A Bad Boy Billionaire: Forbidden Alpha Male Romance Read Free

over the water of the lake in the aforementioned Card novel. Cum first, then me.
    Dirty? Erotic? The curves of her hips and the way her lips spoke to me. And, just now, remembering then quickly forgetting. Deep in the passage of text. I do not object. Abject reality. The thought was a review about 50 Shades of Grey. Some of them are quite funny. And yet she sells. The particular one I noted was one with an UPDATE:: with a breakdown of phrases used over and over and over again. I fall prey to, but I have to stop – as any good writer should – to wonder about why the novel grew wings and flew to the top of the list.
    Listen up. Hear me moan – with words. Because of vowels and consonants I can construct around the C word of one of my compatriots. One outside the timeline and no, not Hemingway or Chandler but maybe my namesake. I hide and consume the crumbs on the plate. I wanted to fuck her. So bad. Magic orgasm fingers to make her cum with just a touch, just a look. And “Oh my” and gush, lush and a lack of trust. Only light spanking please.
    But for real, I wanted to sleep next to her, but like Thompson said love without sex is as bad as sex without love. Or maybe I've messed his quote up. Fucked it up. On the edge. I hover at the spot just before the event horizon of the black hole in the center of the Milky Way. And I love the way her pink hole opens up like a flower at my touch. I thrust in, retreat, replenish and take another inch or two of ground. Inside her. I explode like the sun. Such fun.
    I occupy her time like a 99-percenter waiting on the bus or mass transit. Perhaps by necessity. Perhaps telling themselves it's for a bigger cause. Slight pause as on the public transportation a unique cross section of society can be seen. But not in New York or Paris as in some story of old. Online. The new frontier. The Wild Wild (West) Web or World Wide Tubes of information – and naked pictures. Erotica? What must I write to cause you to think and in the act of thinking for yourself become wet – or hard.
    Wet or hard? Contemplating possible positions before she arrives. It's well past the time she was supposed to be here and I know life never goes how you want it to go. And yet, at the same time, so flush with cash, I have come to expect certain treatments, a relaxing of the laws of physics for the right price. And what makes money make money! Laughter. Gay Paree. But not in that way. Giant search engine companies – mammoth corporations answer questions and allow people to ask them. Why is the city called that? A marketing flap? An oddly high occurrence of men and women both wearing hats?
    When she arrives, I can't control myself and rush across the room – vast distances for the wealthy – and embrace her. I chase her with my thoughts, looking into the soul of her eyes. I see she is surprised. Usually the rich are not happy. I'm strangely rich, newly rich, and as the pop culture fans would say – ridiculously rich (as in Ritchie Rich) – but she senses a change in me demeanor. Since the last time we met. Her name was Toni. She put my pieces back together in the proper order. Man, she took a stand and would not let me penetrate her but she touched me.
    My mood suddenly sinks. Then I blink. I often forget. Her smile ignites the mood and I'm able to continue. The back patio? The pool? The upstairs third floor room with a view? At the top of my very own fairy tale tower? So grim and prim usually but here in wonderland she opens up. She undresses and we wander the halls. We fuck against the walls. We use nasty words to convey the meaning. The dirty talk echoes through the emptiness of the wealth around us. I sent the staff home early. I was king of the castle.
    I bed my princess more slowly in my bedroom. The tower awaits, but down here grounded in reality I can take my time to enjoy the shape of her nipples, the way they are located perfectly for the size and shape of her mounds of flesh. I kiss them, gently