Hating the Rich Bastard Read online

  I grunt my pleasure as my jeans slip down and she slides her hand down my boxer briefs. She takes my shaft and slowly strokes me.

  We don’t speak. I feel like speaking would ruin the magic of the moment.

  I unbutton her shorts and put my hand into her panties. She’s soaking wet and I find her clit, rolling it along my fingers with practiced ease. Her moans come out in strangled half pants in my ear as I push her tighter against the wall.

  Fucking hell, I’m going insane. I tug her shorts off all the way and she’s in just a pair of black panties, staring up at me, her hand still on my thick shaft. I pull my jeans off and my boxer briefs until I’m naked, wearing only a necklace and some bracelets.

  I turn her around. She gasps as I slap her ass and pin her hands against the wall. I kiss her neck and pull her hair back, letting it fall down. It’s longer than I thought it would be, down to the middle of her back. I pull it tight into my hand and kiss her, pulling her chin back.

  I push her panties aside and spread her legs. She bites her lip as I slowly press my cock between her legs.

  “Shit,” she whispers, the first word. I smirk as my cock slowly sinks into her pussy. She’s tight and my cock’s particularly big, so I take it easy at first, kissing her neck, teasing her breasts.

  Once I’m fully sunk inside her, she grinds her ass back against me. It’s a little motion but so fucking sexy. I pull back and slowly thrust forward again, making her moan, low and slow.

  Her grip on my cock drives me insane. I grab onto her hair tighter and lean forward, kissing her neck, licking her ear. She groans and wiggles again as my free hand reaches around her hip to slowly rub circles around her clit.

  Low moans escape her lips. I thrust slowly, fucking her as I work her clit. I’m lost in the moment, intense desire rolling through my skin as pleasure blooms on every inch of my body.

  I haven’t fucked like this in a long time. Maybe in forever. I can’t remember the last woman I wanted to taste so badly. I sink myself in and out of her amazing, tight little cunt, and I keep thinking about how it would feel against my tongue, how her moans would fill my ears as I nibble on her perfect pussy.

  I fuck her faster. I pull her hair and tighten my grip on her hips as I thrust in and out. She’s working her ass now, pushing back against me. I fuck her rough and hard, losing myself in the moment. I’m completely gone, and the only thing I care about is fucking this girl.

  She looks over her shoulder, full lips beautiful and parted. She’s moaning as she stares into my eyes. I’m started to realize her eyes are a liquid blue, like a crystal or a clear lake. It’s incredibly beautiful.

  I pull her hair and fuck her. I tease her breasts as she moves faster along my shaft, panting, moaning. I start to work her clit again and she’s grinding faster, moaning.

  I can feel sweat on my skin. I bite her shoulder and taste it on hers. I fuck her faster, harder, deeper, rocking into her nice little pussy, working that clit. I know she’s close and I want to feel it. I have to feel it. I need to make this girl come.

  She moans and gasps. I feel her hands reach back to grab my hair, pulling me against her. I fuck her the whole time as she comes, gasping, moaning, her body shuddering and shaking.

  It’s the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. Her orgasm takes over her whole body, head to toe, taking her into pieces. I fuck her through it, moving my hips faster and faster, the tight grip of her pussy never once relaxing.

  I can’t take it anymore. Just as she finishes, I come hard. I fill her pussy, pumping deep into her. She moans and wiggles her ass, taking it all inside.

  I groan, hands squeezing her ass, before stepping away. I’m holding my cock, panting and sweating as she turns around to look at me, her cheeks flushed red, a smile on her face.

  “Wow,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say, laughing. “Wow.”

  She giggles and stares at me for a second, biting her lip. I stare back. She adjusts her panties and reaches down for her bra, and I watch as she gets dressed.

  I don’t bother putting on clothes. She catches little glimpses of me as she dresses, looking at my body, at my tattoos. I know what she’s seeing: tall, muscular but lean, covered in colorful tattoos. I can guess what she’s thinking, but right now, I’d rather just be in the moment.

  When she’s dressed, she pulls her hair back up into a bun and looks at me for a second.

  “That was, uh… unexpected.”

  “Yeah, but it was good.”

  “It was,” she agrees, hesitating a second. “I’m happy I got my work done first.”

  I laugh a little bit and decide to put clothes on. I grab my boxer briefs as she heads toward the door.

  I pull them on. “Hold on,” I say.

  She hesitates a second. “I have to go. I have stuff in the morning.”

  “Yeah, right. Of course.” I pull on my underwear and feel like a moron. I can’t chase after her if she decides to run away. I don’t know why I’m bashful all of a sudden.

  I’ve had meaningless, empty sex with strangers plenty of times in my life. I’m not exactly proud of that, but it comes with the territory. Plenty of groupie girls want to fuck the owner of a major label, especially when they’re as rich as I am.

  But right now, I feel like a moron. I feel clumsy and stupid. I don’t fucking know why.

  Maybe it’s the memory of the way she played the piano, like a princess skating across a dance floor. It makes me feel like a moron in comparison.

  Still, I don’t know anything about her. And I can’t just let her walk away.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  She smiles a little. “Alice.”

