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Knocked Up By The Billionaire

By:Tasha Fawkes

Chapter One

Brady

"Hey, Brady, check her out, over there." Nick pointed to a blonde woman across the room. "She's been eyeing you since we walked in the door.”

I barely heard my best friend’s comment, busy with a tall, big-breasted brunette who had walked over to our table, abruptly sat down on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and planted one on my lips. I didn’t know her, at least I don’t think I did. Did it matter? Not really. She made herself comfortable on my lap as I inhaled a combination of perfume and booze.

Well, how about that? Enjoying the buzz of my third or fourth Queimada—who was counting—I grinned lazily at the woman after she broke off the kiss.

“Do I know you?” I asked. I might have met her, but who could remember? I’d enjoyed so many one-night stands over the years it was impossible to recall them all. Big tits, little tits, it didn’t matter to me.

Nick said I was a chick-magnet, and I believed it. Completely. I had been told so many times that I was hot and that my hard body was to die for, and that my features reminded them of this movie star or that musician, so who was I to argue? I loved it. Not that I had a big head… at least not the one on top of my shoulders anyway. I didn’t do girlfriends… no, don’t go there, so this was fine with me. Free sex. I’d never had to pay for it, and I never would.

“No, but you can if you want to.” The brunette smiled, leaning closer to kiss me again.

The drink was supposed to provide mystical powers. Maybe it did. Then again, how many times had I also been told I had magic fingers? A well-honed skill, one that I practiced as often as I could. Nothing more distracting than having sex, no doubt about it.

One arm wrapped around the young woman’s shoulders, the other cupping and gently squeezing an ample breast, I tried to enjoy the moment. The large, steady thrum of the bass in the dance club in the basement next door to my hotel kept time with the pounding of my heartbeat. The techno-beat of the music nearly shook the walls as red, blue, and green strobe lights swirled over the dancing crowd, the popular nightclub packed to the brim.

I stared at the crowd, a surge of… of something different gnawing at my belly. My dick responded to the music and the woman in my lap, but my thoughts felt detached, observing and yet not joining in the abandon and joie de vivre expressed by the dancing couples on the floor or making out in their own half-shadowed booths.

I glanced at Nick. I knew why I’d come here, and it wasn’t only because Nick had encouraged me. Anything to stave off the growing boredom, this growing sense of disconnection. I frowned. Bored? How could I be bored? Spending every night with another woman, indulging in booze, the fast cars, the jet-setting around the globe. How could I be bored. And yet…

I grinned as the woman in my lap leaned closer and sucked on my earlobe, evoking goose bumps along my skin. Distracted, I chuckled and offered her my neck while my palm lightly rubbed against her breast. I felt her nipple harden through the fabric. So did my dick, lengthening along the inside of my jeans as she wiggled her ass against my groin.

“Brady!”

I laughed as Nick reached across the table and tapped my shoulder. “What’s the rush?”

“Maybe I’ll take my chance with her,” Nick said, raising his voice to be heard above the music as he gestured over his shoulder. “Come up for air, bro. I need five hundred Euros.”

“For what?”

“For some blow.” Nick shrugged, again tilting his head toward the woman staring at us from across the room. “An icebreaker.”

With a sigh, I let go of the woman’s breast and dug my hand into my left front pants pocket to pull out several bills. “Don’t spend it all,” I warned, then turned to grin at the beauty still grinding on my lap. “I plan on doing some entertaining myself.”

I didn’t do drugs like Nick. Didn’t like the way they made me feel. I drank, sometimes to extremes, but that too was gradually taking its toll. I was getting sick—literally—of waking up with throbbing headaches and fuzzy hangovers. At twenty-seven, I was just beginning to realize that I couldn’t party quite as hard as I had at twenty. I pushed the negative thoughts from my head and watched as Nick snatched the money from the table and pressed his way through the crowd to the other side of the room.

I momentarily ignored the woman on my lap, still gyrating, eyes closed, an ethereal smile lifting the corners of her mouth, imagining God only knew. I stared after my friend. Nick Calloway and I had been best friends and drinking buddies since high school. Originally from California, Nick was the quintessential typical surfer dude—tanned skin, unruly blond hair, and a happy-go-lucky, almost reckless attitude about life. All he wanted to do was surf, party, snort coke, and look for the next lay, and not necessarily in that order.

Unlike me, Nick didn’t come from a well-connected family. After a brief stint as a bartender, he had quit. He told me that he wanted to become an agent; to book bands in clubs like this one, but he didn’t seem to understand that his employment history, or lack of one, stood in the way of his dreams.

Over the past couple of years, Nick had often tagged along with me on my ‘vacations’— me footing the bill of course. Earlier this week, we had landed in Ibiza, Spain. For the briefest of moments as I watched Nick make a beeline for the attractive blonde across the room, I felt a surge of… annoyance? Dissatisfaction?

The ample-breasted brunette on my lap distracted me when she not so surreptitiously slid her hand between my legs and groped my balls. I glanced at her and noted her dilated pupils and knew she was high, drunk, maybe even both. She wanted it. She wanted me, and I was all too happy to oblige. I had just reached for her breast again, almost desperate for the distraction, when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone approaching the table. With

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