Billionaire by Design (A BWWM Romance) (15 page)

“Maybe you should eat a bag of shit and mind your own fuckin’ business,” Phil rebutted loudly.

The tall, muscular man who’d been shooting pool heard this comment and immediately paused his practice. Standing up straight and looking quite menacing in doing so, he rested the bottom bumper of his cue on the floor while holding its tip with a big, strong hand. His eyes, filled more with concern than anger, locked on to Phil first before moving on to the bartender.

“It’s okay,” the bartender silently mouthed to the hulking man, raising a hand to him in reassurance. Although he was staggeringly intoxicated, Phil could tell that these two were friends and simply looking out for each other.

“I’m sorry,” Phil slurred apologetically. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out another twenty and slapped it down on the bar top. “Thank you for the drinks.”

“Just get home safe,” the bartender replied, his anger melting into genuine compassion for the pudgy, downtrodden man standing before him in a cheap, knock-off suit.

“Want us to call you a cab?” the behemoth holding the pool cue stepped forward to ask in a deep, raspy voice.

“No, I’m good, but thanks, guys,” Phil politely waved as he turned to leave, suddenly feeling guilty for his obnoxious behavior. He’d labeled these men as miscreants based on their rough exteriors, but they’d proven to be kind, understanding people who seemed to genuinely care about his well-being.

Stumbling his way outside, he reunited with Amber, who helped him make the short walk to his car. She refused to let him drive, ignoring his protests and insisting that she take the wheel. He finally conceded and sank into the passenger seat while she hopped into the driver’s side, thrilled at the chance to drive a Mercedes for the first time.

“Where’s your place?” she asked as she carefully backed out of the parking lot.

“Far, far, away,” Phil answered as he fought to keep his eyes open. “Just find a motel. I’ll pay. I don’t give a shit.”

“Okay, babe. I know a place right down the street,” she replied as she maneuvered the expensive vehicle.

“I bet you do,” Phil muttered, and laughed at his own quip. He briefly nodded off, and when he awoke, he found them parked outside the lobby of
Travel Inn
, a cheap, rather disreputable motel just off the interstate.

“Go check in,” Amber instructed as the car sat idling by the motel’s front entrance.

“Yes, ma’am,” Phil answered as he rubbed his eyes and pulled a pair of sunglasses from his glove compartment. He opened the passenger door and moved to exit the car, then paused in a moment of clarity. He turned and pulled his keys from the ignition, realizing the last thing he needed was for this prostitute to drive off with his five-month-old Mercedes.

“Really?” she scoffed as he slid the sunglasses on and stepped out of the car.

“Better safe than sorry,” he grunted, then headed into the motel’s small lobby while trying not to stumble. He returned moments later, dangling a pair of room keys, and handed his own keys back to Amber.

After his paid companion pulled the car into a parking space alongside the motel, he had her pop the trunk so he could retrieve the last rum-filled water bottle he’d stashed. He wasn’t happy to learn that the room was on the second floor, but managed to make it up the flight of stairs without falling.

“I got us the penthouse suite,” he joked as he led her into the small, outdated room that boasted a queen-size bed, draped with a rather ugly maroon comforter, positioned in its center. Beside it, two worn chairs sat tucked into a little table, and he wasn’t surprised to see the antiquated CRT television sitting atop a short bureau that looked like it had seen better days. He was surprised, however, to find a mini-fridge, capped with a microwave, standing to the side of the bureau. Both seemed to be in decent condition and were unexpected amenities for a room costing only forty dollars. The room looked like a vestige of the 1980’s, but he didn’t expect any less from a cheap motel that catered primarily to truckers and prostitutes.

Phil removed his suit jacket, tossing it onto one of the two chairs, and began unbuttoning his shirt while Amber made her way into the bathroom. He could hear the sink running and hoped she was freshening up with a quick whore’s bath.

