A Bad Boy Billionaire: Forbidden Alpha Male Romance by Heidi Hunter Read Free Book Online

no reference point against which to judge American women.
    “Am I going away soon?”
    I laughed. “What do you mean?”
    “I've heard about you, you know.”
    “Oh yeah?” I was intrigued. “What have you heard?”
    “Well, the obsession over the size of your penis for one.”
    “I have no such thing!” I tried to laugh, but it came out too forced.
    “Okay. We can not talk about it.”
    “Seriously, I don't care about the size of my penis anymore.”
    For American men, the size of the bank account, the size of the pile of gold, the power was more important. Modern magicians could conjure up mixtures of elements in little pill shaped forms to make the snake rise. What mattered to many American men was the money. American women too, but there was still a divide in many ways. The gap was lessening with each passing year, but it was still present.
    We reached the back patio and entered the small kitchen. “Want something to drink?” I asked, heading to a cabinet of liquor.
    “I'd love one.”
    I mixed us both a rum and coke.
    “Only pussies and pirates drink rum,” she told me.
    “Oh? And which one am I?”
    “I'm not sure yet. We just met really.”
    “And there you have it.”
    “Have what?”
    “The answer to your question.”
    “Which question?” At twenty-one years old, her attention span was not expansive.
    “Are you going away soon.”
    “Are you asking me?”
    I sighed. “Nevermind. I'm a pirate. Definitely not a pussy. Pussies don't get power and wealth in this world. It's all messed up.”
    “And you think you have power and wealth?” She took a sip of the heavy on the rum drink.
    “I have a little and getting more all the time. The first million is the hardest.”
    “That's what they all say.” She reached under the table and grabbed me underneath the cotton shorts. I sat back and let her play as I took a drink and tried to not think about how the day had gone. I'd finally surpassed a million and was well on my way to my first hundred milestone, but I'd had to destroy a childhood friend in the process. Well, an acquaintance. Maybe he was never my friend. I kept telling myself that.
    I let out a moan as she unzipped me and my half-hard member popped out. Sitting at the kitchen table of a practically empty mansion getting a hand-job. Had I achieved the American dream? What did Darlene think I want? “What do you think I want?” I asked her suddenly.
    She looked up from my penis, seemingly mesmerized by it. “What?”
    “What do you think I want?”
    “To cum?”
    “Well, yeah, that, but beyond that. What do you think I want from life?”
    “A blowjob instead?”
    I sighed and nodded my head. She smiled as if she got the right answer and bent down and got to work. The job wasn't a pleasant one for her. I could tell by the lack luster performance she put in while going down on me. She made me cum. Afterward, I led her to the front door. She cried a little, but I told her I would call her sometime. American women are used to being lied to on a regular basis by everyone around them.
    I spent the rest of the night alone, smoking high-grade marijuana and writing on my laptop while sitting on the balcony of my first large home. I was almost to $100 million. I felt as if going from one to one hundred was as difficult as getting that first million. Already my sense of time and place were sent into hysterics due to the gravity produced by all the money I was accumulating. A poet who made money? Who would've thought. With the poetics of coding and making the machines do my will, I had come up.
    The next day, I wanted to cum again, so I called Sarah, who was a little older. She worked at one of the few remaining bookstores in the world. Actual paper books. I should be careful lest my audience of readers begin to realize who I am or what I'm capable of doing – with words. Always with words. The medium doesn't matter as much as the content. Sarah would understand that and gave a good blowjob as