Reckless Love: A Billionaire Baby Steamy Fantasy Multicultural Love Story Rockstar Romance

Reckless Love

by Imani King

© 2015 Imani King
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 represented as 18 or over.
Kindle Edition

CHAPTER
ONE

Leopold

The breath hissed through Leopold’s closed teeth.
“Ooh, yeah… baby, that’s good. Do that. Right there.” Leo squirmed as he slowly pulled a hand through his shock of black hair, watching the girl’s head bobbing up and down.
This one is good. Perhaps I’ll keep her around an extra night or two,
he thought, as she circled the head with her tongue, and then silkily drew it down the knotty skin on the underside. He trembled with pleasure, letting his legs fall open a bit more. “Use your hands, babe. Yeah, like that. Mmm.”

His head fell back into the cushions of the soft leather couch. The drugs were starting to take effect and make everything seem almost melted and mixed together. Looking up at the ornate ceiling he saw so many lights, so many colors. It was as if the colors were part of the blowjob, in a way. He was fucking the colors, right in the mouth. He giggled to himself, and the girl, whatever her name was, paused and looked up, big cornflower-blue eyes wide with concern.
“Did I tell you to stop?” he said, a crooked grin slowly spreading across his face, before fading into the flawless lines of his soft lips. “Get back to it, girl.” The blonde eagerly and somehow dutifully wrapped her lips around him again, swirling her tongue like a dirty little windmill, making him shudder. The tingling ran all the way down to his feet, curling his toes.
This uhh… whatever her name is, she’s a good girl.

He knew he was going to come. Briefly he wondered if he should warn her.
Less mess if I go off right inside her but more fun if I do it on her face
. But before he could decide, the colors lured his attention back, and he let go, somehow feeling the vibration of the kaleidoscope ceiling through his cock. His cock, the center of the free known universe. All else revolved around its glory.
And now it would birth thousands of tiny stars into… whatever-her-name-is.

He came.

***

Bright morning light assaulted his closed eyes, and Leo tried to cover them with a forearm, accidentally hooking something with his elbow. There was a crash, and a glugging sound.
One of the bottles spilling. Fuck.
He opened one eye, the excess light feeling like pin-pricks against his brain. Gazing across the monstrously large bed, he took in the utter disarray of what was usually a gorgeously appointed room. He rang for the help, each peal of the bell another attack. Pulling up his pants, he stumbled to the shower, stopping to dry heave over the toilet before regaining his debatable composure.

Leo leaned against the bathroom counter and looked at himself, disgusted with his reflection. He checked the color under his eyelid--
pale
--and stuck out his tongue--
coated.
It was one way he gauged his hangovers. Today’s was not as bad as some – ‘twas nothing a little time and a decent breakfast wouldn’t fix. He turned on the shower and stepped into the large, steamy space, stretching his arms over his head and letting the water wash over him. Images of the girls from last night crying out for him filled his mind, and he felt himself hardening again. One arm propping him up, he expertly brought himself to a shuddering orgasm.

Then shampoo, shit and shave and he was nearly ready to face the world.

Entering his chamber again, he happily noted that the servants had been in, order had silently been restored, and there was a silver service with hot breakfast waiting by the window. He poured a cup of tea.
Goddamn I’d like to be back in California - or why not, Italy - and get a decent fucking cup of coffee.

Why not indeed. If it weren’t for this stupid wedding.

Despite his family’s wishes, or one could say, in order to spite them, Leo had spent half the last decade in the hills of L.A., alternating with New York. For a British boy of highly obscure nobility, this was tantamount to blasphemy. But Leo scorned tradition, the propriety to which his family preposterously clung, at least as he saw it. In fact, he could see tradition as the snare it was, clinging to the old ways now that the world was changing.

Still he enjoyed the money.
That part was good
, he thought, looking around the newly cleaned room, the breakfast tray, the view. He could spit on the floor and someone would clean it up. Not that he would, he wasn’t that sort of barbarian. Not usually anyway.
 

But he had his own fortune, besides. He thought back to the last concert Saturday. It was utter madness. His band, Origin of Species, was touring through Scandinavia and the arena was filled with blondes, the finest of which was that chick he brought back to the seven-star hotel. Of course, her friend offered herself too - she wasn’t bad either. It was so easy when the tour manager did all the dirty work. He could simply pick and choose just the right girl, or girls, to top off the evening. Like the right single-malt, or the right sports car. Still blondes weren’t really his type, but in Scandinavia there wasn’t that much choice.
He pulled the silver lid off of the plate. Proper English breakfast.
Blimey
.
“What I wouldn’t do for a burrito,” he said to himself, voice ringing out in the large room. “Or some
huevos rancheros
.” He’d have to have someone say something to the cook – maybe they could spice up their dreary menu.
But there’s probably no point – I’m really not around here enough to bother. If it weren’t for this goddamned dreary wedding.

CHAPTER TWO

Jasmine

“Oh sure, Mrs. Peters, I’d be more than happy to help you out again,” said Jasmine, handing over the change from the meager market purchases her neighbor had wanted her to pick up. “I’ll be away for the big wedding performance, and a bit of a tour, but after that I’m around like usual if you need any more help.”

