Dirty Filthy Billionaire [Part One] Read online

I turn my body toward her, resting my hand on the back of her chair. “You do know what a BDSM club is, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, of course,” she says quickly. “I mean, it’s been a while but…”

  Now I can’t help but laugh. This is too much. It’s too…innocent. Too cute. Which means this will be too easy, bordering on cruel. I wanted to throw her off by bringing her here, but it seems that she really has no idea what goes on in a place like this.

  “Mia,” I say. She turns her face to me, and I nod for her to move closer. I rest my hand on the exposed skin of her back and feel an immediate flash of excitement through my body. “Do you know what that stands for?” She pauses, but then slumps the slightest bit and shakes her head no as if she’s conceding defeat. “It stands for,” I say, then lean right into her neck, smelling her hair and skin, “bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.”

  I can see her skin flush red—it starts on her ample chest and rises to her face. “Good to know,” she says.

  “Are you frightened?”

  “I’m not scared,” she says.

  “Sure,” I say, sliding my hand across her skin before moving away from her. “Come on, get your drink. I’ll show you around.”

  I guide her to the back of the bar where the club really begins. Just having my hand on her waist is enough to make my cock twitch in need; seeing her full-length in that tight skirt and top, her calves flexing with every step in those red high heels makes me want to press her up against the wall and feel every inch of her along my own body. But we have work to do—namely, showing her the ropes of this sex club.

  At the start of a long, dark, narrow hallway with almost a dozen closed doors is Mick, who nods at us.

  “Who is that?” Mia asks me, her eyes darting back to the man dressed in black.

  “He’s the dungeon monitor,” I say, and she looks at me with wide eyes.

  “Is that really what he’s called?”

  “It is,” I say. “See these little windows on the doors?” I point to the first door we pass. The slit in the door is too high for us to see in, which is the point. “He keeps an eye on the guests to make sure all is good.”

  “He looks?”

  “Yes,” I say. “But just to make sure everyone is playing fair and no one is in danger.”

  “People could be in danger here?” she asks.

  I chuckle. She really doesn’t get it. “It’s possible, but unlikely.”

  Just then we hear a pop, and then a cry of ecstasy—Mia probably interprets it as pain as she sucks in a breath at the sound.

  “And people like this?” she asks.

  “Very much,” I say.

  As we walk slowly down the hall, more noises fill the air. I keep my hand on the waist of her skirt, a light touch to let her know I’m here. I wonder if she takes it as comforting or dominance. Or maybe she’s so rattled she doesn’t even feel my hand there.

  A man’s cry of more, yes, give it to me comes out from one of the rooms. We hear what sounds like a whip snap, and then the man moans out.

  Mia wraps her arms around her waist as if she’s cold, but the way her shoulders are practically raised to her ears, I’m pretty sure she’s just nervous. I give her back a slight rub—as much for her as for me.

  “Do you enjoy this?” she asks. We’re outside a room in which we can hear the slapping of flesh on flesh, fast and hard.

  “What I enjoy is beside the point,” I say. One thing this Mia Cassidy does not need to know is what I enjoy. She will certainly never have access to that part of me. I’m not even sure I have access anymore, it’s buried so deep. But this is pleasurable enough for now. In fact, it’s quite fun.

  “Then what is the point?” she asks. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “To see how you can handle yourself,” I tell her, which is partly true. I’m surprised she hasn’t run screaming out of here yet. She deserves some props for that alone. “I need someone who can write about the kinds of topics that will garner notoriety and wider readership. I want stories that get people talking, even if they’re talking in secret.”

  Just then, the couple who is in the room we’re just outside of seem to explode in total ecstasy, crying out while slapping the floor, the wall, flesh…we can’t know for sure.

  Mia stops suddenly. She leans back against the wall, puts her hand over her forehead and closes her eyes. For a moment, I think she’s going to pass out.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her. I take her wine glass and set both our glasses on a small nearby table.

