Lola & the Millionaires: Part One Read online

  Lola and the Millionaires

  Part One

  Kathryn Moon

  Copyright © 2020 by Kathryn Moon

  Lola & the Millionaires, Part One

  First publication: June 11th, 2020

  Cover art by KellieArts

  Font art by Lana Kole

  Editing by Meghan Leigh Daigle

  Formatting by Kathryn Moon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To the beta babes, of course!

  Jami, Ash, Helen, Kathryn, Desiree

  You took the best possible care of Lola and of me!

  Thank you

  Contents

  A Note on this Omegaverse

  1. Lola

  2. Lola

  3. Lola

  4. Lola

  5. Wes

  6. Lola

  7. Lola

  8. Lola

  9. Lola

  10. Lola

  11. Lola

  12. Lola

  13. Lola

  14. Rake

  15. Lola

  16. Matthieu

  17. Lola

  18. Lola

  19. Lola

  20. Caleb

  21. Lola

  22. Matthieu

  23. Lola

  24. Cyrus

  25. Lola

  26. Lola

  27. Lola

  28. Leo

  29. Lola

  30. Lola

  31. Lola

  32. Leo

  33. Lola

  34. Lola

  Also by Kathryn Moon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Note on this Omegaverse

  There are NO shifters in this book.

  Aside from the unusual human biology, this Omegaverse is not a paranormal romance. These alphas, betas, and omegas are not shifters. This is an alternate universe to ours, with an alternate human biology that includes animalistic traits adapted to a romance premise. There are fancy penises, mating instincts, pheromones, and bonding marks, as well as a slight hierarchal social construct. Alphas are considered powerful and prone to leadership and they form family packs, omegas as the precious and sexual glue that holds those packs together, and betas are the average and normal.

  Lola’s story does deal with themes of the aftermath of sexual abuse and emotional trauma. If you find yourself uncomfortable reading such material, please proceed with caution (especially where you see large chunks of italics, which are flashbacks.)

  One

  Lola

  “Gin and tonic. Want me to leave it open?”

  I shook my head at the bartender. “Close it.” This was my third glass of the night.

  Time’s running out, I thought, scanning the length of the bar. Women like me lined the glossy black bar top, the high polish reflecting the flashing, spinning lights from the dance floor. We sat on our stools like jewels in their fastenings, while the rest of the club patrons pushed around our shoulders to catch the bartenders’ attention.

  A man leaned forward around me as I took my bill, signing my name on the line and digging a bill out of my bra to leave for a tip.

  “Tequila on the rocks.”

  The man at my side twisted as the bartender nodded back at him. Narrowed eyes latched onto me immediately, studying me with cursory interest. He was good-looking, or at least good-looking enough to catch someone’s eye. He had a lean frame, blue eyes, mussed light-brown hair, weak chin, and patchy stubble. A different week, and I might’ve smiled and encouraged him to chat me up a bit. Tonight I was in the mood for something else.

  When he started to smile, I shook my head and spun my stool to turn my back to him, taking a sip of my drink and wincing as it burned in my throat. Henry, the bartender, had really upped the gin on this one. I would have to make sure I didn’t finish it. Which meant I had even less time.

  Come on, Lola, just pick one.

  Normally I liked this club. It was one of the few beta-only night clubs in the city and by far the classiest. I could come here and be safe from the oppressive pheromones of alphas who were looking to settle for an eager beta when what they really wanted was the rare jewel, the omega. I’d been one of those betas just a year ago, secretly wishing I might develop into an omega like some magical fairy tale transformation. That I might be precious, rather than run of the mill. But I’d learned the cost of an alpha’s attention finally, even if it had taken me twenty-five years to realize the truth.

  And now I’d found my safe haven. Philia was a little shelter against the weight of alphas and omegas on my mind. And if that wasn’t enough, the music was always good for dancing, the drinks were strong, and the men who showed up looking for women were either hot, well-dressed, or both.

  Tonight, though, I was losing interest. Either my routine—sit at the bar, no more than three drinks, always leave alone—was getting old, or it was just an off night at Philia. I took another bitter sip of my drink and slid off the stool before Mr. Tequila On The Rocks could brush up too close against my back.

  My timing was shit. As soon as my feet hit the floor a body collided against my back, sending me stumbling forward, tossing my drink up and walking directly into the splash. Two large, warm hands grasped my hips to keep me from falling on my own face, and they pulled me back against a broad chest. I jerked away from the touch, adrenaline spiking and making my heartbeat ricochet in my chest.

  “Shit, I’m so—”

  “It’s fine, I—”

  I spun and stumbled back to blow off whoever ran into me, only to find my words drying up on my tongue. Fuuuuuck, pretty, my brain declared. Which was correct and also kind of an understatement.

