Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle (12 page)

He thrust his tongue deep into my mouth just as he grabbed my buttocks forcefully and pulled me down on his firm, eager shaft.

I cried out in ecstasy and nearly climaxed immediately, but I tightened my abdominal muscles to pause myself, and stiffened my legs to slow my movement.

My pause didn't last long, though, because his hands were firmly on me, and he was grinding me against his pelvic bone while moving me up and down on his equipment.

His sex was thick and filling, and I bore down harder against him, wanting more, more, burying it to the hilt and further.

Getting off this way, from strictly penetration, was not my usual way, but it was possible, if the man was big enough, and hard enough. Oh, and if he had strong arms that rocked me up and down with nearly no effort on my part.

My back broke out in a sweat.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed being worked like a machine in a factory, that throbbing member moving in and out of my slick mound like the world's greatest invention—the fuck machine.

The fuck machine
, I thought.

I didn't even know his first name, but that's what he was.

His breathing changed and his movements became less controlled, more frantic.

I looked up to his face, to those hungry eyes, and saw his gaze was on the mirror above us.

I turned my head and glanced up to see what he saw.

My back, glistening with sweat and sparkling like diamonds.

My buttocks, pulsing with every thrust as I met his movements.

He cried out and closed his eyes, bucking underneath me.

His orgasm went on and on, and mine matched his, both of us writhing and moaning in unison.

I came and I came and I came some more.

Finally, as the last aftershocks pulsed out in calming waves, I fell against him, my damp chest on his, my damp hair on his face.

I slid my face down alongside his and gently nibbled his earlobe.

His manhood inside me pulsed with one last tremor, and then he sighed.

When the earth stopped moving, I rolled off him and fell to my side.

He moved his arm so that his bicep was my pillow.

He said, “What's your name?”

I considered lying to him, but instead, I said, “Alexis. But everyone calls me Lexie.”

“Lexie,” he said, nodding.

“And your name is… ?”

He reached out to shake my hand. “You can call me Lou. Short for Luthor.”

“Lou,” I said. “I like that, Lou.”

He shook my face from his arm and got up, looking around nervously. “I'd best get out of here before I get caught on Mr. Thorne's carpet, with Mr. Thorne's assistant.”

I reached for his hand, to pull him back to me. “Oh, come on, Lou. Enough with the games.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “What games? You needed help with something, and my job is to fix what needs fixing around the house. I'm just doing my job, ma'am.”

“So, you're not Mr. Thorne?” I was so confused. “Wait, you are. Stop messing with my head. You certainly don't have a tan line around your neck from working outdoors.” I grabbed onto his hand. “And look. A manicure. Gardeners don't have manicures.”

He gave me a sly look. “I wasn't always a gardener.”

I scrambled to sit up and gave him a hard look. “Get out,” I said.

He chuckled. “Boy, you get your needs filled, and you're not interested in small talk at all, are you?”

“You're a peeping pervert, and you just took advantage of an innocent young woman.” I scowled at him and grabbed for my clothes. Whether he was Mr. Thorne or not, he was toying with me, and I didn't like it one bit.

“Lexie, don't be a spoilsport,” he said as he pulled on the jeans. I realized I'd not seen any jeans like those in the walk-in closet.

I said, “I'm just another conquest to you, aren't I? Just another big stakes business deal. Only I'm not a business deal. I have feelings and emotions, you know. I'm a person.”

He raised his eyebrows and took a step back, both hands in the air.

“I get it, I get it,” he said. “Oh, but I just remembered something.” He pointed to his penis, which was already hardening again, resisting his efforts to do up his jeans. “You said you'd kiss it better.”

I crossed my arms. I could definitely go for round two, and getting angry at him had only worked up my passion.

“Not until you tell me who you really are,” I said.

He reached for my shoulder, but I pulled away. He said, “I think you know who I am, Lexie.”

“Luthor Thorne,” I said. The name did seem familiar. It had been one of the names I'd been able to find on the computer two nights before.

He took a little bow as he fastened his jeans over his bulge. “At your service. Grace has tried to keep women like you away from me, but I think we both outwitted her.”

“Now what?”

“Perhaps a shower,” he said, nodding at the door that led to the attached bathroom with the enormous walk-in shower and steam nozzles.

“And then what?”

“I have a few ideas. You're some sort of consultant, right?”

“I'm a certified professional organizer.” It felt very odd to say this while standing naked in front of a man, my legs clutched together to keep his juices from getting on the luxurious sisal carpet.

“I could use another professional on my staff,” he said.

“As an organizer?”

“Something like that,” he said.

THE END of Borrowed Billionaire #1

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Description:
A heartbroken young woman finds comfort and sexual healing in the arms of a young man.

Length:
12,500 words, or 50 book pages long. This story was originally released as a stand-alone story.

Spice Level:
Very spicy, with frequent, graphic sex scenes.

Turn the page to dive into
The Ice Cream Shop Boy
by Mimi Strong.

Or
click here to return to the main Table of Contents.

I was hot, and ice cream was on my wish list, the sooner the better.

I'd been in the sleepy little coastal town for a week. It had been raining five out of the last seven days. Some vacation.

In life, things don't always work out as intended. Want to make God laugh? Tell him you have a plan.

Lars and I had booked the trip and the room in the quaint little Bed & Breakfast for our honeymoon, but there I was, alone. Left at the altar. Lars came down with a case of cold feet the morning of our wedding, and I heard from sources both reputable and disreputable that he had a case of hot
ass
before the day was through. With my bridesmaid. I cried, and I cried some more, and then I stopped crying long enough to get on the plane, alone, and came here.

