The Billionaire's Arrangement (Billionaire, BWWM, Pregnancy) Read online

  SHORT READS...for when you just need a little taste

  Copyright © 2014 by Simone A. Watson

  Copyright © Cover Images are from depositphotos.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All characters are over the age of 18.

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes, either in printed or electronic format, without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark ownership of any and all objects/locations in the book.

  Warning: This book contains mature content. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  THE BILLIONAIRE'S ARRANGEMENT

  The water droplets ran down the length of my arms, little rivulets along the expanse of my caramel colored skin. Music pumped through the speakers in the ceiling of the glass shower, soft and soothing spa music designed for maximum relaxation. I ran my hands over the tops of my ample breasts and down the sides of my stomach, still taut and firm.

  Still taut and firm, despite Mr. Anderson's best efforts.

  My nipples hardened to the stimulation, little droplets of water drip-drip-dripping off them onto the marble tile.

  It had been two months since I’d moved into the Anderson Estate. I had my own place on one side of the property as part of our arrangement, my contract with Mr. Anderson.

  The contract.

  The one that stipulated he would pay me four million dollars, and in return, I would produce an heir for him. A child.

  Yeah, I knew it was medieval-sounding - I was being purchased. Sex with me was being purchased. Mr. Anderson had paid to have sex with me - lots and lots of unprotected sex.

  It was four million dollars.

  Four million fucking dollars.

  That was more money than I could ever hope to make in a lifetime, and I was finishing my Ph.D. in sociology. Sociology wasn’t exactly a lucrative field.

  It was an offer I definitely couldn’t refuse.

  But the clincher? The thing that sealed the deal? Brice Anderson was one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet. He was sexy as hell - like a George Clooney look-a-like, with all the charm and charisma you’d expect from a billionaire CEO.

  Basically, Brice Anderson was the ultimate alpha male.

  And the first white man I’d ever been attracted to, much less been with.

  And now, he was trying to get me knocked up.

  We were doing a hell of a lot of trying. I didn't expect to like it so much. This arrangement was supposed to be work, after all, wasn't it? But it was feeling a lot less like work, and a lot more like...well...a relationship.

  I didn't know how I felt about that.

  I slid my wet hand over my hip, the throbbing between my legs beginning to distract me. I was having the kind of sex I’d never dreamed of having in my life.

  With Brice Anderson.

  If I were having this kind of sex with a guy I was dating, it was the kind of sex I’d be bragging about to my girlfriends: screaming-til-your throat-is-raw, curl-your-toes, can't-walk-the-next-day sex. But part of my contract with Mr. Anderson required my silence. I'd signed his non-disclosure agreement stipulating I couldn't brag about it to my girlfriends.

  Despite being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, Mr. Anderson was notoriously reclusive. His private life was off-limits to the media, and as he explained to me the first time we met, he intended to keep it that way. That meant, no confiding in my friends - even my best girlfriend- about what I was doing.

  As part of my contract, I’d moved to Mr. Anderson’s estate, so it had just been easier to tell my friends and family I’d taken a job in Washington. Now, I was at his beck and call, at all hours of the day.

  It sounds terrible, doesn’t it? The truth was, it had been the best two months of my life. I’d been given the guest house, but found myself staying with Brice more and more lately. And lately, I’d begun to feel more and more for him.

  The truth was, I’d begun to feel a lot for him.

  The throbbing between my legs was a reminder of just how much. Brice had been away on business over the weekend, leaving me to fend for myself. He’d left me with strict instructions not to touch myself when he was gone. He wanted me to save everything for him.

  But standing here now in the shower, thinking about Brice’s gorgeous body, thinking about the way his hard chest muscles felt under my hands, the way that his ripped abdomen looked as he lay in bed beside me…

  The way his huge cock felt as he thrust it inside me, bare and hard, with no protection to get in the way between us…

  The way he groaned when he came, flooding me with his seed, his warmth…

  There was just no way I would be able to wait. I had to do it. I needed to touch myself. He may have told me not to, but he would understand. He was like a drug. Two days without him, without his touch, without his swollen cock inside me...it was unbearable.

  And I was ovulating. I'd been tracking my cycles, per Mr. Anderson's instructions, although even before I started, I knew when I was ovulating. Mid-month, it was like all of my hormones kicked into overdrive, like my body was just begging to be fertilized. And that was even before Mr. Anderson.

  Now, it was like before, but amplified a million times more. It was some kind of primal thing, like an evolutionary drive or something. As a sociologist, I found it fascinating how my body was just reacting to him, the drive to procreate overtaking me.

  Even though Brice had hired me to give him an heir, he didn't seem to be in a huge rush about it.

