Cowboy Alpha Billionaire Bad Boy: F#cking Jerk 1 Page 8

Something about this situation smelled fishy. Maybe it was time to consult with a lawyer and see if something could be done about my aunt’s will.

  Two days later I sat in the office of James Hardin, Esquire, the lawyer who was acting as the executor and trustee of my aunt’s estate. I would have preferred to consult with a different attorney, someone with no connection to my aunt, but there wasn’t any to be found within a fifty-mile radius of Dawson.

  It was clear, from the look of Mr. Hardin’s small and extremely modest office, squeezed between a bakery and dry cleaner, why. Obviously there was little need of attornies in Dawson, Wyoming.

  I was sitting at his ancient wooden desk, in his crummy old office. The 1970’s paneling and flickering florescent lighting made the place feel depressing and grungy. The threadbare carpet added to the ambience. And the appearance of the man himself, with his equally worn-out suit and stained shirt, matched that of the surroundings.

  What he said made me want to cry. “I’m sorry, Miss Pierce. But there’s nothing I can do. The will is legal and binding. If you aren’t able to adhere to the required conditions of the will, the estate will be transferred to the other party.”

  My mind was blown. Why would my aunt back me into this corner? She loved me. She loved the ranch. I know she never wanted it to go to a big corporation. She’d had several over the years offer to buy it. Did she simply assume that wouldn’t happen because I wouldn’t let it? Or was this a test of some kind? “Maybe I could talk to a representative of the company, see if some kind of deal can be worked out?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “Are you able to give me a contact name? A phone number?”

  “Certainly. He pulled a card out of the folder and handed it to me. I wish you the best of luck.” He offered his hand for me to shake.

  “Thank you.” I accepted the card with a smile, shook his hand and stood, hooking my purse over my shoulder before peering down at the card.

  My heart literally skipped a beat as my eyes found the name printed in the center of the card.

  Clay Walker

  Owner and CEO

  Pronghorn Holdings, Inc.

  That fucking jerk!

  ***

  Loved F#CKING JERK 1? Don’t miss the continuation of Morgan and Clay’s story in F#CKING JERK 2 (Alpha Billionaire Bad Boy) by Tawny Taylor.

  F#cking Jerk 2

  By

  Tawny Taylor

  I hate that f#cking jerk Clay Walker! He’s been making my life a living hell since I was five. He punched my v-card when I was eighteen, and then, stupid me, I let him seduce me out of my panties again last week. If only I could say goodbye to the a**hole for good. But I can’t. You see, I inherited my aunt’s ranch. And guess who’s the ranch foreman? You got it. That f#cking jerk. And he’s out to make me even more miserable than ever.

  Did I mention he's also insanely hot--like, face of an angel and the body of a devil? And he’s learned new wicked, deliciously naughty ways of tormenting me?

  So now there’s me, the good girl, locking horns with the untamed bad boy. And if I lose, I lose everything--my self respect, my pride. And maybe even my aunt’s estate.

  But I’m no pushover. I’m not going to take any of his shit lying down. Not again.

  Clay Walker, you f#cking jerk, this is war!

  CLICK HERE TO READ MORE

  ***

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  For fans of Stepbrother Dearest and Stepbrother Billionaire

  Stepbrother Romance – Obsessed

  A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance

  By

  Tawny Taylor

  I am so effing dead.

  Mom just got married, and now I have to live with my new billionaire stepbrother, Kent Payne. I should be happy, right? We aren’t surviving on noodles and rice anymore. And at first I am. But things change. Quickly. It’s him. Kent Payne. He is exactly what his name implies--a pain in the ass. Sure, he’s gorgeous, and rich, and built like a god. But he’s also a controlling, irritating, womanizing pain in the butt.

  Now, thanks to our parents, we’re members of one big, happy family. Whoo-to-the-fu**ing-hoo. He’s a jerk. And nothing can happen between us anyway.

  So I shouldn’t care about who he’s kissing in the kitchen...

  And I definitely shouldn’t be fantasizing about him being my first…

  SAMPLE

  Our gazes tangled.

  The air squeezed out of my lungs. I couldn’t inhale.

  His gaze flicked to my mouth, and my heart did a somersault in my chest.

  Was he going to kiss me?

  He couldn’t!

  He Shouldn’t!

  Oh God.

  A breeze carried the smell of flowers and man to my nose. A lock of hair fluttered across my face. I reached up to capture it but he lifted a hand and smoothed it back, behind my ear. “You look like your mother,” he said, his voice very low.

  Was that meant to be a compliment?

  “You look like your father,” I told him with my heart in my throat. He was still staring at my mouth, this beautiful, mysterious man. It was wrong, so so wrong, but I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to find out what it would be like to be kissed by a man who knew how to kiss. I wanted to be touched by a man who knew how to touch a woman.