  “I’m sorry,” he finished, smiling as his eyes took equal interest in looking me over as mine did with him.

  Short, inky black hair framed his masculine beauty. He had dense stubble growing over his tan jaw and thick eyebrows over dark eyes. His features were broad, and he had a mouth designed by God herself for kissing, with full but not plump lips. Latino or Hispanic I guessed, looking at eyelashes that women would’ve paid good money for from a beauty store.

  Now we’re talking. This was what I was in the mood for. Even if I hadn’t known it a minute ago. It was like I’d been waiting for this absurdly handsome man to walk into me.

  “It’s my fault for not looking,” I said, shrugging.

  On my chest, a trickle of gin and tonic slipped down beneath the low collar of my dress, curving over one of my breasts and catching the stranger’s eye. He leaned in, one hand reaching up to cover my shoulder, his thumb pressing over the sticky alcohol on my skin. Don’t flinch, I ordered myself. The touch was hot and provocative, but he wasn’t gripping me tight. I was safe.

  “Let
me buy you another drink,” he said into my ear, and I could finally make him out over the heavy thumping bass of the dance floor. A warm voice with a natural rasp that raised goosebumps over my skin. His lips almost brushed my earlobe, a little trace of heat and damp breath on my skin.

  Drowsy, languid arousal washed over me as I took in a deep breath. Fresh laundry, a little citrusy, pure beta. Not that I expected anything different at Philia, but there was no reassurance like the biological. Here was my mark for the night. This guy was handsome, and he was tall and broad-shouldered, and he was safe.

  Or as safe as any stranger might be. He wasn’t an alpha.

  I tipped my head, letting my cheek brush his until I caught his eye. At least neither one of us was pretending not to be interested.

  “How about a dance instead?” I asked.

  His eyebrows raised and his smile grew, revealing deep dimples. “I never say no to a dance. You sure you don’t want the drink?”

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter that I didn’t finish my cocktail. I didn’t need to now. I’d made my plan for the night and I never drank to get drunk.

  Control was something I refused to give up, especially over myself. I pushed the now empty glass back onto the bar, brushing my chest against his. His hand on my shoulder slid down my arm and over to the open back of my dress, fingers digging in lightly for a moment. I ducked my chin to hide my smile as I let him lead us to the dance floor.

  Men were kind of easy. Skin usually did the trick. Eye contact always helped.

  It was a formula I followed.

  1. Drink until I’m buzzed enough to lose the constant tremor of anxiety that hummed in my chest, but not drunk enough to start remembering the past.

  2. Find a safe beta target.

  3. Reel them in.

  4. Get laid. Try to burn off the frustration that clawed through my veins. That clenched my teeth together into a grimace and made my jaw ache. That burned in my eyes so hot, I thought I might scream until my throat was raw. That I might just keep screaming until they buried me in the ground.

  5. Go home and try to sleep.

  We wove through the crowd of dancers, pressing closer together. I ran a hand up his back, amused at the smooth texture of his suit. Maybe he’d just gotten done for the day at whatever finance job he had in the neighborhood. Either way, the tailoring looked good on him and the quality was high. Maybe I’d make him leave it on just so I could hold onto that high thread count whenever we found the dark corner we’d be using later.

  I spun and turned my back to him, his hands cupping around my hips, fingertips settling in the grooves of my hip bones. The music rattled the floor beneath us as I found the rhythm, pleased when he followed it without hesitation. None of that boring dude posturing, where he just stood still and I rubbed up against him. This guy and I were moving together; our bodies had been designed for the connection. I reached my arms back, palms holding onto his shoulders, and rested my head on his shoulder, a soft scratch from his stubble against my temple.

  Our hips curled together, and one hand remained squeezing my hip as the other meandered up to my ribs in a slow caress that left a ticklish, prickling path on my skin. Sweat gathered on my back, the press of the crowd and the heat of the man with his arms around me making my blood rush in my veins. Slowly, tension unwound from my muscles. My mark was a good enough dancer that the more I relaxed, the stronger his lead was until I was loose and following the coaxing guide of his hands. I shifted my feet apart, and his leg filled the space. His breath was hot on my neck, his hands gripping tighter with every slow roll of our bodies in unison.

  His thumb stroked against the underside of my breast and my eyes widened, surprised by the intense pound of desire that answered the light touch. I pulled away, just for a second, and he was ready as I spun to face him. He pulled me flush against him, and now the leg between my thighs was something to grind against. I gripped at the collar of his absurdly fancy suit, running my fingertips along the silken underside, and tipped my chin back to meet his eyes.

