Sold To The Billionaire: Bad Boy Romance Read online

  I step inside, halfway stunned. The door closes behind me, harder than necessary. What the fuck did Dad get me into? Who the hell is this Luke Mercer guy? I take off my jacket.

  What the fuck is going to happen to me? This guy’s nothing like what I expected. Part of me figured that this was some sort of sex thing. He was going to get me for a little while, fuck me, and that cleared the debt. Ten grand is quite a lot of money, probably quite a lot of fucking.

  That wouldn’t have surprised me. It wouldn’t have been pleasant, and I would have tried my damnedest to get out of it. But I would have understood it.

  But as it stands, I feel more like a hostage, being kept until the money comes. Except it’s never going to, and both of us know it. So now I’m essentially his property?

  What does that even mean? What happened to the women’s liberation movement? Wasn’t that whole thing supposed to stop shit like this?

  Was I being sex-trafficked? My eyes widened. He wanted to get ten grand out of me. He thought there was no way Dad was going to pay him, so he was going to have to ‘get his money’s worth’ out of me.

  The idea hadn’t even occurred to me before, but now it seemed impossibly likely. He was going to sell me to some eastern European sex ring and they were going to pass me around until I didn’t know which way was up. Until I had no choice but to get killed by someone for knowing too much, or kill myself for seeing too much.

  I don’t want to lose it. I need to be smart here, and I need to be tough. But when I lay down, my body starts shaking all on its own, and a minute later, I feel the hot, wet trails of tears running down my cheeks.

  Three

  Luke

  I ought to have known better than to believe that Bill was going to pay me. When you know that someone isn’t going to pay their debts, it’s not a big deal when they squelch. It’s not like you were ever going to get their money, no matter how much you might have wanted it or tried to get it.

  Same principle here. I knew. Or, I should have known. Nobody shows up with no cash in their pocket and then pays their debts. It’s why you don’t clean them out. You take just enough money to see that they’ll show green.

  Then you can start thinking about playing for blood. But when someone just shows up and thinks that he’s hot shit… well, I didn’t think. I thought that it would be real nice to be able to teach him a lesson. And that was where I got myself into trouble. I guess in the end it’s really all my fault that this shit happened. I should have known better, right?

  Well, if I’m going to get something out of this girl, the place hasn’t been cleaned in a while. Maria’s been out of town, and that means that I’m not getting the maid service I’m supposed to be getting.

  That’s not going to pay her off any time soon, of course. There’s not that much work to be done around here, maybe three hours a week. Even if we pay an absurd amount of money, that’s not two hundred dollars a week. That’s five weeks to make a grand. Fifty weeks? A year?

  Jesus. I don’t have a year. And of course, it doesn’t count feeding her. It’s not like I can let the girl go hungry. So I’ll be spending more than I’m making back on her every week, without a doubt. She’ll end up just owing me more money.

  But it’s a start, right? So I write it down. Clean the house. I make a checklist. Windows, clean dishes into the cupboards, dirty dishes into the dishwasher for tomorrow. Get rid of anything expired in the fridge and make a list of what we need. Get together a list of foods she needs in the house for herself. Sweep up the floors.

  I let out a long breath. It’s a start. At least I can go away not having to think that I’ve lever her with nothing to do. That’s the best I can hope for, right?

  The note’s on the bathroom door. No way she’s going to miss it. At least, I tell myself that. Leave for work. I could do it from home. Most of the time, I do. But at this point, I don’t want to stick around when there’s some chance that I’m going to distract her. For that matter, I don’t want her distracting me.

  I repeat to myself the mantra I’ve been repeating since Bill Ashley told me that he was going to give me his daughter for ten grand. If she wanted to fuck, then she would say something about it. I don’t have to pay women for it. So in the end, I’m not getting any money out of it. I’d really like to make money, not just cut costs. As much as it might be a good time, burying myself inside her gets me neither.

  I have to get that image out of my head. I turn back to the graph. I need to work. I need to get my head on straight and get work done. But now all I’m thinking about is her tits, and her wide hips, and how nice it would be to taste that forbidden fruit. But no. She’s my cleaning lady, now, I guess. As a rule, I don’t fuck them.

  The day does what it always does. Trading isn’t my favorite game. It’s gambling, same as anything, I guess. But it’s all about reading patterns and hoping that you’re reading them right. With very few exceptions, it’s a matter of luck, day trading.

  You can make a mint just sitting on one stock as it grows. Almost ten percent growth on average. Higher if you make the right calls.

  Or you can double your money in a heartbeat, if you bet it right. But like I said, it’s mostly just guessing. There’s nothing really to it. That’s if you want to be average, make a little money, but nothing amazing.

  I didn’t get to where I am today by being average. Which means that I don’t really have a whole lot of time to be fucking around imagining fucking a girl whose name I barely know. Kate’s cute. Imminently fuckable. But she’s not for me and I don’t want her.

  The day goes slow. Of course it does. I’m distracted, and I’m not making money. Like I said, it’s mostly luck. With few exceptions. But not without exception. I’m at least on a level today that I’m not losing money. I walk away with my money still in my pocket, at least, and that’s something. More than Bill fucking Ashley can say.

