Read The Billionaire’s Tentacles (Alien Breeding BBW Erotic Romance) Online

Authors: Cherry Dare

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The Billionaire’s Tentacles (Alien Breeding BBW Erotic Romance)

BOOK: The Billionaire’s Tentacles (Alien Breeding BBW Erotic Romance)
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The Billionaire's Tentacles

By Cherry Dare

Copyright 2012 Cherry
Dare

All Rights Reserved

––––––––

Getting an interview with
billionaire Hayden Kane was the chance of a lifetime. The reclusive businessman
got named "Bachelor of the Year" every year, like clockwork. But magazines
usually had to resort to recycling the same old news and the same old photos,
since he rarely made public appearances.

I didn't know why he'd allowed a
small-time journalist like me to interview him, but I was thrilled to get the
opportunity. I tried not to let a silly grin spread across my face as I sat
down across from him in his luxurious office.

Since he had refused to allow me to
take any photos, I took him in with my eyes, memorizing every detail. He was
tall and fit, with muscular shoulders and a fine, tight ass that his tailored
suit showed off to perfection. His sleek black hair and icy blue eyes added to
his aura of command and dominance, but his luscious lips suggested that he
really was as wild in bed as the gossip claimed.

I wondered what it would be like to
have those lips kissing mine. I imagined his hot tongue trailing downward, from
my belly to my hot pussy. I imagined it flicking between my tender folds, then
probing inward...

"You have ten minutes," Mr. Kane
said coolly. "That's more than I give most reporters."

He took an antique gold stop-watch
from a drawer of his mahogany desk. It clinked down on the polished wood. He
clicked the timer. "Begin."

His intense gaze sent a shiver of
nervousness through my belly. I was once again self-conscious about the
generous curves of my body. A famous billionaire like Mr. Kane had his pick of
stick-insect supermodels and anorexic actresses. In fact, those were the only
types of women he ever dated. Some men liked women like me, with my voluptuous
hips and breasts and ass, but I must be unattractive to this wealthy, powerful man.

I hit the button on my tape
recorder with a trembling finger. "Mr. Kane, the whole world is curious about
your habit of retreating to your private island every July, and refusing to
allow anyone to see you. You don't even let your household staff see you in
person. What do you do there?"

His laser-sharp focus on me
dissipated. I had clearly bored him. "The whole world knows the answer to that
question. I like to take some time to clear my mind in solitude, and come up
with new ideas."

I watched him carefully as I sprang
my trap, eager to see if I could crack that famous cool with the information
I'd uncovered. "Why do you give all your female staff vacation time for July?"

Those ice-blue eyes blinked. I had
rattled him! "It's their summer vacation."

I pressed him. "Why only the women?
Why break it up by gender?"

The cool façade returned. But now I
knew it was only a facade. He leaned back in his leather armchair. "Coincidence.
Nothing more."

"Are you gay?" I asked.

He smiled, but there was no warmth
in his eyes. "Being unmarried does not mean that I'm gay. As the entire world
knows, I love women. And as you no doubt know from reading the tabloids, Miss
Carey, the women who have kissed and told had no complaints about my
performance."

It was true. One of them had used
the phrase, "The best fuck of my entire life." The rest of them had agreed in
more delicate terms.

"Are you bisexual?" I inquired.

He laughed, this time with what
sounded like genuine amusement. "You look as if you hope that I am."

"If you are, admitting it to me
would make my career," I agreed cheerfully. "Are you?"

I imagined those sensual lips
encircling another man's cock, licking and sucking, his blue eyes closed and
his head thrown back in wanton lust. My nipples hardened at the image.

Mr. Kane gave me a wicked glance
from beneath his long black eyelashes. It sent a tingle through my whole body.
"Are you fantasizing right now about me having sex with a man?"

I was caught off-guard. Hot blood
rose beneath my skin, and spread over my chest and face. It felt as if my
cheeks were about to burst into flame.

Mr. Kane reached out a long finger
and brushed it over my cheek. I gasped involuntarily. My entire body trembled.

"You're blushing," he said.

"I... I..." I stammered. I couldn't
think of anything but the soft touch of his finger on my face.