Clumsily kicking off his shoes, he slid his pants down with one hand while the other clung to the table in an effort to stabilize himself. When he spotted the bottle of disguised alcohol he’d set on the bureau by his sunglasses, he stumbled over to it and took a large gulp without a wince, then drifted back to the bed.

Using a clever move he’d familiarized himself with in recent months, he hid his wallet, cell phone, and keys in his pillowcase to protect himself from theft should he pass out. The disoriented drunk peeled back its dated comforter and climbed in, surprised by how comfortable the mattress was, and closed his eyes to the spinning room. He was on the verge of passing out when Amber startled him awake by slinking into bed next to him, and he could smell that her attempt to wash up hadn’t accomplished much.

“We gonna play, or you just wanna sleep?” she smiled as she seductively licked the tip of her index finger.

“Take this off,” Phil groggily commanded as he tugged on her shirt.

“Whatever you want, baby,” she smirked as she sat up and peeled her tight blue t-shirt off.

“This, too,” he insisted as he pointed at her white bra.

“I like a man who knows what he wants,” she giggled as she reached behind her back and unhooked it as instructed. Her breasts, quite large for her small frame, were still perky and every bit as spectacular as Phil had imagined.

“Goddamn, those are nice,” Phil commented as he ran the back of his fingers over her hardening right nipple. “They real?”

“All natural, baby,” she answered as she climbed between his legs and began rubbing his cock through his red boxers. “You like that?“ she teased while looking up at him with her hazel eyes, their corners marked with premature wrinkles from the rough life she’d lived.

“Mmhmm,” he groaned as she pulled his boxers down and took his flaccid member in her hand, gently stroking it up and down while he felt her warm breath on its tip. He wasn’t surprised when she lowered her head and took him in her mouth without pausing to at least consider using a condom. Amber, if that was her real name, didn’t look like she made cleanliness or sexual safety much of a priority.

After ten minutes of mouthing his soft, unimpressive cock, Amber began showing signs of agitation at Phil’s inability to get aroused. She let out a long, irritated sigh, then continued to suck his limp penis as he lay watching her with droopy, inebriated eyes. When another five minutes passed, she couldn’t contain her frustration any longer and had to say something.

“You gonna be able to get hard, or what?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just the booze. Don’t stop,” Phil replied, placing his hand on the back of her head and moving it back down to his lackluster manhood.

She was about to call it quits and give her aching jaw a rest when Phil’s cock finally began to show signs of life. Five minutes later, he was erect enough for her to climb on top, but he stopped her to insist they use protection. Proving to be a true professional, she pulled a condom out of the back pocket of her denim skirt and hurriedly tore the package open, wrapping the prophylactic over his hard member before it had time to go limp again. She hiked her skirt up, revealing that she wasn’t wearing any panties, and positioned herself over his shaft. Reaching down, she guided him inside of her unkempt vagina and started to slowly gyrate her hips as his sweaty hands gripped her outer thighs.

“There we go, baby,” she smiled, covering his hands with her own and clenching them tightly as her body began to rock back and forth.

“Take that cock, you dirty whore,” he breathed, his eyes closed in concentration and his hips thrusting up and down.

“Yeah? Am I your little slut?” she moaned, playing along with his apparent appetite for degradation.

“You’re fucking right you are, you bitch,” he growled, his face twisting in coital focus as his cock slid in and out of her wet hole. His hands broke free of hers and moved to her firm ass, squeezing it hard and using it to control their rhythm.

“Shit,” she cursed when he slipped out of her. She tried fitting him back in, but he’d started to go limp again and she couldn’t get him inside. “Maybe you should sober up some first?”

“No, I’m good,” Phil assured her as he pulled her down onto the bed next to him and slid his boxers off. Now wearing only his black dress socks and a loose condom, he gracelessly rose to his knees and squeezed his hairy body between her spread legs, seemingly unashamed of his sagging chest and large, flabby belly. Focusing on her large breasts, he began jerking his deflating cock in an attempt to revive his erection.

