The Billionaire's Trilogy (A BBW Erotic Romance)
By: K Matthew | Other books by K Matthew
Published By: K Matthew
Published: Feb 24, 2013
ISBN # KMTTWX0000067
Published By: K Matthew
Published: Feb 24, 2013
ISBN # KMTTWX0000067
Word Count: 30,645
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket (.mobi), Epub
The Billionaire's Trilogy (A BBW Erotic Romance) by K Matthew - Romance>BDSM eBookThis is the complete Trilogy. If purchased separately, these e-books retail for $5.98. The following books in this trilogy include:
The Billionaire's Challenge
The Billionaire's Healing
The Billionaire's Submission
The Billionaire's Challenge Description: When Mia Harrison agreed to participate in the Auction a Secretary for Charity party, she wasn't expecting anything more than a bit of extra overtime on her paycheck. But when Mia is won by sexy billionaire Garret Fabel, she's given more than just a night out on the town.
The Billionaire's Healing Description: Things start to heat up when Dr. Iserman assigns Mia and Garret some exercises to help Mia get over her self-esteem issues. Garret is more than supportive by worshiping Mia with his love and his body. With Garret's help, will Mia be able to learn to love herself again?
The Billionaire's Submission Description: Mia's sexual awakening has made her sexually aggressive. But when Garret doesn't want to play by the rules, Mia begins to have second thoughts about his marriage proposal. Will things fall into place as Mia tries to school Garret in the art of BDSM, or will it destroy their relationship completely?
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Sensuality Rating: Not rated
Excerpt:I stood on stage, dolled up like all the rest of the fake bitches lined up next to me. Why had I agreed to this? Overtime, I had to keep reminding myself. This may have been a charity function, but I damn sure wasn't doing it for free. Still, standing under the hot overhead lights that beamed down on us, being auctioned off like pieces of meat, I was quickly beginning to regret my decision to play along.
The annual Auction a Secretary for Charity party. It was the first time my boss was able to participate—the first time her small PR firm had made enough money to merit attending such an event.
When she had pitched the idea to me, I cringed inside. “Why not ask Charlise?” I quickly referred her to the perky nineteen-year-old intern who had recently been hired. Now that girl could make some real money for charity. Such a young pretty thing. Why my boss wanted to send frumpy nearly thirty-year-old me was beyond comprehension.
“Charlise isn't my secretary,” Mrs. Eddison reminded me.
“We could always pretend.” I tried not to look too enthusiastic about the idea.
“Come on Mia, it will be fun,” she assured me. “You'll get to get all dressed up and have your hair done and your nails done and meet very rich men. Who knows, maybe you'll even land a wealthy boyfriend.”
Not likely, I thought. Even though it had been seven years since my nasty divorce, I still pretty much hated men. All of them. Rich, poor, attractive, ugly, smart, dumb. They were all worthless to me. Pretty to look at, well, some of them at least, but not worth my time.
And as for the hair and nails thing, she must not pay much attention to me. I could count how many times I wore my hair in anything but a ponytail on one hand. And the number of times I'd had my nails done in my entire life was zero. I had never been a girlly girl. It just wasn't my thing. Too much work.
If Mrs. Eddison hadn't given me an allowance for such things, I never would have had them done. Even after all the primping and pampering, I still didn't feel much like a princess. In fact, the heat from the lights above were making me feel a lot more like a melting wax sculpture. The layers of makeup painted onto my face, oily and uncomfortable, were already beginning to sweat off. My long black hair, normally straight and lifeless, was starting to itch from the heavy amount of hairspray that was necessary to keep it in the tight curls the hairstylist had somehow managed. I could feel the bobby pins that pulled it away from my face slowly slipping out of their original positions. By the end of the night, I would look a mess. I was sure of it.
Focusing on my discomfort was the only thing keeping an anxiety attack at bay. There I was, at least five years older than any of the other secretaries, and the heaviest one by far. I was certain all the other bosses had been smart enough to pick their most attractive employees. There was no way all these girls were secretaries. The one to my right looked like Malibu Barbie with shining blonde hair, big boobs, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. To my left was a girl who could have easily been a super model. I wondered if Mrs. Eddison now realized the mistake she had made by sending me instead of Charlise.
The announcer or speaker or whatever he was—the man who was going to auction us off like cattle, took a stand at the podium and began his long drawn-out speech, thanking the guests for coming, talking about the history of the auction, and what charities it benefited. I was busy staring out into the crowd, feeling too embarrassed for even being there to listen to any of it. I could already imagine that I would bring in the least amount of money. It was the same sick feeling I got in grade school, knowing that I would be the last to be picked for any of the sports teams because no one thought I would be good enough. My eyes prematurely began to water, and I felt a strong urge to leave the stage. That wasn't an option though, not if I still wanted to have a job the next day, so I sucked it up. Odds were, I'd end up with a kind elderly gentleman. Most of the men in the room were old, hungering for the company of a youthful woman. The handful of younger men would probably be fighting for the girls who stood at my sides. They were certainly the most beautiful in the room—guaranteed to win large sums for their charities.
Calm down, I told myself as the bidding began for the girl at the end of the line. You'll get the lowest bid, go out with a sweet older man, get a good free meal and a ride in a fancy car that you'd never be able to afford, pretend to enjoy yourself, and then go home and cry yourself to sleep, dreading your crappy underpaying job the next morning. Well, aren't I a big ball of cheer.
Naturally, when the bidding got down to Malibu Barbie, the money began to fly. As predicted, she got picked up by a young handsome businessman who was probably looking for more than a casual dinner. How lucky for her, I thought as I listened to the round of applause when she had raked in a whopping seventy-five thousand dollars for St. Luke's Childrens Hospital.
Then it was my turn. As the auctioneer announced my name, I stepped forward, letting my thoughts drift down to the three-inch heels that I was wearing. They were horribly uncomfortable, even though they weren't that tall. I never wore high heels. They just didn't make sense to me, walking around on your toes with an unnatural arch in your foot.
“Let the bidding begin,” the man said, drawing my attention to the crowd. I didn't look at any of their faces, but rather over them, straight to the back of the room. I was so nervous and embarrassed that I didn't even want to see who was bidding for me.
Not surprisingly, a kindly looking elderly man started at a low bid. This is it, I thought. This will be my only bid, and the night will go as predicted.
Another man bid, equally old and equally low. Then the two men fought back and forth a few times, just for show. By the time the auctioneer said, “Going once, going twice,” the bid was up to thirteen thousand dollars, the lowest bid for any of the girls. My heart sank to the point that I thought I was going to vomit. It took everything inside of me to remind myself that this was all for charity, and as long as I brought in some money, then I had done a good job. Still, it was emotionally crushing to know that I was again the last kid to get picked for the sports team.