ABSOLUTION - A Dark Bad Boy Romance Novel
© Copyright 2016 by Gabi Moore - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
ABSOLUTION
A Dark Bad Boy Romance Novel
By: Gabi Moore
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Natasha
Chapter 2 - Todd
Chapter 3 - Natasha
Chapter 4 - Natasha
Chapter 5 - Todd
Chapter 6 - Natasha
Chapter 7 - Todd
Chapter 8 - Todd
Chapter 9 - Natasha
Chapter 10 - Natasha
Chapter 11 - Natasha
Chapter 12 - Todd
Chapter 13 - Natasha
Chapter 14 - Natasha
Chapter 15 - Todd
Chapter 16 - Natasha
Chapter 17 - Natasha
Chapter 18 - Todd
Chapter 19 - Natasha
Chapter 20 - Todd
Chapter 21 - Natasha
Chapter 22 - Natasha
ADDITIONAL BOOKS IN THIS ANTHOLOGY:
FANTASY/SCI-FI:
Manipulator Of Elements – A Young Adult Urban Fantasy
Wicked Legacy – An Urban Fantasy
Chosen – A Sci-Fi
STEAMY CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE:
DAMAGED – A Bad Boy Romance
LUST – A Bad Boy Romance
DOING IT FASTER – A Bad Boy Romance
PREVIEWS of other STEAMY books by Gabi Moore:
BREAK – A Bad Boy Romance Novel
TEMPTATION – A Bad Boy Romance Novel
ROUGH – A Bad Boy Romance Novel
BARE HANDS – A Bad Boy Romance Novel
Gabi Moore’s Steamy Newsletter
ABSOLUTION
A Bad Boy Romance Novel
By Gabi Moore
Chapter One - Natasha
It was the first and probably the only pink and gold Birkin bag this young stud would ever see.
Not that he could possibly understand just how much money he was actually looking at, but still. I knew. He wasn’t here to look at my shoe collection and I wasn’t here to hear about his sob story working at the pool boy factory or whatever.
We were here to fuck.
If you think you’ve heard this story before – you know, the one where the bored housewife messes around with the plumber or the repairman or the mechanic while her husband is at work – well, what can I say. Parts of my life certainly are predictable. My life, from some angles, looks a hell of a lot like a cheesy daytime soap. But that’s not all it is. You might not believe me yet, but this is a story about love.
No, really. You’ll see.
Anyway, the great thing about young bucks like this one is their truly invincible cocks. Pablo, bless his soul, was ready to go again, even though I had just ridden him for an hour and had scarcely caught my breath.
I lay like a starfish on my brushed cashmere and down-stuffed bed throw. There I lay in my glittering boudoir, with the tall bay windows and the custom made opal and platinum chandelier tinkling above me, and my pink and white Persian rug underfoot, and enough diamonds on my wrist to pay for five years of college for this young stud and as many baby mamas as he could possibly manage.
But here’s the part in the story where I tell you I didn’t actually want any of that. Make no mistake, I look good rich. Really good. I’m a hot bitch and I know it. But I would have been a hot bitch without it.
The boring truth is this: money isn’t that much fun, after a while at least. The first time I met Todd I made him fuck me on a pile of hundreds. I told him to keep his Cartier watch on when he fingered me. I pranced naked in heels by the pool and walked right up close to the edge and modelled for him, my fresh extensions brushing down my back, drunk and teasing him that I’d fall into the water any second. Not that it mattered, since the pool was perfectly heated all through the year anyway, and I’m sure even if I did drown Todd could just pay someone to scoop me out and make me alive again if he wanted.
But you get the idea.
I didn’t want any of that. The “trappings” of luxury. The so-called high life. The glitz and the jewels and the cars and the designer clothes …those things started to seem pretty lame after a year or two. Of course, a “girl like me” should never stop being grateful she snared such a prize of a man, and I am …but I’m also not an idiot, you know?
I needed more.
Anyway, one of the reasons I didn’t need any of that stuff was that I was naked most of the time these days anyway. When you spend as much money as I do on looking hot, you want to show it all off.
So it goes like this: around $3000 a month on my hair, and that’s just the extensions. Keeping it full of beachy, loose Hollywood blonde waves costs me about that and then some. Another grand for my nails, and I like them long. My boob job had cost a lot, and I for sure paid too much for it, but whatever. I won’t tell you exactly how much that set me back, you’ll freak out. What else? I get about a grand’s worth of Botox and lip stuff done, every six months or so, just to top up. Facials another couple hundred. Spray tans add up, too.
Anyway, I’m rambling. But I just wanted to describe everything to you clearly, so you can really see me there on the bed, “naked”. Partly because I didn’t need no expensive string bikini, and partly because I was a dirty little whore and I liked it that way.
I split my legs and pulled them open into a mid-air splits. When you’re married to one of the country’s wealthiest men, all you do every single day is yoga. Just, like, so much yoga. It does pay off, though, and if you could see how long and lean those legs were, you’d understand.
