Curves and the Billionaire (BBW Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

“Of course she did,” Natasha scoffs. “Looks like she ended up eating more than her fair share.” Obviously proud of the fat joke she made up on the spot, she doesn’t see the glare Nathan is shooting her. He leans down to whisper to her, but I stop him.

“Don’t bother,” I say to Nathan. Then I turn to Natasha. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, “if you’re so busy trying to fuck rich white men who care more about your breast size than your brains that you didn’t notice the rest of us have something you obviously lack: class. I might be curvier than you and I might not know what it’s like to buy single-digit clothes, but I sure as hell know what it’s like to have people show me respect for my work and not because I’m anorexic. You, on the other hand, will never know what that feels like. And for that, I pity you.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead right.

Nathan’s mouth is on the floor, but I barely notice.

I just turn and walk away. Hot tears spring to my eyes, but I squish them right back in. There’s no room tonight for tears. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and down it, hoping the alcohol will take away some of the nerves I’m feeling.

It shouldn’t be so hard to be here tonight.

After all, I am what I am. I’ve never hidden that. I wear my heart on my sleeve where the whole world can find it, grab it, and squish it as they please.

“Hey,” I grab Katie, one of my employees. “I need to step outside for a minute to take care of something. Can you cover me?” She looks at me questioningly, but answers affirmatively, so I leave her in charge and head toward the double doors at the side of the ballroom.

Katie is one of my most trusted assistants. I know she’s not going to let me down.

Once I’m in the hall of the hotel, I take off toward the majestic staircase that leads to the hotel rooms. Yeah, I booked myself a room for the night. I don’t expect to get lucky or anything, but I also don’t feel like taking a cab across town at 3 in the morning when I could just crash here and clean up first thing in the morning.

As I reach the top of the stairs, I ask myself for the thousandth time why I’m letting girls like Natasha get the best of me. I’m obviously stronger, braver, and smarter than her, but I also think guys like Nathan don’t really fall for girls like me. They fall for the bimbos. They fall for the breasts. They fall for the itty bitty waists and the expensive purses.

When I finally get to my room, I hurry inside and close the door behind me, allowing myself room to breathe, just for a moment.

Then I hear his voice.

“She’s nothing,” he says.

I walk further into the room to find Nathan sitting on my bed, his hands clasped in front of him. He looks genuinely worried.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, wondering what the hell is going on. I could have sworn I locked the door. And how did he know which room was mine, anyway?

“I own the hotel,” he blushes. “So I have a little bit of leverage with the front desk.”

“Of course you do,” I say, kicking off my heels. “Well, what can I do for you, Sir?” I try not to meet his eyes. I don’t want him to know that her words hurt me.

“She’s nothing,” he repeats.

“What?”

“Natasha. She’s just someone I know. There’s nothing going on between us.”

I’m confused.

“What? That’s none of my business,” I tell him firmly. “It doesn’t matter to me who you date.”

“It matters to me,” he says. “I don’t want you to think that I would willingly associate with someone like her. I didn’t even invite her tonight. I invited her father, who thought it would be nice to try to set us up. As you can see, the affection is grossly one-sided.”

Is it?

“Nathan, why are you here?” I finally say, collapsing onto my bed. Our thighs touch as I do, but I ignore the warmth that spreads throughout my body. “You’re missing your party.”

“Forget the party,” he says. “I didn't hire you because I needed a caterer, Emily. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“What?” I sit up suddenly, catching his eye. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you at the art gala opening a few months ago and was immediately impressed by you. The way you carried yourself, the jokes you told, how smart you were," he grins. "How sexy you were. I knew I wanted to get to know you, too. How else would I have gotten the chance to talk to you on the phone every single day? To pour hours of work into a project alongside you? To bug you in the middle of the night just to see how your day went? I
had
to hire you.”

“I thought you were just being a needy client,” I tell him honestly, “though I definitely looked forward to talking with you.”

It's true.

I've had needy clients before, but no one has ever come close to Nathan when it comes to contact. He's messaged, called, or emailed me every day since we last met, and I love it. I love having someone ask me how I'm feeling, how I'm doing, or how the plans are coming along.

But I thought it was all about business for him.

"Emily, you're amazing," Nathan tells me. His hand is on my thigh now. His fingers make small swirls in the fabric of my dress, and I can feel every touch through the thin satin.

"You looked pretty happy with Natasha," I comment absentmindedly, trying to explain what I'm feeling. How could a man like Nathan ever like a girl like me? I'm ordinary. I'm average. I'm run-of-the-mill. I'm not a model.

"You have no idea how incredible you are, do you?" He asks. One of his hands cups my cheek, and I turn toward him. "Who told you that you were anything but perfect?"

Where do I start?

The teasing 3rd graders at my all-girl Catholic elementary school?

The teachers in middle school with their sideways glances?

