The Billionaire Collection

By Adelle Adams

Three romantic novellas starring three strong, beautiful and voluptuous women and the handsome billionaires who can't get enough of them:

Inking the Billionaire: Tattoo artist Freya Martin is no stranger to attractive men. After all, her days are spent inking the hard bodies of MMA fighters. But she wasn't prepared for billionaire and MMA world champion Tristan Black to walk into her studio. And tonight, he's looking for more than just a tattoo...

Bought by the Billionaire: Tina Bellingham can't believe that she's let her friend talk her into being auctioned off for charity. She's the biggest, curviest girl there and is convinced that no one will bid for her.

But her voluptuous body has caught the attention of Mick Williams, billionaire businessman and secret underground cage fighter. And he's willing to fight to get what he wants...

First Class Ink: It's just another day at 30,000 feet for curvy flight attendant Sandra Drake. That is, until she catches the eye of the tattooed billionaire sitting in first class. After his lust for her results in a steamy mid-flight encounter, Sandra is left to wonder - is this inked hunk just looking for a one-night stand or is there such a thing as love at first sight?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adelle Adams
• Release date: Dec 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370847136

Book preview

INKING THE BILLIONAIRE

Copyright 2015 Adelle Adams

Published by Adelle Adams at Smashwords

CHAPTER ONE - FREYA

He's getting fidgety in the chair now, three hours in. I forgive him because he's young and hot-blooded, made to be in motion, not sitting in a chair and contained. This is only the first round for him and me, though, and I wonder if he'll have the patience to let me finish. The Japanese samurai is moving across his well-muscled abdomen, looking into the distance for his opponent, one hand on his sheathed sword, the other raised in a two fingered salute.

The young fighter in the chair winces and jumps a little in the chair as I move in to ink the delicate petals around his nipple. I smile a little, though I don't let him see me. He has devoted his life to the cage and his training is brutal and intense, but like all the warriors I've met, he still has vulnerable areas. I pull back now to admire my work. It is far from finished, but already my ink makes his body look exquisite.

He's recovered now and looks at me excitedly. He wants to see, so I ease his chair up and turn him to the mirror. I've been doing this for a while now, but I never get tired of seeing their faces when they first see my work. His eyes grow wider and he stops breathing for a few moments.

Oh my God, that's awesome. He reaches up as if to touch it, but I grab his hand before he can.

No, give it a few days. Let it heal. Remember, you promised me you wouldn't be in the gym until next week.

His hand is large, warm, and slightly rough. He grins, but doesn't take his eyes off the mirror.

I won't work out, but I gotta show the guys this. It's amazing.

I gently rub antibiotic ointment on the fresh ink, admiring how hard his abs are under my hand. Just one of the perks of specializing in fighters - I get to spend time with some very hard bodies. I give him the rest of the care instructions as I apply the bandage. He nods like he's listening to me, but he's excited and I just hope that he is picking up the important parts.

He slips on his hoodie and heads up to the front desk to make an appointment for his next session. I'm estimating it will probably take at least two more to finish off the sleeve and do the color. He waves to me and gives me a huge grin. I smile back and think how much I love my job. Not many people get to pay their rent painting beautiful men, so I consider myself one of the lucky ones. It almost makes up for my current lack of personal life. It's been months since I left Peter, tired of buying his beer and taking his shit. I'm loving my new independence, but I admit that it's lonely going back to my empty apartment every night. The fact that I am surrounded by sculpted athletes day in and day out certainly doesn't help. I'm ready for sex, but I don't know if I'm ready yet for commitment.

I look up at the clock. It's already three and I haven't had lunch. I've got another fighter coming in at four.

