The Russian Billionaire’s Secret(75)
“Marry me, you know, walk down the aisle, say our vows in front of God, marriage,” Archer told her and realized that blurting out his intentions may have been wrong timing.
“Marriage wasn't something I had considered Archer, I need time to think about that,” Shareena spoke, still too shocked to say much of anything else right now.
“I'm patient, but I think being married before this baby is born will be a good thing. We have a few months. Live with me, and if you think you can handle it, we'll plan the wedding. As big as you want, as small as you want, we can even elope,” Archer told her and then laced his fingers through hers.
“Why are you so good to me?” Shareena asked him, realizing that she appreciated everything about him, but sometimes it felt a little too good to be true.
“Because you're a kind woman, a smart woman. You’re dedicated, intelligent, you can take care of yourself, but you're open minded enough to realize you need other people in your life,” Archer told her and brought her knuckles up to his mouth and kissed them. “You humble me, you showed me what love could be like, I don't want to let that go.”
Shareena stared at him for a moment and then nodded at him. “Okay, I'll do it. I'll marry you, but only after I've lived with you for a couple of months to make sure we don't want to kill each other first.”
“See, you're practical too!” Archer said laughing and then hugged her tightly before kissing her again and pushing her against the bed.
“Round two?” she grinned at him after he pulled back to look at down at her.
“Of course,” Archer told her, and then proceeded to show just how happy she'd made him.
The Billionaire’s Heart
A BWWM Billionaire Romance
This deliciously dirty story is a part of Aisha Brooks’ super-charged, highly lewd collection of love and lust, written in 2015. Those who attempt to steal any part of this goldmine and take it as their own risk being a fiery, hot death from a hunk bearing copyright notices—and she’s not about to play with you.
This is a work of fiction—although we wish that people like this really existed, it’s nothing more than a figment of a very, very overactive imagination. Any resemblance to someone you know, a place you love or a thing you hold dear to your heart is nothing more than a craving in your heart that these carnal desires and actions were true!
It goes without saying that this book oozes with erotic sex appeal, and is filled to the rafters with a smorgasbord of acts that you certainly wouldn’t tell your grandmother about. Bodice-ripping, panty-dropping and glasses-steaming, the scenes contained herein are wickedly naughty!
Although all the saucy characters are flirting with forbidden desires and sometimes taking the naughty fruit they really shouldn’t be, all are consenting adults over the age of 18 and not blood-related. What they are is passionate and eager to explore their carnal desires all day long.
In short, this book is going to get you very, very hot!
? Aisha Brooks
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any many whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination. Please note that this work is intended only for adults age 18 and over. All characters represented are age 18 or over.
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1: Just Another Monday
Chapter 2: The Stranger From Switzerland
Chapter 3: Room No. 209
Chapter 4: The Dinner
Chapter 5: The Balcony and The View
Chapter 6: Blast from The Past
Chapter 7: Will You?
Chapter 1
Just Another Monday
It was exactly 6:00 in the morning when the alarm clock went off. Cynthia, without opening her eyes, pressed the snooze button and tried going back to sleep. She couldn’t sleep, but let her hazy mind focus on the 15 minutes she had to rest. She cherished each second of it, but had that ‘impending doom’ feeling because she knew that the time would be up in an instant and she would have to get ready for work. She loved her work, mind you, but it was a Monday after all, and even the workaholics hate it.
As soon as the alarm went off again, Cynthia reached for the clock and turned the alarm off. She opened her eyes, let out a sigh, and forced herself out of bed. She headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then on into the kitchen to fix herself some cereal. After eating, she brushed her teeth again.
In the tiny lounge of her one-bedroom apartment, her pressed uniform was laid out on the sofa. It was a black skirt and coat with a red blouse. She changed into it, took a look at herself, put on stockings, and then looked at herself again. The outfit worked well on her six-foot frame, the stockings complementing her long, sleek legs. She paired them with red pumps, and then went to fix her hair and put on some dull makeup.
This was her routine every day of the week, and every Monday, in spite of how unremarkable the rest of the week had been for her, she did everything extra slowly, every step requiring an extra effort. Before heading out the door, she stopped by the mirror to take one last look at herself, and asked, “Who do I do this for?”
Cynthia had grown up in a dysfunctional household. She was the 6th of 9 children in her family, not the only daughter by any means, and neither the youngest nor the oldest child or daughter; she was unremarkable in every sense of the word.