The boys in high school who made fun of me in gym class?

The boyfriends who couldn't handle that I wasn't trying to lose weight?

"I-" I begin, but his mouth is on mine, pressed to me, taking the words away, making me forget, if only for a little bit.

Nathan Thompson is kissing me for the second time after talking about my weight.

And I'm not sure what to do with it except enjoy every second.

His hands run through my long blonde hair, gripping my head, pulling me closer into him. Our mouths are colliding into one, sending shivers down my body. For the second time, I'm wrapped up in his arms, but this time, I don't have to let go.

I don't have to walk away and be professional.

Not this time.

Not tonight.

I reach my own hand to his leg and slide it up until I feel his bulge. He's already hard and throbbing, already prepared to give me what I want from him tonight.

"You're hard," I say through our kisses.

"For you, Baby," he murmurs. "I've been wanting you since the moment I laid eyes on you."

I'm instantly wet, just thinking of all the ways he could take me right here, thinking of all the ways I want to ride him, feel him, enjoy him. While Nathan's guests enjoy the party downstairs, we're about to enjoy our own secret party.

And no one else is invited.

He wriggles out of his jacket as I stand in front of him. I slowly begin to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time. My hands trace his skin as I slowly make my way to the bottom, revealing his abs, revealing his body, revealing what's about to be mine.

I glide my hand over his hard-on one more time before pulling him to his feet. Nathan is quiet as I unbuckle his belt and push his pants to the floor, moving along with them so I end up on my knees in front of him.

His hands find their way back to my hair, making this moment even more intimate. I forget about my insecurities as I slide his dick into my mouth, slowly sucking on the end before gliding the rest of his cock down my throat. His groan satisfies me in ways words never could, reminding me that I'm sexier than I think, quietly promising me that I'm better than Natasha ever could be.

He thrusts forward, forcing himself deeper into my throat, making me gag slightly on his pre-cum, but I don't care.

It's the moment I've been waiting for, hoping for, dreaming for.

Nathan Thompson is all mine, if only for right now.

I take his length again and again, reveling in his scent, enjoying his taste. Then I open my eyes and look up at him. He's watching me the way I hoped he would, gazing at me with lusty eyes.

"Come here," he says, and I stand obediently.

Nathan turns me around gently and unzips my dress. It falls to the floor, quickly accompanied by my bra and panties. When he turns me back around, I stand naked in front of him. He sucks in his breath as he takes in my breasts, my body, and my shaved, ready pussy.

I'm ready for him.

"I've been thinking about this since the moment I met you," he whispers in my ear. "You have no idea how much I want you right now."

I grip his cock with one hand and smile.

"I might have a little bit of an idea," I say.

He growls and pushes me over the bed, so I'm bending over, my feet planted firmly on the ground and my hands gripping the comforter.

His finger slides up and down my folds, gently teasing my clit. I let out a soft moan, unable to contain myself. I feel his fingers slide inside of me and I bite my lip, not wanting to scream. The way he's filling me up feels so amazing. I can't wait for the real thing.

I push back against his hand, moaning softly, not caring that I sound needy and whiny. I'm ready for more. I'm ready for everything.

I hear the rustle of a condom wrapper, then his hands are on my hips, gripping me, pulling me back, impaling me quickly on his hard cock.

This time I do scream.

This time I cry out everything I'm feeling.

Every inch of Nathan glides in and out of me in perfect rhythm and I push back against him again and again, needing even more of him. His hands move from my hips to my breasts and back again, owning me, possessing me.

It's been a long time since I was last fucked and it's never been like this before: fast and passionate, hard and determined.

He flips me over and pushes me back onto the bed, draping my legs over his shoulders as he fucks me face-to-face.

It's intimate, to be sure, but it's also wild. His eyes burn as he takes in every bit of me, lustfully gazing at me, reminding me without words exactly how gorgeous he thinks I am.

I run my nails down his arms and back up again, lighting up his nerves, making him come even more alive as we bond together in the darkness of my room. My fingers find their way down to my clit, where I begin to touch gently as he continues to thrust in and out of me, growing more and more aroused with each second.

My orgasm builds quickly, quicker than it ever has before, and it's not long before I'm writhing beneath Nathan. His hand covers my mouth as I cry out for mercy, falling exhausted back onto the bed as waves of pleasure continue to roll over my body. I shake as he joins me in release, murmuring my name as he comes.

And then it's over.

And we're alone on my bed.

He tosses the condom and then sits down beside me, pulling my head into his naked lap, stroking my hair.

"That was amazing," I whisper. He nods, quietly basking in the moment.

"You're incredible," Nathan tells me. From the quiver in his voice, I can tell that he means it, though it was really the last thing I expected: seducing (or being seduced by) a billionaire.

Slowly, we begin to redress and make our way back downstairs, catching the tail end of the party. The music has slowed and many of the guests are making their way to the doors, ready to relax after a long, exciting celebration.