Annie’s working the front desk. I ask if she wants to grab a burrito from the taco stand across the alley. We've been friends ever since I started working here five years ago, when I moved to Denver. We make an odd pairing. Annie's straight out of a Hollister catalog - tall, blond, thin, always perfectly put together. I'm shorter, curvier, with long black hair and only a bit of lip gloss. But the biggest difference is on our skin. Annie is still afraid to get a tattoo, despite having worked for years in a tattoo parlor. I, on the other hand, spent several years in Japan apprenticing under some of the best artists in traditional Japanese tattoos and my back and arms are covered in brilliantly colored ink. Together, we tend to stop traffic.

As we eat our burritos back at the shop, the phone rings. Annie answers and her eyes get large.

Yes, of course. Yes, no problem, she's free after seven tonight. Okay, thank you. She hangs up and looks at me excitedly.

What was that about? I ask.

Frey, that was Tristan Black's personal assistant.

I stop chewing.

Tristan Black? I say, around my mouthful of beans.

Annie nods excitedly.

Tristan Black was the reigning MMA world light heavy-weight champion five years in a row, before he retired a couple of years ago. I've seen every fight, partly because he was incredible in the ring, but mostly because I admired his tats. And his body.

He's coming in to town tonight and he wants to come to the shop...and meet you.

The world stops for a moment and I can only hear my heart beating in my head. Tristan Black, world champion and the first MMA fighter on the Forbes list of billionaires. I've tattooed many MMA fighters, but never one nearly this high profile.

I look up at the clock and see that I have ten minutes until my next appointment. Fortunately, this one is just some finish work and shouldn't take too long. I dump the rest of my burrito and head back to my studio. I need a minute to catch my breath.

CHAPTER TWO - TRISTAN

The leather seats are supple and buttery in the jet, but I'm feeling antsy and can't get comfortable. I need to be in Denver by 10:00 for my meeting with the merchandisers and so I didn't get in a workout this morning. As soon as the jet takes off, the attendant is by my side offering me a mimosa. By most measures, she's gorgeous, with small breasts and round hips setting off a narrow waist. She's lovely and probably a very nice girl, but I feel sometimes that I'm constantly surrounded by women like this. From the ring girls to the groupies who come backstage after a fight, they all seem the same to me now, a blur of thin, young bodies in tight skirts. She smiles at me, and I can see her hard nipples poking through the thin, tight dress that she's wearing. She's obviously excited and knows who I am. I'm utterly uninterested, but I don't like to be unkind, so I nod, give her a slight smile and ask for some black coffee.

Daniel is across the aisle from me and I can tell he's excited. He's only been my personal assistant for a few months now and I'm still surprised at how young he is. Fresh out of college with a business degree and the son of a friend of a friend, he was eager and looking for a job. I needed a new personal assistant, one who wasn't female and looking for a lay, and I was feeling generous, so I decided to give him a chance. He's a good kid, tall, and still growing into himself, but he hasn't yet managed the art of playing it cool with the ladies. The attendant is offering him a mimosa now and I swear I can see a bulge in his slacks. I have to keep from laughing.

The jet has reached cruising altitude and outside a blanket of white clouds sits beneath a brilliantly blue sky. I reach under my seat and pull out the folder of pictures. They're all of her work. One of my favorites is a picture of a tat that takes up nearly the entirety of my friend Troy's back. It's a full color depiction of Chusenko Teitokuson plunging his sword into the head of an enormous serpent. The serpent's body encircles Troy's right lat and follows his muscle so closely that it seems almost as if he had been born wearing it. The other photos are equally impressive - a perfect blending between man and ink.

I've seen this art before, over the years, on the fighting circuit, and soon realized that it had to be the same artist. I had admired it whenever I saw it, but had only recently come to know the name of the tattooist. Freya Martin. I had been surprised to learn it was a woman. Most Japanese tattoo artists are men and, well, Japanese. My interest had been piqued at that point, but it wasn't until now that I had found a good opportunity to finally go to her shop in Denver and meet her in person.

I've finished my coffee and need to pee. It's a private chartered jet, so there's only one restroom. My thoughts are full of ink and in my preoccupation, I don't notice that both Daniel