  Then I head home. Ease the car into the usual spot, beside the lift. The garage door is locked, just like it was when I left it. That’s not that weird. I turn the key, turn the knob, and step inside.

  I don’t spend a ton of time here, and when I am at home, I don’t generally make a mess. So it’s not immediately obvious whether or not she’s swept. There’s a penny on the floor, but that could be new. For that matter, she could just be a piss-poor cleaning woman, which is what it is.

  The slip is on the island in the kitchen. A checklist. Just like I left it. Nothing checked off. Dishes in the sink. Clean dishes in the dishwasher. A full fridge. No list of food to buy, even which isn’t that much of a fucking request.

  “Kate?” I raise my voice enough that there’s no doubt in my mind she heard me, assuming she’s even still here. Not that I know where she could have gone.

  There’s a sound from upstairs. But no response. I start up the steps.

  Her bedroom door is shut. I turn the handle and push. Something catches on the handle and holds the door from opening more than six inches or so. She’s sitting on her bed. Brooding.

  So I put my shoulder into the door. Wood cracks and something budges. I close the door and open it again, and a chair with a broken stretcher slips onto the ground and gets pushed out of the way.

  “Kate?” She doesn’t look at me. “You want to tell me why you couldn’t even do some simple chores?”

  “You’re not in charge of me.”

  “Stand up.” I put the threat into my tone, so I don’t have to speak it out loud. Stand up, or I’ll stand you up, and I’m not going to be gentle about it.

  She stands up.

  “You think you can defy me because I’m not around? Is that right?”

  She pulls a face.

  “Answer me.”

  “You’re not going to get out of this. You’re stuck with me at this point. And I’m stuck with you. So if you’re not going to do what I ask you to do when I’m not here, I’m going to have to make sure that I’m here to see you doing it.”

  She rolls her eyes and I see red.
“You know what? I’ve just gotten a good idea.”

  I pull out my phone. I do have a good idea. About a dozen good ideas that all come together at once in an instant of white-hot rage.

  “What’s that?” She says it with an air of contempt.

  “You’re going to get on your knees.”

  “What? You’re going to get me to suck your cock because you can’t get a woman stupid enough to do it for free?”

  I’m recording the whole conversation, now. That’s part of the appeal, I think. It’s an angle. A niche for me to fill. That’s the trick to making money in any business. Have an angle. Something that makes you stand out.

  “No,” I say simply. “I’m going to make money. I’m going to sell you to the whole world.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Get on your knees, babe.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can film you sucking my cock.”

  “What, am I supposed to look like I enjoy it? Like some kind of porn star?”

  “Look like whatever you want to look like. You hate me, don’t you?”

  “You’re catching on,” she growls. But she drops to her knees anyways, and starts undoing my belt for me.

  “But you’re still going to suck me off, aren’t you?”

  I’m already halfway hard when she gets me out of my boxers. It more than fills her hand, though she’s got smallish hands. Small everything, but proportionally, she’s big where it counts.

  She takes it into her mouth and bobs her head gently. God fucking damn. That’s good. She’s good at this. Better than I’d expected.

  “Anything to say to the camera?”

  She pulls my cock out of her mouth, but leaves her hand around it, jerking it slightly.

  “Fuck you, let’s get this over with.”

  “Good girl,” I say as she takes it back between her lips. God. Very good girl.

  Four

  Kate

  Maybe, if I’d told him off right away, then the whole problem would have gone away from the get-go. I could have just walked away from my worries, walked away from the whole thing. But I didn’t.

  There are a thousand excuses I could use. Luke is a big guy. I don’t think I could stop him, if he wanted to force me. But aside from busting into my room… well, busting into his room, really, he didn’t. So that excuse sounds really good, but it doesn’t work.

  Maybe I was afraid of him. But I’m not. And as the time goes by, his ‘punishments’ continuing to get stronger and stronger, I don’t get more afraid of him.

  I scroll through the browser on my phone. There’s no way to find the videos he takes. I know they’re out there, somewhere. After the first one, he puts something over my eyes to cover up. It’s the least he can do. But I never asked him to.

  My finger traces a slow, gentle circle around my clit. I never tell him about these times, searching through any place I can find to buy porn clips. Looking for myself. Looking for him. I wonder what name he uses? What description he gives of what’s going on here?

  What to people buying this stuff think about it? Do they think it’s all fake? All real? It turns me on to imagine that someone’s out there looking at all this. More than I would like to admit. Enough that I almost don’t mind doing it.

  I hear the garage door working itself open. Someone ought to take a look at it. Then again, it’s not my house. Not my garage. And not my money to get it fixed, either. So I keep my mouth shut. Ignoring things that can’t be changed is something I’ve got a lot of experience with.

  How can people believe this stuff? Women tied up in cages, like they’re kidnapping victims. But they’re perfectly happy. From the same clips they moan like whores when they’re fucked. Like they’re playing for the camera.

  I can’t fault someone for wanting to play-act for the camera. I’ve got a dramatic streak in me a mile wide. I can understand it pretty well. But there’s something else.