He withdrew his hand. Damn!

"So, are you?" I asked. "Bisexual,
I mean?"

He shook his head. "As I said. I
love women.
Only
women."

He had spoken softly, so I had to
lean in to hear him. I could smell his scent, a mix of expensive woodsy
cologne, his natural male musk, and something else that I couldn't identify. My
nostrils flared as I inhaled more deeply. It was salty, like sea brine. Or
semen. I swallowed.

The stop-watch went off.

"Your time is up," he said,
brusquely pushing back his chair.

I felt like I'd been interrupted in
the middle of a kiss. "Can I have an extension? Ten more minutes?"

He shook his head, clearly
dismissing me from his mind. He had been amusing himself with me, nothing more.
That annoyed me.

I put my hands on his desk, palms
down. "I want to know what you do on that island. Do you send your female
employees away so you can have an orgy with the men who are left?"

The look he gave me was ice cold.
"Our interview is over."

"I want to know!"

He flicked his finger, directing my
attention to an inset button on his desk. "Miss Carey, you may leave, or I will
call security."

I stood up. "Fine. I'm going. Thank
you for the interview, Mr. Kane."

I walked across the palatial office
and put my hand on the doorknob.

His voice stopped me in my tracks.
"By the way, Miss Carey... You may print any speculation on my sexual orientation
that you like. But if you write one word about me only having male staff on my
island while I'm on my yearly retreat,
I will ruin you.
"

The threat in his voice made me
gasp. He meant it.

"I won't!" My voice came out in an
embarrassing squeak.

I fled the office, feeling like a
mouse that had barely escaped a cat.

But once I got outside, my fear
faded and was replaced by curiosity. What
did
he do on that island,
anyway? And if his secret really was gay orgies, why did he say I could
speculate about his sexual orientation? Shouldn't he have ordered me to say he
was straight? What could possibly be going on that required women to be kept
away at all costs?

I had to find out.

It took me a long time to work out
the details of how to get to Kane's island, but I finally managed it. I am a journalist,
after all. Getting information is my job.

That July, I stepped out of a boat
on to the sands of Hayden Kane's island. It was midnight, with an enormous harvest
moon shining overhead. The night was warm, the air was humid, and the scents of
exotic flowers filled the air.

I waved my hand, dismissing the man
I had hired to get me to the island. He would return at dawn to pick me up. I
had only a few hours to ferret out Mr. Kane's secret.

I crept along the beach, avoiding
the staff quarters, looking for Mr. Kane's mansion. I expected it to be as big
as Buckingham Palace and twice as fancy. But what I discovered, in the middle
of a lush tropical garden, was a beautifully designed but comparatively small
cottage. Was that really where a billionaire would live, on an island that he
owned? Why would he prioritize privacy over luxury?

What was he hiding?

I snuck through the garden and up
to a curtained window. I peered through a crack in the curtains.

I had found him! Mr. Kane was in
his lavish bedroom, pacing. He was barefoot and shirtless, and the muscles of
his chest and belly and shoulders were sharply defined. The treasure trail of
hair leading down his belly and vanishing into his pants was as dark and damp
as the hair on his head.

His torso glistened as if it had been
oiled. I figured he was sweating from the heat. It was a delicious sight. I
longed to go inside and lick up some of those beads of liquid. They glistened
strangely, as if the fluid was thicker than sweat. It looked more like lube, or
even pre-cum.

Stop it, Sheila, you nasty girl,
I warned myself. I was here to get the dirt on Mr. Kane, not to indulge in
sexual fantasies.

He threw himself on to the huge bed
and yanked off his pants. His cock sprang out, erect and huge. He grabbed it in
his hand.

I knew I shouldn't watch him jerk
off. I had never been a voyeur. But I couldn't resist seeing him in such an
intimate moment. I took a soft step closer to the window.

Mr. Kane reclined on the bed, his
entire gorgeous body glistening with sweat or oil. His black hair was damp and
tousled, no longer carefully styled like it had been when I had met him in his
office. His ripped chest moved up and down as he breathed heavily, as if he was
already on the verge of orgasm. It was incredibly sexy to watch him when he
wasn't so in control of himself.