I giggled, giving him a full, glorious view of my naughty little cunt, the one that my shriveled bastard of a husband hadn’t touched in 8 months, 3 weeks and 5 days. But that was OK, because it turns out that when you’re married to one of the country’s wealthiest men, you get to have whatever you want. And what I wanted right at that moment was his fat, nasty cock in me. Again.
Before I married Todd, I thought ‘pool boys’ were just some kind of TV thing. Like, they couldn’t possibly be real. But they are! And this one hadn’t actually cleaned the pool much since I discovered how good it felt to have him screw me like this in my bedroom, in broad daylight. It was always better when he brought a friend along, but today he was alone. I had let him ‘work’ a little before I called him over, just to make sure some of the sun got into his lovely brown skin, and that he broke a sweat, just a little.
I liked it best when they left me feeling as dirty as possible afterwards. Sadly, chlorine is a pretty clean smell. Which is partly why I preferred the landscaper, who once dragged his hands, completely caked with mud, right down the front of my white silk Stella McCartney nightdress.
I fucking loved it.
The landscaper was older though, and got tired too quickly, which was a pity, since he was hung like a horse and clearly had …’issues’. I also like it when my little fuck toys have ‘issues’. Makes things more interesting, I find.
He waltzed back into the room from the bathroom, great big purple cock already bouncing up and down, and looked at me and split legs, and laughed.
“You’re crazy,” he said in a thick accent.
He fell to his knees on the bed in front of me and leaned down onto his hands and knees, crawling over to me like the baby he was.
He put his lips all over my body and began to kiss and fondle me chaotically, all along down my sides, then my belly, then the tops of my legs.
“Sweetheart, I already have a bunch of people to massage me… why don’t you just get to it?” I laughed and grabbed his strong thighs. He laughed too.
When he pushed his dick inside, I was still slick from the last time he had me, although, being slightly tipsy, I wasn’t even sure when that was anymore. An hour ago? Three hours ago? It didn’t matter. Todd wouldn’t come home till well past midnight. If he came home at all.
I tossed back my head and moaned, and pulled his hips deeper in. It stung a little. For a brief moment I thought that maybe I was actually having too much sex these days …but then I giggled and tightened around him. Nope, that was crazy talk. I was a dirty little whore and I never, never would get enough.
He collapsed down onto me and started pumping, his strong, young hips bucking into mine like we had scarcely taken a break at all. I tossed my head back and groaned, feeling him reach all the way inside me. Head hanging upside down off the bed, I caught sight of the Birkin bag again. Was it actually just the tackiest bag ever? I decided then and there, with young Pablo balls deep and rutting away, that that bag had to go and I wanted one in a different color, immediately.
“Yeah, fuck me,” I said, but my heart wasn’t quite in it.
He pumped faster. I was bored.
“Please hurry, Mr. Beckford is going to be home any moment now, and I don’t want him to catch us…” I said in a sweet voice.
He froze.
“Oh? Mr. Beckford told me he wasn’t coming home till late tonight…?”
I groaned. Even the mere mention of my goddam husband’s name was enough to kill the magic in any moment.
“Obviously, yes, Pablo. I know that, just …will you…?” I stared up at his tousled curls, gestured for him to carry on, then watched as it dawned on him and he smiled and got back to work.
“You’re a dirty little fucking slut, Mrs. Beckford…” he began, and I felt something delicious stirring inside me. Yes. Yes, I was a dirty little fucking slut. “And I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re going to do so much illegal adultery right now, without your husband to see you,” he said into my ear, accent thick and breath heavy.
Oh my god. I mean, English wasn’t his first language, I guess.
I pushed him off me.
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Beckford?” his cock bobbed wet and heavy against his belly.
“Don’t call me that!”
“But I thought…?” he knelt forward and tried to touch me but I shrugged him off. He pulled back and frowned at me.
I smelled good. A new scent I had bought yesterday. I looked down at the diamonds on my fingers, the glossy pale pink manicure that wouldn’t come off even with hard work. Which I never did, of course, but still.
“Pablo, am I pretty?” I asked him.
“Mrs. Beck. I mean Natasha, you’re the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen…” he started, eyes wide.
“Yes ok, sure, but am I hot though?” I said. I had shut and crossed my legs and was looking at him, and we were suddenly two best friends in the world’s strangest sleepover.
He whistled and clucked his tongue, eyeing me up and down. “Ma’am? You’re one mujer caliente, for real…”
I smiled at him as he ogled my tits. His dick stood straight up in his lap. “Do you think I’m crazy though…?” I said, cocking my head to one side and cooing at him with my best little-girl-lost voice. I could tell he couldn’t tear his nasty little eyes away from my cunt. He shook his head and chuckled.
“Ma’am, no joke, you are the craziest woman I think I ever met,” he said, and we both laughed. But I stopped suddenly and looked at him with a very stern face, stopping him mid-laugh.