“That’s it, stroke that dick for me, baby,” Amber whispered as she watched him frantically tug himself.

Two minutes later, when he’d managed to resuscitate his hard-on, he placed her legs on his shoulders and sunk all five inches of his stiff member inside of her, grunting as he began drunkenly pumping away.

“Give me that big cock!” she exaggeratedly cried out, stroking his ego as Phil repeatedly pounded into her.

“Take it, you whore!” he grunted, his eyes closed and sweat beginning to form on his brow. “Take it, Jenna! You ghetto whore!”

“Yes, that’s right, I‘m Jenna! Fuck me! Fuck me!” Amber moaned, showcasing her acting chops by transforming into whatever girl her John was fantasizing about, as he flailed around between her legs.

“You take it, Jenna, you fucking slut!” he snarled. Opening his eyes, Phil watched all four of her breasts bouncing on her two chests. He was seeing double, the motion beginning to make him nauseous, and the alcohol was killing his erection yet again.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered in annoyance as he slipped out of her for a second time.

“I’m not paying you for your fucking commentary!”
Phil suddenly burst, violently slapping her across her face with the back of his hand.

“Ow! What the fuck?!”
she screamed, throwing her hands up to shield herself.

“You fucking bitch!”
he snapped, reaching down and wrapping his hands around her throat.
“You think you’re better than me?! You think you can get me fired, you cunt?!”

Amber was long gone, replaced in his mind by Jenna Parker, the woman who’d made a mockery of him, and in all likeliness cost him his job. He tightened his grip on her neck, choking the life out of her as her face turned bright red. She fought for air beneath him, clawing at his hands in a desperate effort to break free, but she was no match for the weight he had pressing down on her.

The face that had seemed so friendly only an hour earlier at the bar was now unrecognizable, filled with a hatred she feared murderous. His teeth were gritted, his brow furrowed in anger, and his eyes were dark and cold.

Amber’s legs flailed and her body twisted as she struggled to save herself, her heart thudding and mind racing in panic as his grip tightened again. He was raving like a madman, spittle coating her face as he yelled, but she was unable to make out his words.

She pounded at his face, but the blows didn’t seem to phase him, and when she tried scratching it, he pulled out of reach. She prayed somebody would hear the altercation and come to her rescue, but could feel the life slipping out of her and knew they’d never make it in time. Reaching behind her head, she pulled the pillow out from under her curly hair and futilely hit him in the face with it. It made no impact, falling to the floor by the side of the bed, and she was seconds away from losing consciousness when her left outstretched arm felt a blunt, heavy object. Her fingertips stretched to reach it, and at the last moment, they succeeded in doing so. She quickly swung it into the side of his head with all of her remaining strength, and he immediately fell onto his side, knocked out cold by whatever she’d driven into him.

With her chest heaving and oxygen returning to her brain, she realized it had been the telephone on the motel’s nightstand that had just saved her life.

The corner of it was marked with red, and when she managed to crawl out from under the man she still assumed was Zane Talbot, she saw that his head was gushing blood. She didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out. She was still regaining her breath, her pulse racing as she scanned the room and retraced her steps.

While Phil’s bloodstain spread across the bed’s white sheets, she drew the curtains closed tightly, placed the “do not disturb” sign on the door, and wiped the room free of her fingerprints. His body showed no signs of life as she carefully peeled the condom from his penis and flushed it down the toilet, a move she hoped would also erase her DNA from the room.

When her foot accidentally grazed the pillow that had fallen onto the floor, she noticed an odd lump that, upon investigation, turned out to be his wallet, cell phone, and car keys. She’d searched for them earlier, rooting through his pants and jacket, but had found only a handful of business cards that she chose to simply shove into her back pocket instead of wiping free of her fingerprints.

For the next four hours, Amber sat shaking on the corner of the bed, sobbing quietly and occasionally glancing at his motionless body. She’d struck him hard just above his right temple, and the sheets were drenched in blood.