  He didn’t move, just remained fixed in place as if he was trying to decide whether he would kiss me or not.

  And so I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his.

  His lips were firm at first, unwelcoming. But I knew he wanted me. I didn’t back off. I arched my back so my breasts barely brushed against his chest and moved my mouth slowly, softly over his.

  The smoldering kiss continued for a million racing heartbeats, maybe more. I completely lost track of time, of space, of everything. Until there was a deep rumble, like thunder.

  And then lightning struck. Somewhere out there. In the distance.

  And also between Kent and me.

  Kent grabbed my shoulders, pulled until my torso was flush with his. His mouth claimed mine. It was the kiss I’d been waiting for my entire life. It was soft and rough, thrilling and scary. It was a question and an answer.

  It was a conquering.

  And I surrendered.

  I was his. His to claim. His to touch. His to take.

  My body molded to his. My mouth opened. His tongue swept inside, and I savored his intoxicating, sweet flavor.

  Heavy need pounded between my legs. I writhed. I whimpered. I welcomed his invasion.

  I felt him shifting beside me and then he was above me, and I was angling back, my shoulders supported by a strong, thick arm. My head rested on the seat and he climbed over me, breaking the kiss.

  I pulled in a gasp. My head was spinning. All I saw was Kent, his face…and the desire burning in his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered as he kissed me again. His kiss was tender. It was thorough. It was oh, so, good and yet not enough. The burning between my legs was becoming unbearable.

  “Please,” I begged, arching my back so my breasts brushed against his chest. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the delicious pleasure pulsing through me. He couldn’t stop now.

  “Shayne,” he murmured, cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip and I quivered from head to toe. Did he know what his touches did to me? What his kisses did? I was so hot I felt like I would combust. And the burning was the worst down there, between my legs. I wanted it to stop...and I didn’t.

  My hips rocked back and forth, back and forth. The friction against my center felt so good but even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to tear my clothes away, to feel his skin gliding over mine. To feel his wet, warm mouth on my nipple.

  “Your mother is trusting me to protect you,” he said, voice husky. Even as he said those words, his hand slid down, fingertip tracing a line along the pou
nding pulse in my throat. The gentle touch made me whimper.

  More, I needed more.

  As if he could read my thoughts, his fingertip ventured lower, along my collarbone, lower, angling toward my ample cleavage.

  Yes, oh yes. Keep going. He had to keep going.

  “But you’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t stop wanting you.”

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  * * *

  Please turn the page for a special sneak preview of RAW by Tawny Taylor.

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  RAW by New York Times Best Selling author, Tawny Taylor

  It was supposed to be fun, the vacation of a lifetime. A dream vacation in Europe. Seven days of exploring Spain’s lush countryside with my bestie, Sidonie. Seven nights of romance with a billionaire in the market for a trophy wife—with Sid acting as full-time escort to keep me safe, of course. All arranged by an elite matchmaking service that catered to lonely billionaires. What could go wrong?

  Nothing. Or so I thought.

  I was dead wrong.

  Sidonie mysteriously fell ill they day I was scheduled to leave and had to be replaced by a strange woman I didn’t trust or like.

  And those days of exploring Spain?

  Spent locked in a room.

  I wasn’t on vacation.

  I’d been sold.

  To the highest bidder.

  WARNING: This book contains sexual situations of a rough nature – and includes violence and strong language that may be offensive to some readers.

  SAMPLE

  I backed away from him, one step, two. “Please. I’m a virgin. And I want—need--to stay that way. I promised my parents, I promised myself, I wouldn’t have sex until I was married. Please don’t take that away from me, my right to make a choice.”

  Staring at me with obsidian eyes, cold and hard, he shook his head. “Your pleas land on deaf ears, esclavo. I could care less what you want. I only care that I’ve paid good money for you and I intend to get what I paid for.”

  My head spun. I staggered back another step. Was he suggesting…the agency, FI, knew what would happen to me? Did they know before I even left the US? “You paid money? To fuck me?”

  “I paid money to do whatever I like to you. For one week. And we’re wasting time.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. My head spun. Thoughts whipped through it, jumbled. “How much money? Maybe I can return your money?”

  One brow quirked. “Do you have two million dollars, esclavo? You said you had nothing.”

  I gasped. Then, because for some reason the oxygen I’d gulped didn’t make it to my lungs, I gasped a second time. “Two million? Two million U.S. dollars?” My legs wobbled. “Two million?”

  “Two million.” Once again, he closed the distance between us. “So you see, esclavo, I will get whatever I want. I’ve paid a great price for the right.”

  “But…but…I’m not for sale!”