  She opens her eyes, looking at me. Her eyes trail down me for a brief second. She swallows hard, nodding her head yes. I place my forearm on the wall next to her, almost boxing her in. I lean close to her ear, making no secret about purposely being close to her.

  “Are you sure, Mia?” I ask so close that her hair brushes my nose.

  She turns her face slightly to me, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss me. My dick is beginning to strain in my pants.

  “Mr. Bridges,” she says softly. “Please.”

  “Please what?” I ask, and there’s no answer I’ve ever been more excited to hear. I just hope she’s asking for what I think she is.

  Mia

  He’s so close I can smell him, and not just his cologne and soap—although that is making my head spin almost as much as the cries of pleasure I hear behind these doors. I can also smell him—the true scent of Weston Bridges, the smell of his skin and clothes and just him. His face is so close to mine that if I turn my head one inch to the left our lips will surely meet. I part my lips as the image races through my mind.

  “Please what, Mia?” he asks again. He shifts closer to me, his arm still blocking me in on one side. Without moving my head I look down and see that his belt and that part of his body is a half-inch from me. I picture him pressing up to me, and wonder what he feels like. Is he able to control his body in a place like this?

  Because I am wet.

  The walls of my sex are positively alive, clenching and feeling the desire beneath my lacy panties. My body is telling me what it wants, and I can’t help but be curious, especially when I hear the sound of chains in one of the rooms. The moans of pleasure and sex ring out of all of them, it suddenly seems, as if it’s a strange soundtrack to the club.

  Weston—I can’t keep calling him Mr. Bridges, it’s ridiculous now that we’re in a place like this—shifts slightly closer to me. He’s waiting for me to say what I was going to say, but I’ve lost the words. I can feel the energy coming from him, which penetrates me and he’s not even touching me. But I imagine he is, or that he might. I imagine myself saying, “Please take me into one of these rooms.” I don’t know what he’d do with me in there, but I want him to show me exactly what he means when he said what he enjoys is beside the point. What would he do to me to ensure I enjoyed myself?

  Weston’s fingers lightly touch my arm. He slides two fingers down my skin, sending chills through me. Even in the darkened hall he can surely see the goosebumps he’s given me. He’ll know instantly what he’s doing to me, how my body is reacting almost against my will. This is supposed to be a professional outing but I’m paralyzed against the velvety wall, my panties getting more soaked by the second. He can probably smell me.

  He leans even closer to me, his chest touching my breasts the smallest bit, a whisper of a touch, so light I wonder if he’s even touching me. I want to arch my back to really feel him, but I don’t. My heart pounds in my ears, my breathing is shallow and hard.

  “Mia, if there’s something more you want,” he says in my ear, his breath hot on my skin, “all you have to do is ask.”

  I suddenly realize how serious he is being—how I could tell him right now to take me in one of these rooms and he’d do it. And then what? What really happens behind these doors? Only Mick down the hall knows, who is still there but politely not watching. I’ve barely kissed a man, much less had sex, much less had all this. Being alone
with a man like Weston Bridges would only show what a novice I am—in other words, a total and complete virgin. I could never handle a man like Weston; I could certainly never please him. But the want my body is urging from me is too intense. The smell of Weston is too much. His hand on my skin makes me feel like I’m falling. I have to get out of here.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, and I move away from him and quickly make my way down the hall, past Mick and through the bar. I don’t even know if Weston is following me or not. All I know is that I have to get out of here before I have a full-blown panic attack.

  The front door is opened for me, and I step out into the narrow alley. I don’t get the fresh air I was expecting. It’s still so hot out, and there’s no breeze in the alley.

  “Mia,” I hear. I don’t even turn to look at Weston. I’m embarrassed and overwhelmed. I feel so naïve, but at the same time knowing Weston is coming closer to me makes me excited. I’ve never felt so conflicted, wanting two things that make no sense together. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I turn to face him. The light from the club illuminates behind him, casting strange but somehow sexy shadows over him. He slowly walks closer to me, and I feel myself take a step back until the cool brick of the alley touches my bare skin. I’m not afraid of Weston—I’m afraid of the way my body is reacting to him, of the way I want him in ways I’ve never wanted, or had, a man before in my life.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him, a lie we both know.

