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#BABYMACHINE: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance by Cassandra Dee, Katie Ford (1)





This should’ve been one of the best nights of my life, but instead it was boring as shit. The box seats were pretty incredible for sure, floor to ceiling glass aeries high in the sky. There was good food. Beautiful ladies, bouncing from lap to lap. An exclusive view of the game on the court below. Nothing I could have imagined when I was a hungry kid desperate to make it big.

But now I’ve made it bigger than big.


Billions in cash, rolling like rivers into my bank account.

And yet I was bored.

The two teams below were the best of the best, stacked with MVPs and athletes whose paychecks were in the eight figures.

But that’s nothing.

Eight figures? Please.

More like eleven or twelve zeroes on that shit.

So yeah, I was bored.

“Hey bad boy,” a girl cooed, wriggling onto my lap. Big boobs, skinny ass, and bright red lipstick. Why do girls do their mouths like that? She could give the Joker a run for his money with that wide ear to ear grin.

But the female had no idea what I was thinking. The blonde wriggled, tits bouncing like fake, plasticky water balloons. One almost smacked me in the chin.

But she didn’t notice.

“How’s it going?” the girl cooed once more, trailing long red fingernails down my chest. Fuck, they were like razors, almost taking off a button. “Life treating you well?”

Jonas interrupted from a nearby couch, a similar girl bouncing in his lap.

“Damn, that one’s hot for you, Mason,” he chuckled, knocking back a fifth of something. My respect for this guy isn’t exactly high. He’s a trust fund kid who managed to quadruple his family’s wealth over the last couple of years. But it’s not talent. It’s always been his dad in charge, whether from behind the scenes or straight up with the money. I mean, look at this fucker. He barely made it out of pre-school with that ridiculous cowlick and dirty fingernails.

But Jonas is unstoppable.

“You should let her suck your cock so I can watch,” he grinned lasciviously. “I bet she’d be hot.”

Please motherfucker. I don’t do girls like this. I like ‘em round and luscious, not the ninety-pound bag of bones currently giggling like a maniac for no reason. Because of course, the woman squealed happily.

“Oh my god!” she cooed, mock outraged. But that changed in two seconds flat. “What do you think, big boy?” she whispered into my ear, trailing one hand down my broad chest. “I could do it. I think you’d like it.”

I held back a yawn.

“No thanks,” was my grunt. “I’m a little tired.”

“Tired?” she parroted with wide eyes, mouth already in a round “O.” “That’s why you need me. I’ll wake Mr. Happy right up,” she added with a sly smile, licking her lips.

But I wasn’t into it. I wasn’t into any of these girls in fact. Because yeah, they’re paid to be here. All these girls were aspiring models and actresses who wanted to make a quick buck doing a gig for the Players Club. So yeah, skinny as fuck scarecrows all around, ready to suck dick if the dollars were right.

And the money’s always right, at least for a crowd like this. A lot of the females left our parties with thousands of dollars in their pockets, showered with cash. And they earned that money for sure, doing all sorts of depraved shit at the request of members. There ain’t nothing moolah can’t buy, not in this town.

So the female gazed eagerly at me, fingers already lightly skimming my bulge as dollar signs cha-chinged in her eyes.

But naw. I didn’t want another puppet on my jock. In the beginning, all this stuff with the Players Club was fun, especially when the wealth was new and I felt I had to prove myself. Ten years later though, and it was clear the cash was here to stay. That I was here to stay. But somehow, the scene wasn’t for me anymore. It was for kids and frat boys, dumb idiots who chewed gum with backwards baseball caps, even if they were worth billions. You can’t buy class, that’s for sure.

But the problem was, what next? What did I want? And sadly, there was no clear answer. Instead, my life was like a gaping chasm, a long string of endless, meaningless days. So here I was again, rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich, horny bachelors, bored as shit and already making to leave after ten minutes.

A cheer went up from the crowd below. The home team had scored. But in the skybox, barely anyone noticed, rubbing up against a girl or two as they gorged themselves on food, drink, females, drugs, anything and everything at their disposal.