  “You were.” He prowled closer, evil smile in place, eyes glittering. “And I was the highest bidder.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Had Sid’s boss sold me like a common whore? Sid couldn’t have known! My stomach convulsed, and I fell to my knees. I heaved but nothing came up.

  Something hard and tight clamped around my arm and within a split second I was pulled across the room. With every inch I was dragged my terror swelled. And so did my fury. I fought. I kicked. I writhed and screamed until I was breathless and heaving and trembling all over. Stopping in front of the big wooden X bolted to the back wall, he hauled me to my feet then jerked one of my arms up.

  Oh God. If he tied me up I wouldn’t be able to fight. He would be able to do anything he wanted to me. Anything at all.

  Sid was a zillion miles away.

  And Tonya…? Where the fuck was she?

  Shit, I was alone. There was no one here to help me. He could kill me.

  I fought even harder. I fought with everything I had. My rage pummeled my system, and I used it to drive me to keep fighting, even when he had one wrist bound. I swung with the other one and kicked with both feet until he’d secured both wrists and ankles in cuffs.

  I’d fought. I’d lost.

  But I wasn’t giving up.

  I was chained to a big x, my back facing my captor. But I was still a virgin. And I was still alive. For now.

  But for how much longer?

  My muscles were so tense they cramped. My nerves were jangling so badly I shook from head to toe. My senses were hyper-alert. I heard him moving behind me. I felt the slightest gust of air when he came closer. His cologne filled my nostrils.

  His heat burned my back, even though I was still wearing my clothes.

  The hairs on my nape stood on end.

  “I enjoy your fire, esclavo. Now, let me see if you enjoy mine.”

  What did that mean?

  My insides twisted.

  Heat gushed to my core.

  What the fuck?

  Shocked by my body’s reaction to the menace in his voice, I let my head fall forward until my forehead rested on the structure to which I was bound. “Go to hell.” Since when did the threat of rape turn me on? Since when did a bastard who didn’t give a fuck about me make me cream my panties?

  I was sick. Sick!

  I deserved to go to hell too.

  Confused and disgusted with myself, I smacked my head against the wood and curled my fingers so tightly my fingernails dug into my palms. A sob ripped up my throat.

  Behind me, he said, “Now, it is time to see what I have paid for.”

  I felt a tug at the back of my shirt and then the sound of rending fabric echoed through the tense silence. My spine arched and I jerked in a desperate (but pointless) attempt at escape. A breeze chilled my back as the torn pieces of my sweater and tank top fell aside and my skin prickled with goose bumps. My bathing suit strap snapped and my breasts fell out of the cups. My nipples hardened almost instantly. And another blast of heat pulsed to my center.

  I was fucked up.

  “Stop it,” I yelled. “Stop it now.”

  “Ah, esclavo, keep screaming. Keep shouting. Your pretty little voice makes my cock hard.”

  My skirt was next, cut, torn, I couldn’t tell which. The material slid down my right leg, catching on a cuff at my ankle. My bathing suit bottoms would be next. Oh God.

  My pussy clenched. Hot, sticky cream coated my folds, dampening the lining.

  He audibly inhaled. “I can smell your cream. Intoxicating.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “As you wish.”

  I felt the tug at the waistband and panic gripped me. I writhed, fighting the chains holding my ankles and wrists in place. But there was no hope, no use. I was bound tight, unable to resist. Fingers slid down my lycra-covered crack. I trembled. Tears coursed down my cheeks, even as more heat pounded to my pussy. I was shocked and ashamed by my body’s response. I despised this man, even if he had the face of an angel. I didn’t want him to touch me. Not my back. Not my ass. And…oh God…not down there.

  “No,” I said on a whimper. “No, no, no.”

  His fingers grazed over my sensitive flesh. No man had ever touched my pussy. It felt so good. Good but wrong. Wrong but thrilling.

  “Please stop,” I begged.

  “Do you know what the scent of your cream does to me? Esclavo, you are so wet. I want to cram my cock into that slick, tight heat and make you scream until you can’t scream anymore.” My thighs tensed. He kicked at the insides of my feet and they slid wider apart, as far as the chains would allow, opening my center for his probing digits.

  My breathing quickened. My heartbeat thumped through my body, sending wave upon wave of lust burning through my core. My pussy was empty and clenching, so wet and hot I ached. Instinct told me to open wider, surrender to him to pacify him, even as my brain told me to resist, to fight, to beg for mercy and cling to my pride.

  I couldn’t let him take what was mine, d
ammit.

  But even as that thought blazed through my mind, I quivered with need. His fingers slipped into the leg of my bottoms, fingernails grazing my labia. My insides pulsed, and the air filled with the sweet scent of my need.

  Ohmygod! I was shameless. I was a whore. A whore who didn’t just want his touch to delve deeper, I needed his touch to delve deeper.