  “You look a little pale,” he says, worry in his eyes. “I thought you might pass out back there.”

  There’s no need to hide how I feel, since it seems clear I’m not fooling anyone.

  “I can’t do that,” I tell him, nodding toward the club’s entrance. I can hear the sounds of the city moving along without anyone noticing us even though we’re just ten feet from the bustle of the night.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “It can be a little overwhelming at first.”

  “You don't understand,” I say, knowing I need to be frank, totally honest with him. “Mr. Bridges—”

  “And stop calling me that,” he says. “It’s really not necessary.”

  I hadn’t meant to, and I feel even smaller once it’s escaped my lips.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be,” he says. He’s standing before me, his hands in his pockets. He’s watching me closely. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Mia.”

  I press the palms of my hands against the cool brick behind me, steadying myself.

  “I’m a virgin,” I say. I just blurt it out. If I felt stupid before, I feel like the city’s biggest idiot now. Oh my god. I’ve never been so close to such a gorgeous man before, and I just blurted out the very real status of my sexual history, which is nil. I can’t even look at him.

  I hear him laugh softly, but I don’t think it’s a mean laugh. “Mia,” he says. “That’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I’m not. I mean, it’s just…that was a lot to take in. You could have warned me.”

  “I wanted to get an honest reaction out of you,” he says. “Sometimes in reporting, you walk into situations you aren’t prepared for. But you shouldn’t give that away. You should always at least act like you’re prepared.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Lesson learned.”

  He shifts, his shoes scraping on the concrete. His voice softens when he asks, “Did you like it?”

  I don’t even know how to answer. I can’t get the sounds out of my head, and my mind is in overtime picturing what might have been happening behind those closed doors…picturing what Weston might do to me if we went into one of the rooms.

  “Did you like what you heard? The sounds they make? Mia, could you picture yourself in one of those rooms?” It’s like he’s reading my mind. Feeling like he knows what’s in my private thoughts makes me so uncomfortable I can’t even look at him.

  I bite my lip. I can still feel that energy—that pull of Weston toward me.

  “I was scared,” I say, my eyes on the ground. “But I also liked it—because you were there with me.”

  I see his shoes edge closer to me. I finally look up. Weston’s eyes have turned heavy, penetrating my own with a message that seems clear: he wants me.

  It seems impossible. My heart races, and I wonder if he’s going to do anything, and if I should do anything with him. As thoughts swirl in my mind, he puts one hand flat on the brick wall next to me, leans closer until I can feel his breath on my face. So slowly, his lips move toward me, and when they press into mine, all reason is blacked out of my mind.

  Weston

  I knew Mia’s lips would be soft and damn if they’re not just as I imagined—a cushion of cashmere.

  She’s got me transfixed.

  She smells of honey and lemon, and for the longest time I keep my lips pressed to hers and do nothing more. I shouldn’t do more. I shouldn’t be doing this. But soon I’m making more moves, unable to resist this beautiful, delicate woman.

  I touch her cheek, softer than even her lips. At first, I just brush her with the tips of my fingers but her skin is warm and soft and I need to feel more. I cup her face with my palm and pull her a little closer. I step into her, our bodies a mere inch from touching. I push past her lips with my tongue, reaching inside her to taste the sauvignon blanc on her wet tongue. She tastes as sweet as I thought, but I have to stay in control and not go too far. Not with this girl, anyway.

  Her tongue moves tentatively against mine, unsure. I pull back and take her face in my both my hands. I look at her—her lips, her eyes, and I feel her breath on my face. She’s nervous. Excited too, but nervous.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Do you want me to stop?”

  She shakes her head no, apparently unable to speak.

