Anonymous Encounters (The Billionaires Club Book 5) Read online

  Anonymous Encounters

  ~Book 5 of the Billionaires Club~

  © 2017

  By Cassandra Dee

  Want to hear about my newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/cgt2DD and get a FREE BOOK unavailable elsewhere!

  © 2017 Cassandra Dee

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner 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 over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.

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  DEDICATION

  To all the dirty girls who’ve dreamed of going anonymous.

  ALSO BY CASSANDRA DEE

  Standalones

  Beg Me: Sold To My Dad’s Boss

  Daddy’s Pretty Baby

  Loving the Babysitter

  Temptation: Loving My Ward

  The Billionaires Club

  Sold at the Auction

  Virgin for Sale

  Serving Him

  Buy Me

  MMF Romance

  Double Exposure

  The Falling Series

  Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend

  Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad

  Falling for My Son’s Best Friend

  The Virgin Series

  The Naughty Virgin

  The Wicked Virgin

  The Dirty Virgin

  The Trashy Virgin

  Delivering the Virgin

  The Double Series

  Double Princes

  Triple Princes

  Double Massive

  Double Huge

  Double Bang

  Double Donkey

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Anonymous Encounters

  NOTE FROM CASSIE

  Addicted

  The Dirty Virgin

  A Baby for My Billionaire Stepbrother

  PROLOGUE

  Donovan

  I watched as the female came closer. She was cute, maybe about five five with a medium ass and tentative eyes. The girl was a B, B+ on a good day, maybe a C on a bad, depending on if that blonde hair frizzed out. Not that the hair mattered, it’s not like I was going to be stroking her head or touching anywhere except for one particular place.

  Because I’m a mofo of the worst kind. Worse than your worst nightmare. Worse that what your greatest enemy would wish on you. But yeah, here I am, at the Great American Concert Hall, stalking prey again, although you wouldn’t know it. It’s not like I’m wearing a trenchcoat and shades like some pervy Inspector Gadget. Instead, looking into the shadows, you’d see a tall, dark handsome SOB, someone to make your pussy run wet and insides quiver with lust.

  And it’s just the truth. That’s how women see me, that’s how they’ve seen me since I was fourteen and Mrs. Lenz made me into a man. Can you believe it? Little Terry Lenz was so small, but we were buddies since nursery school, playing with blocks and Play-Doh. But opportunity is everywhere, and one day when I was physically a man, Mrs. Lenz went for it. The forty-year old was all over me, opening that housedress and pushing massive boobies against my teen chest, giggling and cooing my name.

  Did I take it? Or did I do the wrong thing? You got it. Wrong is my middle name, asshat is how I play the game. Because fuck yeah, I was on those MILF tits immediately, like a dog on a bone, getting my dick wet for the first time in my friend’s mom’s twat. So yeah, it’s been a long ride since, and I know what the ladies like. It’s been decades of female tits and ass by now, and frankly, it comes fucking easy.

  So yeah, if you peered into the shadows you’d think, “Holy shit, what a good looking dude. Must be waiting for some glamazon model, wish that girl was me.”

  But most times, people don’t look. They’re busy smoking out, getting ready for the concert, milling about chatting with friends while swigging drinks. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but most folks are already in a daze by the time the music starts. And it doesn’t matter who’s on stage. Could be some 80’s nostalgia band or some emo group from Europe. These folks are in their own worlds, stoned beyond belief.

  So when the girl took a position in the corner by the railing, my dick rose immediately. There was an alertness about the blonde that set her apart, eyes looking around breathlessly, big and round. There was no drink in her hand, and she was alone. Yup, definitely her. Everyone else was here with their friends, jostling each other, chatting, smiling and laughing a little too loud. But the blonde was just one person.

  So as the lights dimmed, I made my way to stand behind her. It was pretty easy, it’s not that crowded on the upper balcony, these aren’t exactly the best seats. Actually, they’re the worst ones because there are no seats, it’s just a box for people to stand in and sway as the live music starts. And once the guitars start thrumming, the crowd starts moving, the perfect time for a strike.

  So as the lights dimmed, I made my way up behind the rounded blonde.

  “Hey,” I murmured into her ear from behind.

  The girl was immediately still, startled like a rabbit.

  “Discreet Encounters?” I asked. “Number 345?”

  She hesitated for a moment, blue eyes looking straight ahead, almost unable to reply. But slowly, that chin nodded, eyes fixed forwards. Good girl. That’s what I like to see. In our brief discussion, I’d made clear that under absolutely no circumstances could she turn around. This was an anonymous fuck, a no-name, no-face, no-nothing type of encounter, and if she turned I’d be gone in an instant. So the girl held still, barely breathing, the crowd swaying around us.

  And pulling my jacket forwards, I stepped behind her so that my big body loomed over the tiny female. She was so small that this was gonna be a little difficult actually. But as the music sounded out from down below, the female leaned over the balcony a little, like she was enjoying the performance, trying to get closer to the musicians. Fuck yeah, that’d do the trick. The blonde was bending at the right angle, tilting her ass up so that I could get in.