Rex, CEO of a shoe company, had one girl bobbing her head on his dick as her friend ate her from behind. He was fully dressed and sitting sprawled in a high-backed chair like a king, dick sticking out the fly of a five thousand dollar suit. Both girls were moaning loud, really putting on a show. Fuck. This was right up Jonas’s alley. Why didn’t he bug Rex and not me?

I jerked my head toward Rex’s lap.

“That go in the fuck book?”

The man could barely answer, eyes rolled back up in his head so that only the whites showed. But as the girl took another deep suck, cheeks hollowing, he gasped, head bolting upright.

“Naw, I don’t think so,” he managed through clenched teeth, abs and chest tight. “I did this shit last week with twins, it was better then.”

My head shook.

“Alright, no fuck book then,” were my careless words.

Because we keep logs. It’s leftover from the old days, when I still felt the need to prove myself. We record every depraved act, competing amongst ourselves. There’s some messed up shit for sure. Doing a girl and her mom. Doing twins. Triplets. Triplets and their mom. It’s called the fuck book for a reason. Because we fuck girls but we also fuck ‘em in fucked up ways. Keeps things interesting, puts an edge on life.

But lately, it’s gotten boring. There just aren’t that many variations, you know what I mean? How many times can you bang identical twins? How many times can you do a circus performer who stretches one leg behind her ear while upside down? It was just more of the same.

And clearly, I wasn’t the only person who felt this way.

“Our books are shit,” came a clipped voice over by the window. “Nothing new or challenging.”

I shot a glance at Reginald, a dandy in a tweed suit. The guy was actually interested in the game, bent over towards the stadium with a glass in one hand. He was English by nationality, new to the States but old money all the way.

And Reg lifted his glass in a toast.

“We need to do something different,” he said in that hoity-toity uppercrust accent. “Something exciting. Something marvelous.”

I almost snorted. What guy uses the word “marvelous”? But maybe that’s just how UK people are.

“So what do you have in mind?” I drawled lazily. “What’s up your alley?”

Reginald shrugged nonchalantly, turning back towards the glass. His suit was real dapper, complete with a gaily colored handkerchief square peeking from the breast pocket. Really? To a basketball game?

But Jonas jumped in like an eager puppy, almost wriggling with excitement.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, eyes wide and way too bright. “Got any neat ideas?”

Reg shot him a cool look. Jonas isn’t popular with any of us, and now wasn’t an exception.

“I’m sure between the twelve of us we can think of something,” Reginald said in that clipped voice. “Why, have any ideas?”

That was the opening Jonas was waiting for.

“Yes!” he cried, bolting upright in his seat. “Maybe we could get a girl, tie her to the wall, and take turns beating her. And then after we’re done, I’ll break her free and she’ll act like I’m her savior. Or you can be her rescuer if you want. We can take turns,” he said eagerly. “What do you think?”

I stared at him. Clearly, the boy had problems. Like real serious problems. Because what was up with that fantasy? I get the sadomasochism part, some people like tying others up and whipping the shit out of them with paddles and whatnot. If all parties are cool with it, then I’m cool with it too.

But what was up with the “savior” storyline? Why did Jonas need to play the role of a superhero descending from the sky to rescue a damsel in distress? Jonas was like an insecure teenage boy, desperate to pump himself up and act the big man on campus. Strange. Real strange.

So I shook my head.

“Naw, no need to get all Avengers. Not necessary, I’m good.” Pushing the skinny escort off my lap, I ignored her surprised oomph as she landed on a cushion. Brushing off my slacks, I stood. “Listen, if that’s it, then I’m out. It’s been great, but this game hasn’t exactly been holding my interest.”

But Reg wasn’t done yet. Twirling his moustache like Sherlock Holmes, he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe that’s it,” the Englishman lilted. “We’ve done everything under the sun already. So let’s do the opposite.”

I shot him a skeptical look.

“And what would that be? Grandmothers instead of MILFs? Grand-MILFS? Great-grand-MILFs? I mean, really man. How far does this go?”

