Sinful Empire (Mount Trilogy #3)

The truth blows through my mind like a hurricane. Unstoppable. Unashamed. Un-f*cking-believable.

Is it possible to spontaneously orgasm? I have to get out of here. But my fingers curl around the sharp edge of the wood as though it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

“Beg me.”

With my nipples harder than diamonds, I wait for her to beg. Please. I want to see—

She does.

Oh, good Lord, I’m going to hell.

He grips his cock with one hand, her ass with the other, and lines up the head with her entrance. “p*ssy first. You’re not ready for me yet.”

The pace of my breathing nears hyperventilation.

I need to do something. I have to—

Any capacity for rational or irrational thought is ripped from my brain as he buries his cock inside her and her scream fills my ears. He pounds into her over and over, and I hate her. I hate that she’s receiving his perfectly rough thrusts that rip moans of ecstasy from her throat, and all I have is the clenching emptiness between my legs.

I want that. I need that. It’s been way too long since I felt . . . anything like this. Actually, I’ve never felt anything remotely like this.

This dark edge of pleasure is something I’ve only read about. Wished for. Dreamed about.

Her moans and cries increase, and he praises her. I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me, and pretend he’s whispering them to me.

My fingers edge toward the hem of my skirt and I draw it up inch by inch. I need more. Just a little—

“My naughty secretary should know better than to touch herself during work hours.” The deep, rasping words come out of the shadows and brush over my skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

Shock freezes my movements, my fingertips locked on the material of my skirt, as a chair creaks and the disembodied voice takes the shape of a tall, broad-shouldered man stepping into the dim pool of light.

A black leather mask obscures the top half of his face, but his piercing silver-blue eyes burn hotter than a five-alarm fire. They sear my skin everywhere they touch.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Ms. Smith?” His sculpted lips are perfect—except for the fact that they called me by the wrong name.

“Umm. Uhh.” I stammer as I attempt to find words that could possibly apply to this insane situation. “I-I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong—”

His eyes narrow, but the heat remains intact.

“Nobody argues with me in my office. Strike two, Ms. Smith.”

“But I’m here for—” I make another attempt to explain his mistake, but he cuts me off with a tilt of his head.

“Whatever I want.” He emphasizes each word as he takes another step toward me. “And tonight, what I want is you.”

My teeth dig into my bottom lip as he slides his suit jacket off his shoulder and down one arm before repeating the motion with the other. His movements reveal a crisp white shirt perfectly tailored to broad shoulders, thick biceps, and a narrow waist.

Holy wow. He’s sex in a suit.

“If you’re still in this office in ten seconds, I’ll take that to mean yes, sir, I’m ready.”

I glance at the door and back at him as he begins the countdown.

“Ten . . .”



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Preview of Dirty Billionaire





Holly





The complete Dirty Billionaire Trilogy is available now! Keep reading for a sneak peek of Dirty Billionaire and don’t forget to grab your FREE copy.



Country Star JC Hughes Caught Between a Cock and a Hard Place



How is he going to explain this one away to girlfriend Holly Wix and his fans?



“That two-timin’ son of a . . .”

I hiss under my breath as I stare at the headline—and the compromising picture accompanying it—splashed in vivid color across the front page of the gossip rag displayed prominently in the checkout line at my supermarket. For the second time in two months, it’s a picture of my “boyfriend” locked in an unmistakably passionate embrace with another woman, except this time she’s wearing a giant black strap-on.

The edges of the paper crumple in my sweaty grip, and I fight the urge to tear it to shreds, along with every copy sitting on the rack in front of me.

He’s going to destroy my career before it even has a chance to become a reality.

One year, they said. One year in this joke of a “relationship” and I’d earn my stripes, be all set in the world of country music. Judge me all you want for agreeing, but when your brand-new record label puts something like that in the contract that will jet you out of the backwoods town you’re dying to escape, you don’t ask questions. You sign on the dotted line.

But reality is a cold slap in the face, and some days it hits you when you’re standing in line at the grocery store. What happens when they finally catch JC with a guy? His habit of swinging both ways, but preferring men to women, is about to become the worst-kept secret in Nashville.

I’m Holly Wix, winner of a make-me-a-star TV show, and handpicked by the label to buoy JC’s once-impressive but now flagging career. It didn’t seem like a big deal when they slipped it into my contract in the beginning. What starry-eyed girl wouldn’t be thrilled to have her name linked to a country star?

Instead of the one-way ticket to stardom I naively expected, I’m becoming the butt of every industry joke faster than the guys back home can spend their paycheck on twelve-packs and scratch-offs. But I’ve got one shot at keeping this dream career alive, and honestly, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save it. So this situation with JC needs to get settled before things spiral further out of control.

Tugging the bill of my trucker hat lower, I glance around to see if anyone has noticed me flipping out in the checkout line. A woman behind me clucks her tongue as she pulls her sunglasses out of her baby’s mouth.

Crap.

That cluck of her tongue was aimed at me, not the toothless, blue-eyed, smiling baby. Surprisingly, though, the expression on her face is sympathetic, not angry.

“Men are ass*oles, am I right? Being famous just makes them bigger ones.”

I smile weakly, and she continues. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, doll. They’re always ninety-five percent bullshit. Probably Photoshopped. He should have his head examined if he’s cheating on you.”

Snapping my gaze back to her, I read recognition all over her face, despite my hat, glasses, complete lack of makeup, and relatively low level of fame. I force a smile onto my face, but it feels awkward and fake.

“It’s called a gossip rag for a reason, I guess?” I reply, failing at my attempt to inject some humor into my tone.