A Billionaire's Dirty Secrets (Secret Sins Club Book 1)

“Can I join you?”

I looked up from my Cosmo drink to the man standing next to me on the bar.

“You’re sitting alone but… you don’t look like you want any company. Or are you just selective?” he asked, his tone unhurried. Familiar, somehow. I heard his voice from alpha male doctors I worked with. Ultra-confident, assured of what he could offer in the table—the operating table in this case—and talked to people like gods.

But I wasn’t in the hospital, worried about losing my job.

I was right here, nursing my vodka martini, waiting for someone exactly like this man. But I didn’t know how exact was exact. He watched me watch him back. He was tall and handsome. Not ordinarily handsome but strikingly good-looking. Deep-set eyes, gaze intense yet relaxed and a straight nose that made his warm expression almost aristocratic. His lips were full for a man, softening his features but, strangely, didn’t put even a tiny dent to his aura of masculinity. His jaw was squared with a subtle dimple to his strong chin. He was hot and sexy.

He was a beautiful man.

He wore a maroon jacket, blue shirt underneath and jeans that looked washed but expensive. Stylishly casual. He smelled amazing and honestly, his careless smile made my knees tremble. His baritone was low yet full and carried over the hum of bar chatter around us. I knew it was deliberate, trying to hook me up with a voice you’d hear right after sex, making me think of rough tumbling in bed. Soft music and the murmur of other patrons deepened the intimate mood between us instead of distracted.

I finally smiled. His eyes focused now, lowering to my assets, his flirty lips letting me know he liked my smile, but more the short, red dress I wore because of the skin it revealed. I felt suddenly hyped up. Sexier. Hotter. Oh, good, he’s a real charmer.

He was exactly exact.

“Sure,” I replied, matching his relaxed energy. “You can join.”

He took the stool next to mine. The usual small talk commenced, every word tinged heavily with suggestion. People who came here wanted one thing and we both knew the game all too well.

“Wanna cum?” he asked after a few minutes of laughter and subtle touches, his thigh lightly knocking mine, finger on the side of my hand, a thumb on my cheek before that question. “Pun… intended.”

His choice of words danced with the invitation in his intense eyes.

“Rough and hard?” I asked.

Fire dilated the black moons of his eyes. “And syrupy sweet in between.”

I went.

He was onto me the moment we were inside the hotel room. Not the fast and furious and rough I was anticipating and wanting, though I changed my mind as soon as his hands were on me, sure and strong. His kiss was gentle, inquiring. The truth was, despite my craving for these carnal conducts in my secret night life, I felt more weird about getting kissed by strangers than being fucked. I would turn my face aside until my choice of the night got it, and he would focus on my body, and I would reward him if he was especially rough.

I liked rough. I liked hard. I liked dirty. More times I didn’t get it. But tonight, this man… I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t deliver because I felt lucky just inhaling him.

But then he kissed me before I could turn my face away—as if I could. I was mesmerized when he slowly lowered his head so our lips would touch, as if he would really stop if I withdrew. I didn’t find out because I let him kiss me, and I was lost in his kiss. I let him kiss me so thoroughly as we shed our clothes, and more when we tumbled on the bed together, his lithe body covering my willowy one. I had given my body to more men than any woman I knew ever did, and my late mother would be turning on her grave if she knew that her delicate and innocent-looking Nyleen was actually a very kinky girl.

But there were men and there were… men. And this man, I would be glad to become anything he wanted me to be tonight because I knew I would thoroughly like it, too.

He raised his head from me, and his eyes glittered in the soft light of the lamp. My heartbeat raced so I tried to calm my breathing. My hands itched to touch him. I was already hyperventilating because of the way he rubbed himself against my body, sensuous and sure. I could feel his cock against my stomach, not so hard yet but already considerably thick. He would be huge when rock-hard. I wasn’t worried that he wasn’t hard yet, or when he’s hard and huge. The time for that had passed. Anything could happen tonight and I wouldn’t worry a thing.

Earlier in the car when we started making out, I cupped and groped him.

“Uuhh… big equipment you carry here,” I teased, encouraged by his low, sexy laugh.

“It shouldn’t disappoint you,” he’d said. “I know how to use it, too,” he added in a way that wasn’t as cocky as it should have sounded, and it made me laugh.

His confidence was the kind that was true to the bones. Instinctive. I wondered how many women he’d broken with this power he possessed. He would try to break me.

His eyes roamed all over me as he changed. Subtle, but it was there. I felt the thrill of knowing crept on my skin, tried to arch my spine. I resisted. I knew, too.

“You are beautiful and you know it, too.” He was teasing me with the truth. I couldn’t help gasping, but I controlled it… stretching it. Making sure he saw I was being careful. And he was attentive. I breathe in again as his other hand rose to caress the side of my neck, where he angled my face towards his. “Now… let’s see what we can do with this beauty here.”

My heart thudded inside my chest. He could twist that neck or grasp it to limit my air. Creepy that I thought that with the way he held me there.

I liked it.

“Yes, please…” I replied.

And he kissed me again, rough now. Deeper. Harder. He slipped my lower lip between his teeth, sucking and sucking until my eyes heated up with tears but I didn’t cry out. His knees pushed my thighs apart, unceremoniously, his knee caps—or patellas—pinning my inner thighs down. It hurt. I winced even as a moan escaped my lips.

I felt his cock, and it was considerably harder now, twitching. I was aroused since we left the bar, and was soaked in the car. But it still hurt, and I still screamed, when his hips withdrew to shove his hard length inside me, cleaving through my inner muscles, roughly. Tears gathered at the side of my eyes. He got harder inside me, thicker. His passage hurt. He was raw.

A sob escaped my lips. He kissed me, one deep kiss before he raised his head and asked in a rough voice. “Did you like that?”

“Yes!” I answered.

He withdrew and pushed in again, no less rough, not slowing down. Just a slight pause at the hilt. And another.

Then he was taking me with fast thrusts, hard, really rough. He angled his hips and I screamed when his thrusts scraped my g-spot each time, too fast and yet not ever gone for a moment. Unrelenting. I got more soaked and he hammered at me and sawed at me, breaking me as he fixed me, each stab a death sentence of life. Oh god, he was exactly exact. He was the man. And I threw my head when my orgasm whipped at me like an angry lash, hitting over and over, my body quaking like bombs were exploding inside, while liquid heat suffused me entirely, my fingers and toes curling in like they were ready to spat out claws.

He did the same thing several times, twisting my limbs and my back in impossible positions that hurt and aroused. Not once did I wondered if he was ever going to cum. When it did, I was already bombed out of my mind. I was probably already riddled with bruises all over my body. But when his heated skin finally parted with mine and air cooled the heavy sheet of sweat on my skin before it reached the sticky wetness between my open legs, I was gone.