  “Alice,” I repeat. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ben.”

  Her smile gets bigger. “Yeah, I know who you are. Ben the label head. Ben the suit.” She cocks her head and grins, pushing the door open. “Have a nice night, Ben the suit.”

  She leaves, disappearing into the control room. I watch her walk across the big glass observation window and disappear into the rest of the building.

  I stand there in my underwear, wondering what the fuck just happened.

  It’s like a dream. I came in here, a little drunk, feeling pretty fucking down, and there she was. Beautiful, talented, incredible. And we fucked just like that, after a little piano playing, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  One second we’re sitting, and the next we’re fucking. I don’t even know how it happened.

  Now she’s gone, leaving me alone in this silent room.

  I finish getting dressed. When I’m done, I sit down at the piano. I put my fingers on the keys.

  I play that melody, that haunting, beautiful tune.

  It sounds like shit, but then again, I’m like a clumsy ogre compared to her.

  “Alice the piano tuner,” I whisper to myself, and smile.

  I think I might have to find this girl again and ask her to teach me how to play this song.

  2

  Alice

  One Month Later

  * * *

  I stare down at the pregnancy test and for a second, I think I might throw up.

  I toss it onto the floor. There are two other tests sitting there like beacons, taunting me with their results.

  I grab another test and go through the motions again. I don’t need it to tell me what I already know, though.

  I’m pregnant. I’m twenty-four and I’m freaking pregnant.

  Great. Just great.

  Sure enough, the fourth test is positive. I toss it into the pile and sink down onto the cold tile of my bathroom floor. I stare at the tests, wondering what the hell I’m going to do.

  I’m pregnant. I never thought this would happen, but I guess I only have myself to blame. I shouldn’t have had unprotected sex with a fucking random stranger, much less let him come inside of me. And yet I did, and here I am, knocked up.

  Pregnant with the rock star’s baby.

  Ben Taylor.
Ben the suit. I keep thinking about that night, about how he scared me at first, about playing my song with him, about the way he looked at me as my fingers brushed along the keys.

  It was pure desire, tinged with a little awe.

  I don’t know what came over me, but I knew what was going to happen. In that moment, playing my song in two different keys, I knew what was about to happen. I knew it and I didn’t stop it. He kissed me and I melted into his kiss, stupid and desperate but ready to taste it.

  That kiss morphed into more. It morphed into the best sex of my life by a wide margin. I came so hard I still dream about it, touching myself and wishing I could come that hard again.

  Ben the suit. I can’t stop thinking about him, about what we did that night.

  I’ve been avoiding him. I know his type, and I’ve heard plenty of stories about him in particular. Drunk, player, addict, nightmare. He’s the kind of hurricane that can sweep into your life and ruin it. He’s a rich label executive, a suit with a wicked smile, and he’s way out of my league.

  I don’t need that. Hell, I don’t want that. I’ve been running from that my whole life. I’ve had enough bad boys for one lifetime, and I definitely don’t need a handsome, cocky billionaire to ruin what I have going on.

  Now I don’t know if I have much of a choice.

  I stare at the pregnancy tests, not sure what to do.

  Fortunately, I haven’t been drinking. I’m not much of a drinker and honestly, I haven’t really been able to afford alcohol, so I’ve basically been sober this last month. I haven’t been back to Somesuch to tune their piano since that night, but not because they haven’t asked.

  I’m afraid I’ll run into him and I won’t be able to help myself.

  I check the time on my phone and sigh. It’s a little past five and I’m running late. I peel myself up off the floor and head into my tiny little studio apartment to get dressed.

  I put on a conservative outfit and head out the door. I consider taking a cab but I know I can’t afford it. I walk the twenty blocks into old Philly, trotting up the stoop of a beautiful, multi-million dollar brick townhouse.

  I knock and the maid lets me in. Her name’s Carla and she speaks perfect English, but she pretends not to when she’s around the family.

  “He’s waiting,” she says in a whisper. I’m pretty sure she’s about my age, but I haven’t asked.

  “How is he today?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Not bad. I think you’ll be okay.”

  “Great.” I give her a smile. “Thanks.”

  She nods and stops in front of a dark blue door. I open it and step inside.

  Mikey’s sitting at the piano. I sense Carla disappear and the door shut behind her.

  The little boy looks up at me. “Hi, Alice,” he says, sounding gloomy.

  “What’s wrong, little guy?” I sit down next to the ten-year-old. He’s wearing a button-down white shirt and khaki pants, his school uniform.

  “Nothing,” he says. “Just tired.”

  Mikey is the mopiest little kid I’ve ever met.

  “Okay then,” I say. “Want to play something fun?”

  He perks up a little. “Billy Joel?”

  “If you want,” I say, forcing a smile. The kid freaking loves Billy Joel. I’m supposed to be teaching him the classics, honing his technique, all that crap, but he just wants to play Billy Joel.

  Sometimes I let him, if he’s in a decent mood. Sometimes he’s a little brat though, and when he’s like that I just make him play scales. Nothing else to do when he gets in a mood.

  We run through a few songs together. I smile as Mikey plays his heart out. I sing along as he plays, although he’s a little clumsy. I help him through the tricky parts and we go over a few songs, again and again.