  I think he was enjoying just fucking me, with no protection....with the knowledge that one of these times, I could get knocked up.

  Truth be told, I was enjoying it too.

  I grasped the handle of the detachable shower head and adjusted the water volume, directing it toward my body, letting the stream of pressure flow over my breasts and nipples. A shock of arousal ran through me at the stimulation to my sensitive breasts.

  Angling it downward, I concentrated the water pressure between my legs, letting the stream hit me just so on my clit. Oh God, it felt so good to be touched there, even if it wasn’t by him. My nipples were erect, standing at attention, and I leaned against the marble tile on the wall as I began to pleasure myself with the jet of water. I cupped a breast with my other hand, kneading it gently as I allowed the water to do its job on my clit. I was already getting close, even without having him inside me.

  I thought about the last time I’d been with Brice, about how he had fucked me in his office, how he had come inside me, right there against the window of his office, with no protection at all.

  “Mr. Anderson.” I gasped the words. His tongue swirled around and around my nipple as he ignored my protest. “Mr. Anderson, we’re in your office. In your building. Won’t someone come in?”

  He paused, but his tongue still flicked over my breast, my nipple hard as a rock in his mouth. My pussy throbbed, begging for his attention, and, as if he could read my mind, he stood and ran his hand up my thigh, up under my skirt. I closed my legs instinctively, and he tsk-tsked me, then reached between my thighs to feel my wetness.

  When he touched me there, I bit my lip, my moan more insistent now. “Oh my God,” I said.

  The memory made me shudder. I directed the water toward my clit more now, so close to release. Then I thought about when he came inside me, how it
felt to have him fill me up with his warm seed. I’d never had unprotected sex with anyone before. Brice’s was the first cock I’d had inside me, completely bare. It felt divine, his skin against mine.

  “I can’t hold out, Tierra,” he said. “Not much longer. You have to cum for me.” As he said it, he groaned loudly, pushing into me. I felt his cock throb, and knew he was going to cum. The thought pushed me over the edge, and I climaxed, my pussy clenching tightly around him as I rode the waves of my own pleasure. I clung desperately to him, my fingernails clawing his shoulders and back as I rocked against him, overtaken by my orgasm. I screamed loudly, and he pressed a hand against my mouth, muffling me.

  I bit down on his hand as I came hard, my pussy milking his cock.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m going to fill you up.” He thrust into me again, once, twice, three times, and then groaned as he shot his warm cum deep inside me, his cock pressed as far as it could go. I felt the heat of his cum flood my passage, and I could tell there was so much of it- enough to definitely make a baby.

  “Aaaah,” I cried out as the memory pushed me over the edge to sweet release. I stood there for a minute with my eyes closed, catching my breath as I waited for my heart rate to come back down to normal. “Shit, I really need him.” I said the words softly, half-surprised by how much they were true. I really did need him, my white billionaire lover.

  I reminded myself that it would be silly - completely ridiculous and unprofessional - to need him in any other way than was part of our arrangement. This was business. Baby-making. It was a job, nothing more.

  That’s what I told myself anyway, as I returned the shower head to its rightful place on the wall and turned off the water. It’s what I told myself again as I wrapped one of the luxurious bath towels around me, pillow soft and as large as a bed sheet. I reminded myself why I was here when I padded across the heated tile floors in the bathroom to open the door and stepped out onto the bamboo floors in the bedroom, and then again as I opened the huge teak bureau that housed my clothing.

  My new clothing. All provided by Mr. Anderson. Brice.

  The same man who was now occupying my thoughts and fantasies, even when he wasn’t here.

  It’s just sex, I told myself. That’s it. Sex is all there is to it. Nothing more.

  I was trying very hard to convince myself of that fact.

  I selected lingerie from the drawer, this bra and panties of handmade lace that was so delicate it was unimaginable I was going to be able to put it on. But I had before, and I did now. Brice had loved the set when he saw me for the first time in them, had said that the white lace of the lingerie accented my skin in a way that was “just breathtaking.”

  I slid the panties over my hips and my ass. Brice loved my ass- he’d called it thick before, but sometimes talked about how much more curvy it would get after I was pregnant. I think the idea turned him on. I smiled as I thought about it.

  Then I mentally scolded myself. Seriously, Tierra, get a grip on yourself. You’re not reminiscing about a boyfriend, you’re thinking about your boss.

  “You need to stop thinking about Brice,” I said out loud as I hooked my bra behind my back.

  “Stop thinking about who?” The sound of his voice behind me made me nearly jump out of my skin. I whirled around, my heart thumping with fear and anticipation.

  “Brice,” I said. “I thought you were going to be gone for another few days!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Obviously,” he said. “Got a little worked up while I was gone, did you?”