Mrs. Peters lifted up her glasses, revealing rheumy eyes. She scrutinized the returned coins, as she always did, before carefully handing Jasmine two quarters. A tip. Jasmine’s cheeks flamed, but she didn’t want to embarrass the old woman by refusing her money. She was doing her best just to be kind, not to profit a few pennies, and besides, Jasmine didn’t mind grabbing a few things for her when she went out.  After all, it was no trouble – Mrs. Peters lived just down the stairs from her, and she did have to contend with the sound of Jasmine practicing the cello every day. Considering Mrs. Peters almost never left the apartment, the near-constant playing must be a bit of an imposition, but Mrs. Peters never complained.
Thank heaven – I’ve really got to knuckle down for this wedding concert!

“You be careful over there,” Mrs. Peters muttered. The English are… chintzy.” She nodded knowingly at Jasmine.
 

Jasmine stifled a giggle, putting on a serious face.

Glass houses,
she thought.
Oh Mrs. Peters.
“I will, thank you!” She said aloud and the door closed between them.

As she ran her hand up the smooth wooden banister on the way up the stairs, Jasmine mentally went over the details again. Plane was tomorrow at 3. A car would come to get them, and she would stay on the grounds of the mansion with her girls. She could hardly believe that her quartet was invited to play in England, at a wedding for an Earl, no less! It was too exciting. 

It would be her first time out of the country. And a big deal for the quartet, who had organized a mini-tour to play a few concerts and then have a couple days to enjoy themselves.

She quickly put away the few last groceries she had needed – just some things for dinner that night, and a bite in the morning – sparing an extra moment to take a big sniff of the small round of artisan bread she had treated herself to. She would have to eat it all tonight and tomorrow or freeze it – but she couldn’t help but splurge a little, thinking of the hefty paycheck the quartet would be getting for their concert.

Money was tight. Classical music didn’t always pay much.
Good thing it only makes my life have purpose,
she thought with a smile.
Money isn’t everything.

Once the few things were put in their places, their nests, she sat down on the smooth wooden practice chair, carefully placed her cello pin into her favorite hole in the hardwood, and drew her bow across the strings. The first note rang out, focused, rich and dark, soaring over the small room; it took Jasmine with it. Her muscles melted into the sound, her body attuned to every particle of bow that vibrated the thick, metal string. It boded well for the hours of practice that would follow.

Downstairs, Mrs. Peters similarly melted into her chair, smiling, oblivious to the glorious sound above her. Her ears were nearly deaf, but it was her mouth that was pleased; she was content to enjoy the chocolate bar the nice young woman had included, unasked for, in the small grocery delivery.

What a nice young girl,
the old woman thought
. Wonder if she’ll ever get married.

CHAPTER THREE

Leopold

…
the fuck are we going through all this?
he wondered for the millionth time that day. If he were to choose anything to do that day, aside from have roaring sex, it would be band practice. The next important tour was coming up, in America. It was going to be a big thing – biggest thing yet. Major arenas, heavily promoted. He pulled at his collar, the tie chafing his neck.
It would have to be fucking incredible.

The music is probably going to suck at this wedding. A string quartet? What is this, 1840? They should have asked Origin of Species. The band would’ve done a great job.
He snickered to himself, imagining Nigel, the quintessential bad boy, jumping through the crowd with his guitar strapped around his neck, resplendent in his leather pants, and the shirt and tie he always ripped off to the roars of the crowd - then Colin bouncing after him, head banging.

I’d like to see a string quartet top that.

Wankers.

His mind drifted back to the tour in the US. W
ill be good to get my hands on some American girls.  They probably have special American ways of doing things.
The corner of his mouth turned up in half-sneer, half-smile.

He was just leaving the coolness of the castle, the heavy door closing behind him, when he heard a distinct American accent. It was a woman’s voice too. He had a strange moment where he wondered if he had managed to conjure up an American woman with his thoughts alone.
Might’ve been the drugs still wearing off from the night before
. He shook his head.

“Excuse me, Sir, is this where the Earl’s wedding is being held?”

“Who wants to know?” It was gruff, sure - but who the fuck walks into a castle and says something like that? Only – and definitely – an American. He’d know in a bloody second, even if he couldn’t hear the accent. Still, he liked Americans.
They had managed to pull their heads out of their asses for the most part.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you but we are the string quartet, and we are supposed to play here today as a warm-up for the wedding tomorrow.” This last came from a woman’s voice in the back.

“Ah yes the string quartet,” he said, barely able to keep the derision from his voice. “I’m sure you can set up wherever you like. But you should probably check with someone else. Someone who’s involved in the organization of this ridiculous wedding.”  He went to turn away when he suddenly met the eye of the women who spoke last. She was young, curvaceous, with rich mocha skin, dark eyes that flashed, full lips perfect for... His cock strained against his pants, just upon seeing her.

What was he, fifteen, for crying out loud?

He had thought he was too jaded for that.

He dismissed the thought that came to his mind unbidden: he wanted to bury his face in her chest. Inhale her scent. Taste her earlobe, rest in the soft skin at her neck. Push his fingers between her legs and feel her softness. Usually his fantasies were much darker. He ran his hand through his hair, took a last lingering look at her, and reluctantly but decidedly turned on his heel.

“Best of luck,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’m sure it will be lovely.”

He didn’t know why he added that last bit.
What did he care?

Her lips.