  Pulling my jacket forwards once more, I ran one big hand up the back of a tiny thigh. It was okay. Not great. I like ‘em thick and juicy, and this girl was just too small. Her leg was a little gristly, like an underfed chicken, but it was fine. I’d survive.

  And as the blonde gasped, the button on her jeans popped. Oh yeah, I have magic fingers and even though that denim was skin tight, I peeled it off to reveal a small, flat ass. Again, about C quality. This was no beautiful bubble butt, this was about five sizes too small, more like a Waffle House pancake rather than a rounded, luscious peach. But what the hell, the target was so near and there was no sense in beating around the bush.

  So in one fell swoop, I pushed two fingers into the girl’s twat, making her gasp. Oh yeah, the female’s head fell back and she let out a tiny whimper, eyes falling shut as my digits made their entrance. When I said finger fuck, I didn’t say that we were going to a shit-ton of teasing or anything like that. I said “finger fuck” and that’s what I meant. So going for gold, I went to town on that little vag as the band played below, sawing my fingers in and out of that sweet hole as the girl gasped and panted,
head nodding back and forth, bobbing to the music.

  And as the song crescendoed, it happened. The blonde fell apart on my hand, that tiny pussy squeezing me tight, juices everywhere, squirting like a fountain into my palm. Fuck, fuck, fuck it felt good. I love it when a girl loses it, vaginal muscles clenching, personal nectar running like honey all over my fist, it’s the ultimate validation. And as she descended from earth, it was all good. Slowly, deftly, my digits exited, leaving that hot hole trembling and empty.

  Immediately the girl’s head swung around, mouth already open to ask a question, to get my name, all that bullshit. But too late. I was already gone in the crowd, just the back of a tall, dark head and some broad shoulders disappearing with every passing second. I could have been the guy to the right, the one already looking at her with interest, smiling a slick grin with no idea what had just happened. Or I could have been the older geezer on the left, the one double-fisting PBR, eyes already blood-shot.

  But it didn’t matter. She was too late, and besides, the deed was done. Our anonymous encounter was over, and we’d both gotten what we came for. The blonde had had a screaming orgasm at the skilled hands of a faceless dude, excitement and lust pouring through her veins. And I’d had a wet pussy clenching all over me, cunt juice spilling into my palm as one more woman gave it all up with a series of helpless quivers. But did I want more? Hell no. Did I want to see her again? Hell no. Did I care? Hell no. These things are one-off type events and that’s the beauty of it. We’d had our exchange … and I was fucking done.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Donovan

  “Yo,” rumbled the voice. “Whaddup?”

  I glanced up from my laptop.

  “Nuthin’, why?” I asked, shutting the screen discreetly as Jared ambled near. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to see, although it was better if he didn’t. I just didn’t want to talk about it. Because I was here, deep in the lair of the Billionaires Club, and yet I was surfing on-line for an anonymous encounter. Yeah, the Club is where anything goes, where the hottest, most delectable girls serve men, and I was on-line looking for an anonymous fuck.

  It’s twisted for sure. At the Club, we source the hottest chicks, the most nubile, ravishing females and bring them here to be auctioned. So yeah, you can buy what you want, you can literally put money down and get a virgin for a week, enjoying that beautiful body until she’s nothing but a panting, trembling mess of hot pussy and clenching asshole.

  And even better, after you’re done, it’s sayonara, see ya later. Actually that’s not right. See ya never is more accurate. There are no obligations, no nothing, no parting gifts, no sad goodbyes, no long, ten-paragraph desperate emails. There’s just a load of cash direct deposited to the virgin’s bank account once your week is done, and then poof, she’s vapor. You never have to see her again, it’s a clean break with a clear conscience, wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

  So why the fuck was I doing on-line? Why the fuck was I surfing sites, looking for hot chicks to finger anonymously? If I wanted to fondle hot twat and walk away, I could do it right here. I could buy a girl. Or shit, I could summon one of the ladies who serves drinks to do my bidding, to bend over right now and pull her panties down, giving me access to a steaming pussy. And no one would blink an eye. Even if I did it in the middle of the bar area, even if I did it in the pool, in our sauna, in the middle of our ballroom, no one would give a shit. Pussy at the Billionaires Club is here to be fucked and used, it’s an anything goes atmosphere.

  So yeah, what the hell is wrong with me? Why was I going out nightly, petting girls at random venues, letting them explode all over me and then walking away? Sure, strange twat is sexy, it’s exciting, but at the same time, I wasn’t so aroused by it. Naw, it’s more of a clinical exercise if anything. I caress those wet folds, watching with precision as the girl gets amped, playing her like a fine instrument. I love seeing nips get hard, her hips twisting with lust as I bring her to the next level. And when the female bursts, folds trembling, breathy moans escaping as jolts shoot through her cunt? Fuck yeah, it’s the ultimate validation for an alpha male, I don’t know any guy who doesn’t live for this.