  The flash of colored lights was reflected back at me in his gaze, as well as my own face. My lips were parted on a pant and my eyes were hooded, arousal plain to see. I tore my stare away, watched the undulating forms of the other dancers over his shoulder, frowned at the edgy need racing through me. This was more than I usually found on these excursions. More desire, more chemistry, and that carefully measured leash of control I held was starting to slip from my grip.

  And then his head dipped down, lips skimming over my throat as his fingers dug into the curves of my hips and ass, drawing me tight against the ridge of arousal between us. I moaned, and I don’t know if he heard it in the thunder of bass and moaning lyrics around us, or if he felt my breath, but he sipped softly on my skin, tongue flicking out to taste over my pulse.

  For once, too much felt good. My eyes fell shut and my forehead landed on his shoulder as we moved in tandem. A few shifts of clothing and we’d end the mimicry of sex in exchange for the actual physical act. I was as impatient to move onto the next part of my routine as I was greedy to savor the sensuality of so much touching, so much closeness with another person.

  This was why I did this. This is why I braved the panic attacks of being out of my recent safety zones in favor of the anonymous contact in over-crowded clubs. I missed touch. I missed intimacy. This was a poor woman’s charade of the two, but it was better than shivering in my bed all night trying not to think about them.

  I rocked against the thigh rucking up the hem of my dress and my panties slid wetly against my skin. Shit. This guy had to be feeling how badly I wanted him by now. Not that I wasn’t feeling the same from him.

  We lifted our heads at the same time and all I needed was one look from those blacked out angel-eyes of his to know. I surged up, and his arms circled my back as his eyes slid shut, our lips colliding in a perfect meld. No clumsy confusion, just out-and-out deep kisses, tongues stroking together as I rode his leg like it could get me to the crashing point I was craving so badly. It probably could, if I was patient.

  I was never patient.

  I pulled away, felt his groan vibrate against my lips, and then grabbed his hands from my back, dragging him through the crowd with me. His brow was faintly furrowed, his smile curling as I led us off the dance floor and toward the dim and twisting hall, past the customer restrooms and around the corner.

  Employees Only. The private restroom that was always open and never occupied. Until I walked in with whatever man I’d grabbed for the night.

  I pushed in with my shoulder, finally far enough from the pounding music to hear his easy laugh, the chuckle rasping in my ear like a tongue between my thighs. It turned quickly into a moan as I pushed him against the back of the door, pinning him there by those perfect shoulders of his and taking his mouth again, rubbing my body against his in a desperate bid for friction.

  “Fuck, gorgeous,” he muttered, before losing track of whatever he planned to say as I sucked on his tongue.

  This was the tricky part. Some guys wanted to get to know you. Plenty were usually happy for a quick anonymous fuck. But sometimes the sweet ones wanted to know—

  “What’s your name? I’m Le—”He shuddered as I bit his lip, grasping the back of his neck with one hand and holding our mouths together.

  Finally getting with the program, he let out a soft, muffled, growl and gripped my ass in his big hands, spinning me to the door with a soft slap of my skin against the surface. I wrapped my legs around his hips, a high breathy sigh escaping my lips as he rubbed the stretched crotch of his pants against my lace underwear.

  “Fine, we’ll save that for later,” he said, laughing.

  There’s not gonna be a later, I thought. “Condom?” I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting this.”

  I resisted the urge to scoff. No one came to Philia without at least hoping to get laid. Instead I pulled out a dollar bill and passed it to him
, nodding to the machine over his shoulder. He laughed again, that wicked sound that made my stomach flip and my panties wetter, and scuffed his hand over his dark hair.

  The thing I liked about the employee bathroom was that there were a few lights out overhead, so it was dim but not dark, and that none of the employees bothered walking all the way back here so it was always empty. Also, it had a fantastically open countertop that was never soggy with soapy water.

  My mark for the night went to buy us some protection and I crossed to the counter, waiting until he turned around so he could watch in the mirror as I flipped my skirt up and shimmied my underwear down. He crossed the small room quickly, eyes tracking my hands as he flipped the condom packet aimlessly between his fingers.

  “Here,” he said, holding out his free hand.

  I grinned and turned, hooking my panties over his finger and watching him tuck them into his back pocket.

  “For safekeeping,” he said, smile big and close to laughing.

  “Mhm, obviously,” I said, tugging him closer and nipping at his lips, softening the bite with a quick lick of my tongue. I wasn’t normally this into kissing, but most men didn’t have mouths so obviously made for the act. If it weren’t out of my routine, I would’ve begged for this man to get on his knees for me.

  “I meant what I said, about not expecting this,” he murmured, nose brushing against mine as he crowded me against the counter.