Read Online Books/Novels:
Beauty and the Billionaire
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Ruthless Bastard. White Knight.
He’s scary. Driven. Haunted by inner demons that have taken him to the brink.
But I’m . . . me.
His burning gaze and clenched jaw say otherwise though. Gives me hope and ignites a flame so hot my glasses fog up.
Do fairy tales really come true?
From USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and Washington Post Bestselling Author Lauren Landish comes Beauty and the Billionaire. Your favorite fairy tale with a side of . . . dirty. Prepare for twists you’ll never see coming and loads of alpha goodness that will make your heart, and your kindle, melt.
|Books by Author:|
The darkness is complete, wrapping around me like an ebony velvet blanket, cool and textural on my naked skin. I can feel it on my goosebumps, the air adding to my trembling.
My body, exhausted from the last ordeal, still quivers as I try to find the strength to move. It’s so difficult, the waters of sleep still tugging at me even as instinct tells me there’s something in the darkness.
A soft shuffle of feet on the carpet, and I can sense him. He’s here, watching me, invisible, but his aura reaches out, awakening my body like a warm featherlight touch on the pleasure centers of my brain.
Arousal ripples up my thighs, fresh heat shimmering with the memories of last time. I’ve never felt anything like him before, my body used and taken, battered and driven insane . . . and completely, thoroughly pleasured in a way that I didn’t think possible.
It was so much that I don’t even remember coming down, just an explosion of ecstasy that drove me into unconsciousness . . . but now my senses have returned and I know he’s still there, measuring me, hunting me, desiring me.
How can he have strength left? How, when every muscle from my neck to my toes has already been taken past the limit?
How can he still want more?
My nostrils flare, and I can smell him. Rich, masculine . . . feral. A man’s man who could tear me apart without a second’s effort. His breath, soft but shuddering, sipping at the air, savoring the conquest to come.
Another whisper in the darkness, and the fear melts away, replaced by a heightened sense of things.
The moonlight, dim now in the post-midnight morning, when the night’s as deep as it will ever be.
The sweat on my skin and the fresh moisture gathering at the juncture between my thighs.
He steps forward, still cloaked in shadow, a shape from the depths of night, ready for a new kind of embrace.
He reaches for my calf, and at his touch, I start to tremble. I should resist, I should say I can’t take any more. He’s already had his fill. What more can he want?
He inhales, his nose taking in my scent, and the knowledge comes to me, a revelation that I’ve chosen to ignore.
He wants me to be his. Not just his bedmate, not simply a conquest to have and to discard. He wants to possess me fully, to own me, body and soul.
But can I?
Can I give myself to such a man, a being whose very presence inspires fear and dread?
Can I risk the fury that I’ve seen directed at others turned back upon me?
His tongue flicks out, touching that spot he’s discovered behind my right knee that I wasn’t even aware of before him, my left leg falling aside on its own as my hunger betrays me.
My mind is troubled, my heart races . . . but my body knows what it wants.
He chuckles, a rumble that tickles my soft inner thighs as he pauses, his breath warm over my pussy. He scoops his hands under my buttocks, and I feel him adjust himself on the mattress, preparing for his feast.
“Delicious,” he growls, and then his tongue touches me . . . and I’m gone.
The electronic drumbeats thud through the air so hard that I can actually feel my chest vibrate as I look at my screen, my head bobbing as I let the pattern come to me.
I’ve had a lot of people ask me how I can work the way I do, but this is when the magic happens. I’ve got three computer screens, each of them split into halves with data flowing in each one. I’m finishing up my evaluations, I’ve done the grind, and now I’m bringing it all together.
For that, though, I need tunes, and nothing gets my brain working on the right frequency as well as good techno does.
I can hear the door to my office vibrate in its frame, and I’m glad I’ve got my own little paradise down here in the basement of the Goldstone Building.
Sure, my methods are weird, and I’m sort of isolated considering that I’m in a corner office with two file rooms on either side of me, but that’s because I need this to make the magic happen.
Frankly, I wasn’t too sure if I’d be able to keep this job, considering the number of complaints I got my first six months working here.
Part of it, of course, is my occasional outbursts—to myself, mind you, and more often than not in gutter Russian so no one can understand me.
That, with the random singing along with my tunes, meant I was labeled as ‘distracting’ and ‘difficult to work next to.’
But the powers that be saw the value that I bring with my data analysis.