  I run my fingers through her hair, around to the back of her neck. I pull her lips to mine again, kissing her deeply. She’s moving her tongue against mine, tentatively. Her hands are still pressed to the brick wall behind her, and I’m finding that once I start kissing her, I don’t want to stop.

  I move closer to her until my body is pressed against hers. My cock is straining, and as I press into her it only makes me want to do more. Of course, I have control but I still want a little more of her…or maybe a lot more.

  I move my lips to kiss her neck. She turns her head, exposing more of herself. When her arms wrap around my neck, I almost explode. She wants me. I give her neck little bites, wanting to eat her up, and she shows her appreciation by sucking in her breath, her fingers digging into the back of my neck.

  I step back to look at her—all of her. Her lips are red from our kisses, her eyes glassy but focused on me.

  “Look at you,” I say, running my hands down her sides, over her hips. “Do you know how sexy you are? This skirt, this tight little top.” I let my fingers trail across the very tops of her breasts but go no further, even as she sucks in her breath, giving an almost imperceptible push toward me.

  “No, I’m not,” she says, but I think she’s playing coy. She might truly be a virgin but I’m still not sure if I’m buying that, considering how smart and beautiful she is. How could she never have… Jesus if I keep going I’ll only make myself crazier. Touching her body through the thin fabric of her tank is hard enough.

  I stroke the rounded edge of her full hips and slowly move close again, my hand going around her backside to cup the fullness of her ass. We are both breathing heavy, my dick begging for more, and I jerk Mia’s body into mine, then push her up against the wall, pressing my dick harder into her. I crash my mouth to hers, our tongues slipping across one another, going deeper, taking in more. My hands explore all parts of her ass, her hips, the fronts of her thighs. I reach down to the hem of her skirt and edge it up, testing her, seeing how far she’ll let me go. She doesn’t stop me.

  I move her skirt just high enough so that I can rub that sensitive skin at the tops of her inner thighs, just below her need. I go higher and let my fingers brush her cunt, covered
in thin lacy fabric. I can practically feel the heat coming from her.

  “Weston,” she says with a tinge of urgency. “What if someone sees us?”

  We look down the alley toward the street, where people are streaming by, not one of them looking our way.

  “No one even knows this alley exists,” I say. “Look at them all. Not one person is looking…” I watch her face as I run middle finger across the length of her slit, pressing into her so that I can feel her hole. I know she’s soaking wet.

  She lets out the smallest little kitten moan and leans her head back against the wall. I take that as a sign to move forward.

  What I’d like to do is take my dick out of my pants and shove it up in her wet pussy. The thought makes me even harder, makes me want her even more.

  I move her panties aside with my finger and immediately feel how right I was—she is fucking soaked. How could that club not turn her on? How could our closeness not make her hot? And she is, so fucking hot.

  When I slip my finger inside her hole it is practically sucked up inside her, as if her body wants mine as much as I want hers. She is so tight and her cunt absolutely hugs my finger, coating me in her juices. I pump her a few times and soon she’s digging her fingers into my shoulders, holding on tight.

  Her eyes dart to the sidewalk, so I move my body closer to her and wall, shielding her from anyone who might possibly look down here. I wrap my free arm around her waist, pressing my hard dick on her thigh as my finger continues to find utter delight in her core.

  As I fuck her with my finger I kiss her neck and give her earlobe a little suck, my teeth scraping it slightly as I pull it out of my mouth. Mia’s panting—which she is trying so desperately to restrain—is like music to my ears, making me push my finger in deeper, leave it inside her longer, exploring her from the inside before pulling it back out.

  I haven’t even touched her clit yet and she already sounds like she could come. I picture it, her hard little nub of pleasure, and soon I’m picturing myself on my knees, here in this alley, with my face between her legs eating her out, licking her cunt until she screams from total pleasure. My finger fucks her faster, and I’m pushing my hard dick into her thigh, needing more of her, and that’s when I know I’ve already gone too far.