Stupid Lars. He could have her; she could have him; I was over them both and wished the lovers the best (through gritted teeth.)

That day was my last one there, and I was going to live a little, not sulk in my room with a stack of magazines and a bag full of marshmallow-based snack food.

The sun was out, I was in a fairytale setting full of antique shops, cafes, and all that twee stuff tourists love, and on top of everything, I looked
good
. All that healthy eating and working out before the wedding had paid off.

I didn't usually wear such bright colors, but I'd borrowed some samples from work, on the premise of research. That day I donned a form-fitting orange-sherbert-hued stretchy dress, my favorite sandals, and headed out to look for adventure. Or at the very least, ice cream.

My destination was the old-fashioned-looking ice cream shop next door to the antique store that specialized in wooden rocking chairs. The ice cream was made fresh, locally, and the staff were equally wholesome—two young men with tousled brown hair, possibly brothers. I'd been in while the younger was getting the older one to buy him beer, and had gathered that one was not yet twenty-one. At twenty-seven, I was a little old for either of them, but their sweet-natured flirtations had been as good as the ice cream. I'd been there nearly every day of my brief stay in town, because those boys made me feel like I might be able to love again.

I walked past the striped awning of the ice cream shop, sneaking a peek, but I lost my nerve to go in and kept walking, on to the antique shop. Inside, surrounded by antiques, the ladies who worked there chatted with me about rocking chairs, and I seriously considering paying to ship one back home. I said I'd think about it, and waved goodbye as I made my way back out the door, the bells on the handle jingling merrily.

I summoned my courage and stopped in next door for my last ice cream.

Elvis was playing on the vintage jukebox.

The ice cream shop was quiet, with no customers but me. The younger brother was the one at work that day, and he stood behind the counter, fastidiously wiping down surfaces, his lean, muscular arms taking my breath away.

“Just a moment,” he said without looking up.

“I'm in no hurry.”

He dropped the cloth in a sink and looked up, a big smile spreading across his face when he saw it was me.

“You're getting to be a regular,” he said. “You might have to move here, ya know?”

I smiled coyly back at him. “I'll talk to the-powers-that-be about opening a branch here.”

He hooked his thumb into the tie of his apron and gazed at me. “Some sort of designer clothing place, right? That's where you work?”

“You remembered.”

His gaze swept over my body, down my bright orange dress, lingering on my hips, then back up again. “Is that, uh, dress from your company?”

“Sure is.”

“It's memorable. And I liked that other one, with the ...” He wiggled his fingers in front of his chest.

I blushed, my cheeks hot from the attention, even though it was exactly what I wanted. “The green dress? With the ruffles down the front? I think I wore that yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Now it was his turn to blush, and he looked down at his feet. “I know most guys don't notice that sort of thing, but—”

He was cut off by someone coming in the door in a flurry. She stepped right up to the counter, in front of me, as though I wasn't even there.

He said hello to her and leaned across the counter to kiss her. On the mouth.

Figures, he'd have a girlfriend.

As they talked, I wandered over to the wooden counter along the front window and had a look through the local newspaper. The front page news item was about a busted water main.

A dog barked. I whirled around and saw the source of the barking, a dog inside the girl's purse. The dog had a pink collar on, with rhinestones, so I assumed it was a female. She yipped at me excitedly.

The girlfriend groaned and dropped the purse on the floor, so the dog could climb out. She ran over to me, wagging her gray, fluffy tail.

“Hello ...” I knelt down and checked her collar, “Princess?”

Princess put her little front paws on my knee and licked my face. I laughed and petted her around the ears, making gooey baby talk at her. I'd had a similar dog, my beloved Sascha, bless her soul.

The girlfriend said, sharply, “Stop it!”

I startled and pulled away from the dog.

She said, “Princess, don't lick strangers. We don't know where they've been.”

I looked up, expecting the girl to say something lighter to me, or to apologize, but she didn't. With narrowed eyes, she gave me a look that was pure malevolence, the exact opposite of the reaction I was used to getting from folks around the small town.

I stood and turned back to the newspaper, ignoring Princess, and her awful owner, but I was still listening.

The girl was angry at her boyfriend, and giving him hell about… something.

He tried to calm her down, saying, “Baby, I swear I overslept. I didn't forget on purpose to piss you off.”

“Yes you did!” she said, yelling. “You're so selfish, and you do stupid things. You know, Eric never treated me like this. He didn't take me for granted!”

“Aw, come on, Sharise, let's not bring Eric into this. Now let me make it up to you. Do you want an ice cream? My treat.”

“Don't play cute with me,” she said angrily. “I don't want a free fucking ice cream. Are you trying to make me fat, so I have a big fat ass and nobody else will fuck me?”

“Sharise,” he said, bringing his voice down low. “There are people in the store.”

“Her?”

I turned back to look at them, in time to catch the girlfriend giving me another hateful glare, and him, the poor guy, looking completely flummoxed. Something told me whatever he'd done, he didn't deserve the treatment he was getting.

I knew girls like Sharise. She probably had emotional problems, but until she grew up enough to get some help or take responsibility for her own emotions, she was going to take it out on anyone around her, as emotional punching bags.

Lots of people do this, not just women, or men, and not just young people. Lars had quite the temper when we'd started dating, but I'd tried to show him patience, forgiveness, and understanding, while he worked his way through his issues. For the first few years, I believed him that every time he got angry at me, it was my fault. He blamed me for every failure in his life, and I'd believed him. Over time, he'd softened, and grown to trust me more, but right up until the end, we'd still had terrible fights about… I couldn't even tell you what. Half of the arguments were about whose fault it was we were arguing.