  I’m sure his parents aren’t happy about it, but whatever. I’ve seen them a total of two times in my life, anyway. As far as I can tell, Mikey’s parents are absurdly wealthy and choose to spend their fortune on people that raise their child for them.

  After our allotted hour is up, I stand and he sighs, closing the piano’s key cover.

  “That was good today,” I say. “You’re really starting to get it.”

  “Yeah?” he perks up. “Think I’ll be able to play “Allentown” soon?”

  “Absolutely.” I smile at him and nudge his shoulder.

  “Awesome.” He hesitates before grabbing an envelope from the side table. “Here you go.”

  “Same time next week?”

  “Mommy wants you to come more often,” he says. “Can you do Monday?”

  “Of course,” I say, taking the envelope. I glance inside: five crisp, clean twenties.

  I love rich people.

  He hesitates a second. “Can we learn more Billy Joel?”

  “Of course we can, but you have to promise we can practice other stuff, too, okay?”

  “Okay.” He brightens a lot. “Bye, Alice.”

  “See ya, Mikey.”

  I leave the music room and trudge back through the house. I wave at Carla on my way out and hop down onto the street.

  Twice a week at this place is going to help a lot. Money’s tight, and I barely make ends meet between teaching random piano students, tuning pianos for a few places here and there, and picking up some bartending hours on the weekends. It’s enough, but just barely.

  It’s always just barely enough.

  As I walk down the street, I feel another tinge of panic.

  I want to keep this baby. I know I do, I’ve known it since this whole thing happened. I just don’t know how I’m going to be able to afford it.

  I can get a different job. I can pick up more hours at the bar. I can do a million things.

  I never planned on getting pregnant. But after spending that hour with Mikey, I know I have to have this baby. It wasn’t my plan but it’s what’s happening. I can’t do anything about it.

  I’m pregnant with the rich bastard’s baby and I’m going to keep it.

  Hopefully, he never finds out.

  3

  Ben

  The Somesuch offices are located at the top of a high-rise building right on JFK Boulevard, in the heart of Philly.

  It’s not exactly what I pictured when I started the label. My business partner Markus and I came from nothing, basically running the label from our apartment for the first few years before things started to take off. After that, we reluctantly took some office space in the back of a church, basically just a couple of extra rooms they were renting out.

  That was good enough for us. We had the studio that was our real office. The business side wasn’t important to us, at least not in those days.

  Things sure have fucking changed.

  Markus leans back in his chair across from me in the conference room. It’s a big room with a long, impressive table and big windows overlooking the city. It’s a damn nice view, which is why we use this room to impress potential new acts—or when Markus and I just feel like fucking around.

  “Did you see the tits on that girl?” Markus asks me, miming big boobs in front of his chest and making a face. “Enormous. Fuckable.”

  “You think all boobs are fuckable,” I point out to him.

  He nods, stroking his chin. “Yes. That is true. Can’t deny it.”

  I grin a little. Markus has been my friend since college. He’s the only person in this world crazy enough to start a record label with me, which I guess makes him just as insane as I am. We both started out as musicians, although he’s always had more of a knack for the business and I’ve always been better at finding new acts. He’s a burly guy, a hair short of six foot tall with a shaved head, a deep, booming laugh and a muscular frame. He’s the center of attention wherever we go.

  We work well together and always have. That’s why we’re so successful, honestly. In the early days, I took care of finding new unknown artists and signing them while he focused on the money side. Without him, I would’ve gone over budget a million times an
d sunk this company under an ocean of debt.

  Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about that anymore.

  “Still man, these were particularly primo. And she was eyeing you up like she wanted your big, fat—”

  “All right, I get it.”

  He laughs. “When did you turn into a prude?”

  “I’m not a prude, just not interested in hearing you talk about some random chick sucking my dick.”

  “I was going to say your big fat wallet, but dick would’ve done fine, I guess.”

  I laugh a little and turn back to the paper in front of me. We’re supposed to be discussing this new band we’re thinking of signing, but Markus is more interested in the big breasted blonde girls we met last night at the club.

  “Seriously, Ben, why didn’t you take her home? She was all over you.”

  “Just wasn’t in the mood.”

  He grunts a little. “You haven’t been in the mood in a while now.”

  He’s right, but I don’t feel like having this discussion with him. “Can we please talk about Bunny?”

  He grunts and looks at the sheet in front of him. “Name’s gotta go,” he says.

  “Definitely.”

  “But they’re talented. Really talented.”

  “I agree. Their singer has that…”

  “That edge.”

  “Right. Exactly. She’s got presence.”

  “But they’re raw. We’ll have to work with them.”

  “I can get them into shape.”

  He grins at me. “I bet you can get her into shape.”

  I sigh. “Come on, man. Keep it professional.”

  He groans. “Okay, first of all, you know I’m fucking joking around. I only say this shit to you.”

  I roll my eyes, and he continues.

  “Second of all, you’ve been such a twat for like a month. Seriously, are you celibate? Are you working up the nerve to come out to me? You know I love you no matter what but you got to get that stick outta your—”