“Pablo, I’m serious about this. I want you to hit me.”
He groaned and looked out of the window. His gorgeous fat rod sagged a little, realizing its job for the day was done.
“Ma’am, we already talked about this…”
“I know, but just say it then, just say you’ll hit me if it weirds you out…”
“But it weirds me out!” he said, and then got to his feet.
“Pablo, baby, don’t go.” I felt a headache coming on. And he hadn’t even finished what he started. I was still aching inside.
“Ma’am, I should really clean the pool,” he said, and he was picking up his bright, palm frond print swimming trunks from the floor, and they looked so out of place in the plush rose gold and neutral opulence that was my bedroom. Or one of my bedrooms.
“But Pablo, come on Pablo, just listen for a second. You don’t have to do anything. Just call me names again. Pretty please?”
“Ma’am, no offense, but you really are crazy.” He slinked out of the bedroom.
“Aw, you really think so?” I shouted after him, smiling.
Chapter Two - Todd
She hadn’t even bothered to get dressed for breakfast. She knew how rare these occasions were, where I could actually spare the time away from work to eat and relax with her, and she turned up looking like …like some kind of whore.
Natasha was a black hole. Whatever I have, she wants it. She takes everything from me. And then she wants more. I give her everything a girl like her could possibly want, but the hole is just never filled. There’s always something else. She’s never satisfied. And now she turns up at breakfast, hungover, hair looking like shit, smeared mascara on her cheeks. My wife.
Just goes to show you: a man can succeed at anything he puts his mind to. To a successful man, money is nothing but a game. His darkest demons can be slain so long as he has enough courage and grit. But women? There’s no optimizing women. No fucking solution to that problem. Women are a liability, start to finish. A money sink. A depreciating asset.
She tells everyone who will listen that she’s actually the opposite of materialistic; a proper little rags-to-riches darling who never cared for all the luxury. But oh, she’ll take the luxury anyway. I guess she cries herself to sleep each night on her silk pillowcases, exhausted from a day of doing fuck all.
“Had a good night?” I said, and smeared a wedge of butter onto my toast.
She lifted an eyebrow and gave me a contemptuous look. I’m so fucking sorry, Natty, that you have to endure a life of wasting another person’s hard-earned fortune. That must be hell for you, tell me more. Tell me how hard it is for you.
“I didn’t have a good night, actually,” she said.
Bingo. So fucking predictable. The fund was down more than $60 million yesterday and the second investor for the quarter was already making noises about pulling about. And lately I had to deal with Andrew somehow thinking more expensive dinners were needed for the team, and more meetings, instead of focusing on fixing the damn problem, telling the assholes to be happy with whatever reports we damn well sent them and politely asking them all to piss right off.
But sure, that as nothing compared to the ordeals my poor wife must surely have endured. I would now hear all about how her eyelash curler broke and she couldn’t possibly bear it and it’s all my damn fault, probably.
“I need to tell you something, Todd. We need to seriously have a real chat,” she said, looking utterly miserable. She hadn’t even touched her toast. We had this spread laid out for us each and every morning and each and every morning the staff would simply whisk it all away again. All
the fruit and coffee and juice and crap. All for nothing.
“A proper chat? I’m not sure that’s wise, over the breakfast table.”
“Then when?” she said, and her little nose was wet.
She was a beautiful woman, make no mistake about it. But Christ was she the most exhausting part of any day. Forty-five minutes to waste here having breakfast with her was generous already. But like I said, no gratitude. She just demands more.
“At a more appropriate time, Natasha” I said. Natasha. My trophy wife. My prize for playing the idiot Olympics, letting my dick think for me right into the world’s most painful and most expensive marriage. Well, it was the last and only time that would ever happen.
“But when is appropriate? Why isn’t now appropriate?” she whined.
“Because, Natasha, I’m heading out to work in a little while and now is simply not the time…”
“But you’re always heading out to work” she said, spiteful.
I picked up a newspaper and pretended to scour through it. “Now that’s not true. Sometimes I’m coming back from work. And sometimes I’m even at work!”
She didn’t laugh.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Natasha, what is it? Just tell me then, you’re hell-bent on ruining everyone’s morning, so go ahead then.”
When I first met Natasha, she was a fresh little whirlwind in my life. She was young – really young – and rough and awkward and just pulsing with a raw energy, like she hadn’t quite figured out what to do with it all yet.
Sometimes, I feel bad about how miserable she is now. About how utterly I’ve failed her. But then I just remember that ultimately she’s nothing more than a common gold digger, and that that sparkle I saw in her pretty blue eyes was never love… it was just tiny dollar signs and I didn’t yet know it.
Well, that’s another thing I’ll never do again: fall in fucking love like some kind of pleb. Natasha was an expensive mistake, but I was fond of her, for the most part. She started crying. I wasn’t as fond of her when she cried.