  “Kate?” His voice booms. I slip my hand out of my pants and lotion my hands. I can’t get caught having played with myself. The humiliation is one thing, but it would raise questions I’d rather not answer at this point. Questions about what I was thinking about. What I was doing.

  Once that’s done, I finally open the bedroom door. “I’m in my room,” I call up.

  I can hear his steps coming up the stairs. Heavy, slow. He’s mad about something. I wonder if it’s the little love note I left him on the counter.

  He’s got something crumpled in his hand. He doesn’t bother to show it to me before he launches into his tirade. “What’s this?”

  It’s a note. Like I thought it would be. It says ‘Fuck you’ on it. Luke doesn’t like it when I talk back; he likes it even less when I’m openly defiant and disrespectful.

  The one time that he doesn’t mind it so much is when the camera is rolling. But he doesn’t seem to realize that’s exactly the time that I’m looking forward to. Punishing me with his cock is like punishing a starving man with food.

  “What’s what?”

  “This,” Luke says. He holds the note out to me, unfolding it part-way with his thumb.

  “It says ‘fuck you,’” I offer with as helpful a tone as possible. “Why? Where’d you get that?”

  “You’ve been here for two weeks, and you think I can’t recognize your handwriting?”

  “Who says that?”

  His teeth click together. The angrier he gets, the more he punishes me. Sometimes, the camera doesn’t come out. Sometimes it’s just a show for an audience of none. Those are the most enjoyable.

  I can see in his eyes that he didn’t have a good day at work. That he’s angry because he knows that the note is the most petty thing I could think of that I knew would piss him off. I can see him working himself up. I can see my own efforts starting to pay off.

  “Do you want to piss me off? Is that what it is? And this is the best you can do?”

  I struggle to keep my face neutral. “I don’t want to piss you off. I didn’t write that note.”

  “And now you’re going to lie to my face?” Luke’s jaw grits tight. He blinks.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I have to fight to keep from smiling as anger flashes again across his face. He knows exactly what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m doing, too. One of us is going to get their way, at some point. I know it.

  “You’re not the least bit sorry. I can see it right there on your face.”

  He’s right. I’m not. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

  He eyes me hard. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Kate.”

  “Do you need to punish me?”

  He looks like he wants to punish me with a stiff right hand to the face. But he doesn’t. Luke is much too civilized. It’s a first for the type of man I’ve dealt with. I need to fix that before things get too far along and I end up having no fun at all.

  He grits his teeth and looks like he’s ready to let loose something really impressive. “Bend over,” he growls. No audience today? I shiver, and then I do what he tells me to.

  Luke’s fingers hook into the hips of my pants and pull down. For a moment the fabric fights him, refusing to go down over my wide hips, and then it slips down lower, and finally past the widest part of my body.

  His hands run gently along the smooth skin of my ass. I wonder dimly when it’s going to come. When I’m going to be left yelping in pain that feels deliciously bad.

  In an instant he pulls away and replaces his hand with a powerful thwack. My ass jiggles for just a second before it starts to burn with pain. I let out a low groan.

  He slaps it again. I shiver again. My body feels impossibly pleasant, like I’d never stopped. I wonder if he’s realized already that he’s not going to get me to stop this way. If he has, why does he still do it? If he hasn’t… how?

  I stretch my ass back further, tightening the skin until it almost hurts. He brings his hand down again and I straighten ref
lexively. Fuck, this is going to be good.

  I almost let out a groan when he steps back. I start to straighten myself out, start to stand up. But with a word, I press myself back into the bed, the way that he’d left me. Then a dark hood descends over my head, covering everything above my nose, and I hear his voice, low and confident.

  “Alright,” he says. “We’re recording.”

  Five

  Luke

  “Alright,” I say. I try to keep my voice low and calm. It’s easy to lose myself in this. It’s even easier not to care that I’ve lost it. So I have to be very careful.

  She’s teasing me. Taunting. Oh, sure. I know it, and she probably knows that I know. But how much of it is a game? I don’t know that. I don’t know if I care at this point.

  She’s still standing there; still bent over. Her ass is still round and tight and ready for me to get ready for it. I grind my teeth unconsciously. Step away and glance at the camera. The viewfinder shows us clearly in the frame.

  Then I reach into my pocket and pull out the leather strap that I picked up on my way home. She’s not going to see this coming. Maybe she’ll learn the lesson not to tease people. More than likely, though, she won’t learn anything. She’ll learn that I have a leather strap, and that she likes it.

  I set it down on the bed. It can wait. I can wait. I pull back with my hand and bring it down on her ass. She reacts by tightening up her body, but only for a moment. Her ass jiggles slightly. A pleasant image.

  “Oh, God.”

  “You like that?”

  I bring my hand down again. Harder. She lets out a little yelp. Her fingers curl up in the bed sheets.

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  I have to swallow the anger that raises in my chest. I shouldn’t respond. The more that I respond to her, the more that I encourage the testing of my boundaries. I don’t want her to test anything. What I want is for her to fucking listen to me.