The Billionaire’s Tentacles (Alien Breeding BBW Erotic Romance) by Cherry Dare Page A

if my
cheeks were about to burst into flame.
    Mr. Kane reached out a long finger
and brushed it over my cheek. I gasped involuntarily. My entire body trembled.
    "You're blushing," he said.
    "I... I..." I stammered. I couldn't
think of anything but the soft touch of his finger on my face.
    He withdrew his hand. Damn!
    "So, are you?" I asked. "Bisexual,
I mean?"
    He shook his head. "As I said. I
love women. Only women."
    He had spoken softly, so I had to
lean in to hear him. I could smell his scent, a mix of expensive woodsy
cologne, his natural male musk, and something else that I couldn't identify. My
nostrils flared as I inhaled more deeply. It was salty, like sea brine. Or
semen. I swallowed.
    The stop-watch went off.
    "Your time is up," he said,
brusquely pushing back his chair.
    I felt like I'd been interrupted in
the middle of a kiss. "Can I have an extension? Ten more minutes?"
    He shook his head, clearly
dismissing me from his mind. He had been amusing himself with me, nothing more.
That annoyed me.
    I put my hands on his desk, palms
down. "I want to know what you do on that island. Do you send your female
employees away so you can have an orgy with the men who are left?"
    The look he gave me was ice cold.
"Our interview is over."
    "I want to know!"
    He flicked his finger, directing my
attention to an inset button on his desk. "Miss Carey, you may leave, or I will
call security."
    I stood up. "Fine. I'm going. Thank
you for the interview, Mr. Kane."
    I walked across the palatial office
and put my hand on the doorknob.
    His voice stopped me in my tracks.
"By the way, Miss Carey... You may print any speculation on my sexual orientation
that you like. But if you write one word about me only having male staff on my
island while I'm on my yearly retreat, I will ruin you. "
    The threat in his voice made me
gasp. He meant it.
    "I won't!" My voice came out in an
embarrassing squeak.
    I fled the office, feeling like a
mouse that had barely escaped a cat.
    But once I got outside, my fear
faded and was replaced by curiosity. What did he do on that island,
anyway? And if his secret really was gay orgies, why did he say I could
speculate about his sexual orientation? Shouldn't he have ordered me to say he
was straight? What could possibly be going on that required women to be kept
away at all costs?
    I had to find out.
    It took me a long time to work out
the details of how to get to Kane's island, but I finally managed it. I am a journalist,
after all. Getting information is my job.
    That July, I stepped out of a boat
on to the sands of Hayden Kane's island. It was midnight, with an enormous harvest
moon shining overhead. The night was warm, the air was humid, and the scents of
exotic flowers filled the air.
    I waved my hand, dismissing the man
I had hired to get me to the island. He would return at dawn to pick me up. I
had only a few hours to ferret out Mr. Kane's secret.
    I crept along the beach, avoiding
the staff quarters, looking for Mr. Kane's mansion. I expected it to be as big
as Buckingham Palace and twice as fancy. But what I discovered, in the middle
of a lush tropical garden, was a beautifully designed but comparatively small
cottage. Was that really where a billionaire would live, on an island that he
owned? Why would he prioritize privacy over luxury?
    What was he hiding?
    I snuck through the garden and up
to a curtained window. I peered through a crack in the curtains.
    I had found him! Mr. Kane was in
his lavish bedroom, pacing. He was barefoot and shirtless, and the muscles of
his chest and belly and shoulders were sharply defined. The treasure trail of
hair leading down his belly and vanishing into his pants was as dark and damp
as the hair on his head.
    His torso glistened as if it had been
oiled. I figured he was sweating from the heat. It was a delicious sight. I
longed to go inside and lick up some of those beads of liquid. They glistened
strangely, as if the fluid was thicker than sweat. It looked more like