  But after a screaming orgasm, the exercise loses its allure. Because I pull out right away, palm wet, interest gone. There’s no after care, no petting, no breathy whispers, no reassurances. It’s like I’m a doctor and the surgery’s over. Striding off, her name already forgotten, I’m wiping my hands on a napkin, erasing the smell of her pussy. And shit, that napkin’s balled-up right away and pitched into the trash. I don’t need any memories, it’s not like I’m gonna lay awake nights and re-live our casual encounter. Because tomorrow is another day, another twat, another finger-fucking, and that’s what I like. Take it or leave it, that’s what I’m looking for.

  So when the alpha billionaire walked up, my face was coolly unconcerned. No need to let Jared in on what I was doing.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Naw, nothing,” he replied, lowering himself into the club chair across from me.

  “How’s that little filly you got?” I asked, more as a courtesy than anything. “You know, the one that went up?”

  Abby was his wife now, and she’d practically shorted out an entire virgin auction, forcing the show to be aborted. But Jared merely grunted.

  “Yeah Abby’s good,” he said shortly. “Real good.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. His wife was the reason the sun rose and set for this dude, but at the same time, the female was a barrel of trouble. The brunette had practically gotten him excommunicated from the Club, and they’d only come back recently to test the waters, to try out some of the Club’s many rooms. Because oh yeah, this place is a myriad of fun. There are a shit ton of sex rooms filled with all sorts of machines, toys, and other depravities that you can’t even imagine.

  Well, I can imagine, I’m that kind of guy. But for the R-rated, it’s not a place you want to go. For the NC-17 rated, it’s not a place you want to go. For the Triple-X, now we’re in the ballpark, but not quite there yet. Like I said, we’re an underground lair engaged in the unspeakable, and there’s a reason why this place is a fortress and not some palace in the sky.

  So I raised an eyebrow at Jared.

  “Good to hear,” I said smoothly. “Good to hear.”

  If Abby was riding him hard, all the better. A hot twat on dick is the best kind of life to live, the best kind of mental and physical exercise.

  But Jared grunted.

  “So what’s up with you? What’s up with all these trips upstairs?”

  I looked at him blandly. Upstairs meant up to the surface of the earth, into the normal world.

  “What do you mean? Isn’t that what people do?”

  He grunted again.

  “Yo dude, you know it’s not. Most guys who come here don’t leave the complex for weeks. It’s got everything, pool, sauna, spa, bar, girls. So why are you going up all the time?”

  How to answer? Jared was right. The Club brings everything to us, from the finest food to the best entertainment. And most members make it an extended stay, barely leaving their suites sometimes, everything and anything being delivered straight to their door for their personal enjoyment. So yeah, my behavior wasn’t exactly normal, but then again, why is stepping out to see the real world so bizarre?

  “I got some business,” I said blandly. “Stuff that needs to be taken care of.”

  Jared shot me a skeptical look.

  “Oh really?” he asked. “Club business?”

  I sighed. This asshole was so into the Club and its operations. What the hell was wrong with the billionaire? But I could sense a rabbit hole in front of me and side-stepped it deftly.

  “Naw, nothing to do with the Club,” I rumbled blandly. “Just some personal business.”

  That was a hint if there ever was one to stop asking questions. Stop with the fucking questions and mind your own business. But Jared White can be one pushy mofo and shot me a
nother curious glance.

  “Well if you see any good ones, just tell the Club,” he said, throwing a card down on the table before getting up. “You know we’re always looking for fresh twat.”

  I stared at the white square before picking it up. Shit, this guy was so annoying, why the hell was he recruiting chicks still? It wasn’t his job anymore, and now he wanted me to do the same? I’d never want to work Procurement, it’s not my thing, there could be nothing worse. I’m all about anonymous, faceless encounters. I don’t want to talk with girls, putting a female at ease to get her to loosen up, sharing details about her life and pretending to care. No fucking way. Hell no.

  But I kept my expression bland.

  “Sure, will do. Absolutely,” I nodded. Shit no, hell no, never.

  Jared merely looked me over again speculatively before striding off.

  “Alright,” he grunted. “Good to hear.”

  And finally, I was alone again. Fuck my life, that entire encounter weird as shit. Why the hell was Jared White asking me to source women? What a fucked-up mofo. But boytoy was probably whipped by his new wife, doing whatever hot pussy asks.

  I grunted, flipping my laptop open again, shaking the incident from my mind. What the hell, might as well forget the whole thing sooner rather than later, it was taking up unnecessary memory. And watching the screen avidly, I willed my newest victim to type. Sure enough, ellipses appeared indicating she was typing, and a text popped up in a few secs.

  LIPSTICK4EVAH: Hi, got your message.

  I grunted soundlessly. I’d picked the brunette’s profile from a site I sometimes surf, Discreet Encounters. Her pic had been blurry but overall pretty cute. Big brown eyes and curly brown hair, with a ripe, curvaceous body. Just my kind, the type that I love juicing best. My fingers had trembled when I emailed her, introducing myself as Donny.