  “What?” I asked. “No. Of course not. What do you mean?” I thought my voice sounded as innocent as it possibly could for a woman who’d just had a mind-blowing orgasm in the shower of the man she was working for.

  Brice stepped closer to me, trailed his finger down my chest and between my breasts, catching it on the front of my bra. Then he traced along the edge of the cup, up the strap to my shoulder, hooking his finger underneath.

  My breath caught in my throat as he flicked the strap from my shoulder. He leaned forward, kissed the spot where the strap had been. Then he did the same with the other side. I breathed him in, his cologne, his scent.

  He reached around me, unhooking the bra and letting it drop to the ground. When he saw my breasts, I knew he had been thinking about me. I could see it in his eyes- they were hungry, lusty for me. He lowered his head to my breast and enveloped me with his mouth, sucking so hard I thought he would leave marks. Rolling his tongue around my nipple, he circled and circled it until I was gasping for breath, panting with desire for his cock.

  “Oh, God,” I said, but the words sounded more like a moan. “I’ve missed you so much.” I meant that I’d missed his cock, but I’d said him. I didn’t miss him, did I? This was merely a business arrangement, yet when he was gone the place felt empty without him, lifeless and cold.

  I couldn’t be falling for him….could I?

  Brice looked at me and smiled. “Did you miss me?” he asked. “Really?”

  I nodded. “You have no idea.”

  “I might have some idea,” he said. “Were you good while I was gone, or were you naughty?” The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile that was Brice being playful.

  “I was good,” I said.

  I lied.

  Brice slipped his hand down the back of my panties and grasped my ass. “I love this ass,” he said. “So thick.” He gave it a squeeze, then paused. “Are you lying to me?”

  “Of course not,” I said, the words coming out automatically. Then, “I might be.”

  He laughed and gave my ass a quick slap, as much as he could with his hand still in my panties. “You were a bad girl, yes?” he asked. “I hoped so.”

  “What?” I asked. “You hoped I was a bad girl while you were gone?”

  Brice kneaded my ass cheek with his hand. “I knew you wouldn’t hold off,” he said. “I pictured you in bed, your hand between your legs like this.” He reached between my legs to touch my slickness, and I inhaled sharply.

  “Like what?” I gasped.

  “Like this.” He slipped a finger between my folds, then inside me, teasing me, his finger sliding in and out. “Tell me, did you touch yourself like this?”

  “Not like that,” I whispered, my breath starting to be ragged now.

  “Then like what?” he asked. “Tell me how you touched yourself.”

  “In the shower,” I said. My voice was gravelly, husky, colored with lust for him. “A few minutes ago.”

  "With your fingers?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "The shower head."

  “Mmm. Then you’ll have to be punished for being naughty, won’t you?” Brice asked, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smile. He tried to make his voice sound stern, but he was failing. I could see his rock hard cock pressing against the fabric of his pants, and felt my pussy throbbing, begging for his attention.

  He motioned in a come hither gesture with his fingers inside me, stroking my g-spot a few times to tease me, and I nearly collapsed against his hand. Then he withdrew them, and I groaned, the void where he’d been excruciatingly painful.

  “Lie on the bed,” he said, his voice cool.

  “What’s my punishment going to be?” I asked as I walked to the bed, letting my hips sway in the way I knew would turn him on even more. Brice couldn’t resist my curvy ass. I sashayed to the bed and stretched out on my side, making sure to jut my hip out at an angle to accentuate my curves. From across the room, Brice groaned.

  “Hmm,” he said. “A spanking?”

  I smiled. Brice had playfully bent me over and applied his hand to my backside several times now, sending vibrations reverberating through my ass and my pussy. To say I enjoyed it was an understatement. Once, he had made me come solely by spanking me, each blow pushing my clit up against his leg. That wouldn’t be a punishment. It would be a reward.

  “No,” he said. “You like that too much.” He undressed slowly, removing his crisp white d
ress shirt, tailor made to fit his lean body, revealing his well-developed and defined chest.

  There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man, his abdomen muscles rippling from his regular workouts. He liked to row in the lake on the estate- the lake he owned- and sometimes I’d walk down to the dock, pretending to be reading, but really watching him as he rowed. His muscles, covered in a sheen of sweat, would glisten in the sunlight, and I’d fantasize about him fucking me, right there on the dock where anyone could see. He hadn’t yet, but I was hoping, waiting.

  “Then whatever will you do to me?” I asked.

  “I have one idea,” he said. He slipped off his pants, lying them over the end of the bed in a perfectly straight line. Then he walked to the bureau, and pulled out a set of handcuffs, dangled them from the tips of his fingers.