Have we as a society beaten this billionaire thing to death yet? Personally, I think maybe. Probably. But then again… who’s stopping me?
Chanel is a busty brat with an addiction to couture. When her shopping addiction runs her trust fund dry, she finds herself at the mercy of mafia loan sharks with a price on her head.
Her only hope is the wallet of Dane DuPoint, the dangerously good looking man of the house (divorce papers pending). When she was younger, Chanel always loved playing damsel in distress with Dane, but this time, her knight in shining armor thinks she’s taken their game way too far.
Dane’s billionaire bank account might be able to bail Chanel out of her sticky situation, but in Dane’s world of luxury and glamour, nothing comes for free. As Dane sets out to discipline Chanel for her bad behavior, her own dark side is revealed. Paid for but forbidden, Chanel might be the princess of the castle– but Dane is clearly the king.
This is a 9,000-word erotic romance short involving a sexy older alpha male billionaire and a mouthy blonde brat in a taboo tryst. It features spanking, dominance, submission and light female bisexuality. Luxury, opulence and spicy hot chemistry!
BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE:
Enjoy an excerpt, special, just from moi xx
The door clicked into its lock behind me and I felt my shoulders tense in anticipation. I wished he would just get it over already. Yell. Scream. Slap my face. Call me out for what I was: a spoiled brat whose trailer trash past would always catch up to her. An addict for luxuries I couldn’t afford. A leech. A bitch. The dumb cunt who had cost him dearly just because she couldn’t keep her spending habits in check. Hell– I was the daughter of the woman who was serving him papers for divorce settlement of the century. I knew he had it in him, and I knew that I was ready to take it.
Plus, I deserved it. I knew that most of all.
But Dane didn’t scream at me. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t say anything– not at first. He just walked over to a plush leather armchair and let his body fall back into it, the Manhattan skyline at his back.
Now that I could get a clear look at him, not even the room’s flattering amber glow could hide his fatigue. I saw the wrinkles in his white linen shirt, the kind that always worked their way into cloth in airplane seats. I saw the reddish tinge in the whites of his eyes– they didn’t call them red-eye flights for nothing. And as he poured himself a glass of bourbon from a decanter on the end table beside him, I saw it in his furrowed brow. The sleeplessness. The worry. The frustration.
“Take off your shoes.”
I startled at the sound of his voice, then nodded and bent down to undo the straps of my stilettos.
It was an odd request– or so I thought until I saw the way that my feet were bleeding. Give it to the high fashion world to sucker a girl into paying five thousand dollars for foot torture. Across my toes and at the backs of my heels, the straps of the shoes had left my skin painful and raw. After the night I’d had, it felt good to finally have them off. Hell, it felt like heaven.
“Now my jacket.” He was the picture of casual confidence, one leg crossed over the other as he sipped at his bourbon.
Wiggling my toes against the plush rug beneath my feet, I slipped the jacket off my shoulders. I dropped it on the ground next to my shoes and looked to Dane for his next order.
He shook his head from side to side. “Didn’t anyone teach you manners, Chanel? Hang it up.”
Suppressing an eye roll– what did it matter? They cleaned the rooms at the Oriental twice a day– I bent down and retrieved the jacket. When it was hanging on the coat rack, I crossed my arms and turned back to Dane.
“Next time you throw something on the floor like that, you’ll be punished,” he said.
That time, I couldn’t have contained my eye roll even if I wanted to.
“Punished?” I laughed, hard and dry. “You can’t be serious.”
He looked serious.
That scared me.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
My mouth fell open into a perfect, round O.
“You’re fucking with me,” I accused.
The look on his face told me he wasn’t.
To my horror, I found myself struggling to reach behind my back for the zipper. I was shocked. Annoyed. And I was struggling to follow his orders anyway.
Dane DuPoint was a dangerous man like that.
I’d marveled at Dane’s ability to do that, to bend the wills of others to his own, so many times as a young girl. Like most teens, I had wanting nothing more than to do exactly that. Have my way. Get it every time. I’d seen Dane use it on his business associates, his friends, store clerks and telemarketers. He’d even been able to master my mother with it, for time. Stray dogs would trot over to Dane at his slightest whistle. I’d seen them do it. Then, they would roll over and flash their bellies to him, wag their tails and lick his hand.
“Come here,” Dane said. It had become clear to him that my dress wasn’t coming undone without some help.
My uncanny willingness to follow Dane’s commands said as much about me as it did about him. I was no better than those dogs.
We were one and the same.
My aching feet crossed onto cool wooden floorboards and back to carpet again as I approached him. I was wary of Dane DuPoint. I was scared of what he could make me do and even more afraid of how good it felt to obey. But I was also wary of what might happen if I didn’t. The threat was suspended, unspoken between us but entirely understood. Dane had bought my freedom, and he could sell it right back, too.
Subconsciously, at least, I had known that when I gave Tony Fortunato Dane’s number. It wasn’t kinship that I had counted on to bring Dane to my aid. It wasn’t sympathy or a soft heart. Men didn’t get to where Dane was in life by handing out favors– especially not million-dollar ones. I’d known that if Dane came, it was because he thought he could get something out of it in return. I’d just suspected that the “something” would be testimony against my mother in their divorce case.
I stood in front of Dane, my knees shaking, as he grabbed either side of my dress’ ripped neckline and tore it off of me.
I had never imagined that he might have wanted that.
I was suddenly more exposed than I had been all night. The low hum of the suite’s heater did little to change that. Beneath Dane’s gaze, I felt my skin prickle until every hair follicle on my body felt as if it was standing on end. He poured over my body with his eyes like I was a legal textbook and he had a case to win. He left no visible curve unexamined. Not a single uncovered inch.
And I still had my bra and panties on.
“Bra off,” Dane said, obviously keen to rectify that.
It was then that we stood on the precipice between inappropriate and utterly wrong. The shoes– that had been normal. Practically intuitive. We were in for the night. They’d been killing my feet. The dress– that too I could explain away for my own peace of mind. It had been ripped, ruined. I would have needed help out of it either way. A little T&A for his troubles? I could understand that. I could forgive him that.
But as my fingertips danced against the clasp of my bra, I knew that once it was undone, there was no turning back.
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