Reg’s pale blue eyes were like glints of ice.

“A virgin,” he said simply. “Let’s find virgins for our fuck books.”

Stunned silence for a moment. Virgins? Did those even exist anymore? I thought they were unicorns, mystical and magical, a figment of the imagination. And clearly, other dudes thought the same thing.

“Are you serious?” someone guffawed. “Where you gonna find one? Junior high? Elementary school? Please brother. You wanna go to jail?”

There were more stupid comments as well.

“There ain’t no virgins out there anymore.”

“My mom’s a virgin.”

“Your mom? You wanna do her? You think Daddy-O will mind? Or he in on the game as well?”

Wisecracks flew in the air, making my eyes roll. But still, the idea was interesting, and that was saying a lot. As a forty-five year old billionaire, there isn’t much that can grab my attention anymore. The idea of a fresh, innocent female made my head snap forwards, eyes intent.

But before I could say anything, Rex finished with his girls, pumping heavily, grunting with finish. His companion moaned like it was the best candy, eyes closed while wriggling those hips ecstatically. But I saw. I saw how her eyes flickered open, landing on the clock on the wall. I saw how her friend in back looked relieved, like this farce was finally done.

Shit. I shook my head. This fucking sucked. The girls were bored and doing it for money. The conversation was inane and pointless, taken over by people like Jonas. Why the hell was I even here?

But right, the virgin thing. Not missing a beat, Rex pulled his cock out, slimy and shiny, and tucked it back into his pants before throwing a couple bills at the girls.

“I don’t think it would be easy for us to find a virgin,” he grunted, not at all fazed even though his balls were likely still jerking. “It’d be a challenge for sure.”

And that got me again. A challenge? My ears perked. It’s been forever since I’ve had one of those.

Reginald smiled cannily from across the room.

“Like I said,” he drawled. “There aren’t that many, it’s the beauty of the chase. Who knows what’ll happen?”

And before I realized it, my voice rang out.

“It’s on then. Let’s do it. A virgin for everyone’s fuck book. Bust those cherries with evidence, and then we’ll share at the next meeting. Whaddya say?”

I could hardly believe it. Where the hell was I going to find a virgin, someone unused and untouched? Usually, I avoid inexperienced girls like the plague. There’s just too much crying, too much hesitation and whining when you could be having the time of your life with an experienced woman who knows exactly what to do. So why the hell was I going down this route?

But clearly, it was the challenge. Wandering into uncharted territory was something new, upping my adrenaline. And it’d be interesting, for sure, throwing a little spice into the mix. Fuck, right now all I had was a landscape of endless tomorrows, each one blurring into the last.

“A virgin,” I stated again, making eye contact with every billionaire in the room. “Proof, written, oral, video, whatever you have. And bring it to the next meeting.”

There was some grumbling at first, some of the same, “Are we really doing this?” protests. But hey, it’s been a long time since the guys had something to gnaw at. And a virgin? Twelve virgins, for twelve billionaires? It was gonna be a tough act for sure. New York City is big, but not that big. Where were we going to find these chicks?

So it was decided. Somehow, we were going to use our resources to locate a myth. And I wasn’t sure I could win for that matter. I mean, how the hell do you find an innocent these days? Troll high school campuses? College is too late for sure. Put out a fake ad for a baby sitter? Who knows?

But Reginald grinned slyly then.

“Fresh. She’s got to be totally unused. Never taken dick, just to be clear.”

And like a douche, I nodded.

“First time, absolutely man.”

The deal was sealed. Slinging my jacket over one shoulder, I strode out of the sky box to the private elevator. Anyone watching would have seen a tall man, cool and composed, blue eyes intent.

But a plan was already hatching in my head. This was going to be a tough one, but not impossible. Nothing’s impossible. Like I said, I’ve got billions of dollars and unlimited resources at my fingertips. As CEO of a huge conglomerate, thousands of employees scramble at my every command. So this couldn’t be too hard, right? All I had to do was get lucky … with one very fortunate girl.



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