Natasha rushes over immediately, starting to babble something at Nathan about how she was looking for him.

Then she notices me hanging off his arm, and she notices our ruffled hair.

"Oh," she says, blushing, then scurries off quickly.

Nathan only smiles and pulls me close to him.

"She's nothing," he says again, crooking a finger under my chin and forcing me to look up at him. "It's only you."

Sophie Stern lives in the Midwest, where she loves dreaming up the weirdest sexual situations she can. She resides with her husband of 10 years who is a constant source of encouragement - and inspiration.

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Check out this sneak-peek of Stripping Jupiter, book 3 from the Roleplayers series!

I'm still reeling from the phone call.             

When Anne informed - not asked, informed - that we were going to amateur night at a local strip club, I wasn't sure what to think.

I'm still not.

It's been almost twenty minutes since she rang, and I'm still gawking at the phone, still staring, still not sure whether to be turned on or horrified.

I feel like I should be terrified, honestly. It's not that I'm morally opposed to strip clubs. I'm not. In fact, I'm not morally opposed to much of anything. I fight back a smirk as I think of the past few weeks and how many crazy, poor, unusual, and exciting decisions I've made. I fucked one of Anne's friends and then I fucked Anne. Then Anne and I fucked Bruce together, enjoying our first threesome. And we did enjoy it. A lot.

But now I'm at work, stuck in an office job that I once thought held a world of opportunity for me, but that mostly just holds paperwork. I stare at my cluttered desk, realizing how much work I actually have to get done before I can leave tonight. If I want any chance of being able to hurry home long enough to take a shower, much less pick out a fuck-me-please outfit, I need to get going.

I pick up the first sheet of paper and sigh. It's a lengthy order form that's scribbled in handwriting I can barely discern. Somehow, I manage to make out the name and telephone number of the customer well enough to locate them in our computer database and figure out exactly what it is that they want to order.

As I'm working, my boss, Kevin, walks through the doors. Technically, I'm his assistant now, but I kind of classify myself as his work-whore. No, I'm not fucking him, though I've thought about it many times. He's not ugly, though he might be married. I'm not really sure. Lately I've been so distracted role playing with Anne and Bruce that I've barely had time to think about other people, let alone fuck them.

But I consider myself Kevin's work-whore because he literally piles anything and everything on my desk that he doesn't want to do or doesn't understand how to do. I don't blame him, honestly. If I held an upper management position, I'd probably do the same thing to my team of slaves. After all, isn't that what employees are for?

I finally figure out what the order is supposed to be and finish punching it in the computer. I file the order form away in one of my many filing cabinets and start working on the next sheet of paper. Now, though, my mind isn't in it. My mind is on amateur night.

What's it going to be like?

What is
Anne
going to be like?

I think about my friend's gorgeous body: her long hair, her perky nipples, her pussy that's always wet and ready for more. I catch myself daydreaming about earlier in the week when we managed to fuck each other silly on her bed. Now I'm the one that's wet and dripping.

Maybe I should excuse myself from this stack of kill-me-now paperwork. Maybe I should sneak into the bathroom, peel down my panties, and finger myself alone in the stall until I'm coming as hard as I was beneath Anne's tongue.

Maybe.

But I don't.

I wonder what Anne is going to wear tonight. She's always been dirtier than me, at least by my standards. She's always been very comfortable with her sexuality. I've been a little slower to grow into my sexual identity. I've been a little more tame, a little more reserved, a little more monogamous.

But now that I'm exploring, now that I'm finally opening up, I'm not sure how I lived so long that way.

I pick up the next sheet of paper, but it might as well be blank. All I'm seeing is Anne on stage, swaying her hips. The music is loud: the crowd even louder. Her shirt comes off quickly, almost instantly. The black bra she chose flashes beneath the lights on the stage and soon she's everyone's darling. Soon she's everyone's fantasy. Soon she's everyone's wish.

But the only one she's going home with is me.

I bite a finger, still holding the page. Is she going to want to dance with me? Will she pull me up on stage and make me her plaything? Will she be the one to strip me down, to bend me over, to slide a finger in my pussy as the whole room watches?

I let out a soft moan as I think about the way her hands will feel petting my cunt, making it ache for her tongue.

I wonder what will happen if she lets loose and decides that it's okay to fuck me right there on stage.

My hand slides from my mouth to my breast, squeezing it gently over my blouse. I close my eyes, wondering what the crowd will do if Anne decides to push me down on stage and lick my pussy 'til I'm moaning and writhing and dying with pleasure.

I wonder what the other dancers will do.

I wonder what Bruce will do.

And suddenly, with a start, I wonder what Kevin will do.

Because he's standing in front of my desk and looks anything but pleased.

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Stripping Jupiter
on Amazon today!