I was sweating, too. My own arousal
sent flutters through my belly and moistened my pussy. I had an intense urge to
slide my hand down into my panties and touch my throbbing clit. It was so
strong that I jammed my hands into my pockets to stop myself.

I felt my own breath coming faster
as I watched him slide his hand up and down his massive shaft. I wanted to see
what he looked like when he came. I wanted to see how his face changed, and
hear whatever sound he made. I leaned forward, my face almost touching the
curtains.

His cock was amazing— by far the
longest and thickest I'd ever seen. Mr. Kane pumped at his shaft, his features
tight with urgency. He moved his hand harder and faster. Beads of gleaming
liquid flew from his hair as he flung his head back and moaned aloud.

I couldn't take it any more. I had
to get myself off, or I'd explode. I'd just have to be very, very quiet. I
pressed the back of my left hand against my mouth, clenched my teeth tight
together, and began to rub the fingers of my left hand against my slick pussy.

As I masturbated, I timed my
strokes to Mr. Kane's, imagining his hand stimulating my swollen clit.

He shuddered and groaned, as if he
was coming. But he didn't ejaculate.

Two long, slender tentacles emerged
from his groin. They wrapped themselves around his cock and slid up and down,
working in tandem with his hand.

I was so amazed that I pulled my
hand out of my pants.

Was I hallucinating? Or was he a... a
tentacle monster?

Don't be ridiculous, Sheila,
I told myself
. It must be some kind of rare birth defect.

Now I knew his secret. No wonder he
hid away on the island. This must be his time to take advantage of his strange
mutation for masturbatory purposes, without anyone around to discover it.
Though I still didn't know why he was more worried about women catching him
than he was about men.

I took my mini-camera out of my
pocket and snapped some shots. This was going to be the scoop of a lifetime!

More tentacles emerged from his body,
at his groin and waist and wrists. All of them were pink as the palms of his
hands, suckered like an octopus, and glistening with that slick liquid.

I was fascinated. But, to my
surprise, I was not repulsed. The weird organs moved like the tentacles of a
sea anemone, twisting and probing at the air. They should have been grotesque,
but they looked oddly natural.

I took more photos. But by the
third, I was overcome with guilt. Mr. Kane must be self-conscious about his
body. Why else would he go to such great lengths to keep it a secret?

I could identify with that. I often
wished I was thin, like the women who get photographed in the magazines I wrote
for. Every time I went grocery shopping, I was reminded that beauty was defined
as being size six, at most. I knew what it was like to worry that my body would
be rejected by others.

How could I expose Mr. Kane to
rejection, disgust, or even horror? What sort of person would that make me?

I ejected the memory card from my
camera and snapped it between my fingers. In the silence of the night, the
crack was louder than I expected.

Mr. Kane's tentacles instantly
whipped around, their blunt heads facing me. Before I could react, he had
leaped off the bed and flung open the door.

I spun to face him. We were so close
that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell that same scent I
remembered from our first meeting at the office. But the salty undertone was
much stronger now. It was coming from the glistening moisture that covered him,
like he'd been drenched in lube from head to toe.

His handsome face twisted in horror
as he stared at me. "You! What are you doing here?"

I held up the broken memory card.

"It's okay!" I said. "I won't tell
anyone. I destroyed my photos."

I saw the delicate skin of his
throat bob as he swallowed. "I can see that."

"I'll go now. I'm sorry I spied on
you."

I started to back off. His hand
shot out and grabbed me. Despite the slippery stuff on his palm, he was so
strong that he gripped me tight.

"It's too late," he said. His voice
was ragged, desperate.

His tentacles had lengthened and
thickened, and they stretched out toward me. One began to wind around my wrist.
It was hot, much hotter than human flesh, and coated in slick fluid. The
suction cups pulsed and sucked at my skin, like hungry kisses.

The sensation was like nothing I'd
ever felt before, but it sent a jolt of pleasure through me that was so intense
that my knees got weak. I gulped back an involuntary moan.

BOOK: The Billionaire’s Tentacles (Alien Breeding BBW Erotic Romance)
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