you a drink, sweetheart,” he
slurred.
 
I sighed.
 
Men like him always tried to hit on
me.
 
They thought that since I was
considered a “bigger girl” they’d have more of a chance with me.
 
What they didn’t understand was that
just because I was carrying a few extra pounds didn’t mean I was
desperate.
 

“No, that’s okay,” I said politely.
 
I indicated the drink I was
holding.
 
“I already have one.”

He frowned, like he was trying to work
out a particularly hard math problem.
 
Then, brightening, he reached out, took the drink from my hand and
poured it onto the floor.
 
“There!” he exclaimed, proud of
himself.
 
“Now you need another
one.”

I was so shocked, I wasn’t sure what the
appropriate response was. The man leaned in and slung his arm over my
shoulder.
 
“Come on,” he said, his
breath smelling of alcohol and garlic.
 
“Lemme buy you a drink.”

“Leave her alone,” someone growled, and
before I knew what was happening, the sexy man from across the bar had grabbed
the back of the pudgy man’s shirt and had tossed him to the side.

“Hey!” the man protested.
 
He stumbled for a few steps, almost
hitting the table behind us, then readjusted his suit coat.
 
“What the hell do you think you’re
doing?”

But my knight in shining armor gave him a
menacing look, and after thinking about it, the man slunk away, back to his to
group of friends.

“You okay?” the gorgeous stranger
asked.
 
Up close, he was just as
sexy, although less polished than I’d first thought.
 
He wore an expensive suit, but his white shirt was
unbuttoned at the top and rumpled, like he’d spent the day getting into fights
instead of behind a desk.

“I’m fine.”
 
My throat had gone dry.
 
This man was big – tall, at least six foot three, with
broad shoulders and huge hands.
 
I
was five ten and carried more weight than I probably should have – most
men made me feel big and oafish around them, but this man made me feel
tiny.
 
I imagined him grabbing me
with those big hands of his, and heat flooded my core.

“What were you drinking?”

I was way too embarrassed to tell him I
was drinking cranberry and ginger ale.
 
“Um, vodka and cranberry.”

He frowned, like this was
unacceptable.
 
He reached his hand
up and motioned for the cocktail waitress.
 
His sleeve slid back for a moment, revealing a beautiful
silver watch and a strong-looking forearm.
 
Not that I was surprised –Cora had chosen this bar
precisely because it was supposed to be height of sophistication.
 
But she must have gotten something
wrong, because even though the clientele
did
seem sophisticated – mostly young professionals, out after work on a
Friday night –a lot of them were already sloppy drunk.
 
Not this man, though – this man
was completely in control of himself and his surroundings.

The cocktail waitress appeared as if out
of nowhere.
 
“What can I getcha?”

“Two Manhattans,” the man said.
 
He set his empty glass down on the
waitress’s tray.
 
I didn’t know
what a Manhattan was, but I was pretty sure it had whiskey in it.
 
Whiskey sounded dangerous and scary,
the kind of thing you shouldn’t be drinking unless you had sophisticated tastes
and a high tolerance for alcohol.

“Oh, no,” I tried.
 
“I’ll just have a – ”

But the suited stranger flicked his
wrist, sending the waitress away before I could finish.

He turned around and gave me a
smile.
 
“It’s good to try new
things.”

“I try new things.”
 
My tone was more defensive than I’d
meant, but it was kind of a sore spot for me.
 
I wasn’t known for being adventurous – in fact, the
most adventurous thing I’d done lately was taken a hot yoga class – but
this man didn’t know that.
 
He
didn’t know anything about me.
 
And
yet he was surveying me with a certain familiarity, like he could tell I was
the kind of person who didn’t try new things.
 
It was unnerving.

The man’s eyes raked up my body, like he
was trying to decide what, if anything, he should do with me.
 
Instantly, I felt self-conscious, and I
shifted on my chair.
  
“You
here by yourself?” he asked.

“No.”
 
I swallowed.
 
“Bachelorette party.”

“Fun,” he said, sounding like he knew it
was anything but. He gestured to the candy bracelet I was wearing, another one
of Cora’s bright ideas.
 
“What’s
with that?”

“Oh,” I said, fingering it.
 
“It’s … it’s kind of game.
 
You know, for the party.”
 
I gestured to the dance floor, where most
of the party guests had morphed from dancing to completely over-the-top, crazy
gyrating.
 
Men, sensing their
chance to possibly get lucky, had jumped into the mix, creating a colorful blur
of sweaty bodies.

My companion didn’t even turn to
look.
 
“And?”

“And what?”

“And what are you supposed to do with
it?”
 
He reached out and tugged on
the bracelet.
 
His fingers against
my skin sent an electric current flying up my spine.
 
The elastic bracelet zinged back and hit my wrist.

“It’s too embarrassing to mention.”

“Try me.”

The waitress returned with our drinks,
and the man grabbed them off the tray in one fluid motion and handed one to
me.
 
I hesitated.
 
I didn’t usually drink.
 
In fact, I’d just turned twenty-one.

“Well,” I said, taking the glass he was
offering.
 
“We’re supposed to get
different men to bite one of the candies off, and then have them sign our
arms.”

He laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing
I’ve ever heard.”

“I know.”
 
I shrugged.
 
“But how could I really say no? Everyone else was doing it.”

“Do you always do things just because
everyone else is doing them?”
 
A brief
look of amusement crossed his face, like he couldn’t imagine doing something
just because everyone else was.
 
Then he reached out and took my arm, turning it over to inspect my
wrist.
 
“You don’t have any
signatures.”
 
His finger slid over
my pulse point, then moved slowly up my elbow before he finally let go.
 
His hands weren’t what I would expect
from someone wearing such an expensive watch – his fingers betrayed
something else, a hard past or maybe manual labor.
 
They were manly and slightly rough, not the kind that came
from typing briefs all day and dialing an Iphone.