I wanted to do something special for Black Friday.

So, as my treat to you, here’s the entire first chapter of my upcoming novella Big Bad Masked Dom, the second book in the Big Bad Billionaires series — releasing December 3rd. It’s an early sneak peek into the Roman-masked debauchery, the danger, the heat, and a whole lot of wrong that feels so wickedly right.

And because Black Friday is all about getting things early…
ARCs are now open — and free — and they go out tomorrow.
If you want one, just email me at anacalin@theromancetrove.com with ARC in the subject line.

All right — enough talk.
Let’s get dirty.

***

CHAPTER I

Margot

Okay, so this masked ball is everything Emmaline and Rick advertised it to be, and it sure as fuck is the “hot bitch of a show” they promised. The ancient Roman villa is the best backdrop the promoter could have chosen for a decadent masked ball, and the remodeled gladiator arena is the perfect stage for the twisted spectacle taking place in its center.

The girl is, of course, a more than willing participant. She’s wet down her thighs as that burly animal and his friend, both dressed as Roman guards, hold her down for a gladiator to have his way with her. 

This right here is exactly why none of my relationships ever worked out. This is what I’m into, and I can’t let anyone in on it. The tragedy is there’s no way I can actually live it out in real life, which is why I came here tonight. I crave this kind of rough fuckery, but I won’t put up with it from some random Tinder date, and much less from my office fuck buddy Kale after Netflix and chill. I know that, deep down, he’d judge me for my dirty desires.

I mean, what person in their right mind wouldn’t? I couldn’t even bring myself to share this stuff with Emmaline, my bff, and she’s here getting gross with multiple men while her boyfriend Rick is watching. They’ve been together for five years, in an open relationship for one, and always looking for nasty little pleasures. Well, they’ve got themselves a feast this time.  

And yet, I’m afraid not even they would understand. On one hand, I think Emmaline only agreed to this swinger life to please Rick, and doesn’t really enjoy it. I’ve known her longer than he has, and I can tell you for a fact she’s not really this person. I mean, I wouldn’t share my man either, not if I truly wanted him for myself, but I would do other stuff that would blow her socks off. 

So I keep the twisted part of me hidden, even from my oldest friend and from the entire world. It’s too pervy and filthy to share with anyone who knows me in real life, which is why my eyes keep drifting to the burly Roman guard holding the main girl down in the arena. He doesn’t know who I am, and he never will. The glittery Venetian mask covering the upper part of my face hides my identity. Under the cover of anonymity, I could act on all of my filthiest fantasies tonight. Imagine if I could act them out with him.

I lick my lips, my entire body humming with lust.

But it can’t happen. Even if this whole party ends up as one big, decadent orgy, what are the odds that he and I end up tangled?

Still, a girl can dream, right?

Especially since there’s no way I can look away from him. Unlike a real ancient Roman guard, there’s no breastplate covering what seems to be a naturally tan, young, strong body, just a red cape hanging from the plates on his broad shoulders. Not that I’m complaining. I love me a half-naked soldier, especially when he’s such a magnificent specimen. Muscles like an apex predator, body hair in all the right places, a square jaw and perfectly chiseled lips. With the Roman helmet on, only the lower part of his face is visible, and God save me, it reveals the perfect blend of masculinity and beauty. Even in even more ancient times, way before the Roman Empire, he would have been the perfect caveman. An alpha. I get wet just looking at him.  

“He’s yummy as fuck, I’ll give you that.”

I jump, searching for the voice. Fixated on the hot piece of ass, I didn’t even notice when Emmaline found her way to my side.

“Where’s Rick?” I ask, trying to throw her off the object of my fixation, strangely territorial.

“Getting sucked off by some drunk young model,” she replies dismissively, but the bitterness in her voice isn’t lost on me.

Emmaline is twenty-six, same as me, which means she’s officially a year past Rick’s so-called upper age limit for women he sleeps with, as he likes to joke about at office parties. Emmaline laughs like it doesn’t bother her, but I know better.

“How about you line up for him, eh?” She motions with her chin toward the Roman guard, then points to the line of giggling girls forming on one side of the arena. The line thickens by the minute under the guidance of a small, round man dressed as a harlequin.

Most of the girls are fit and bubbly, many with perfect bodies and smooth skin, while I look like a mommy, and I’m not even one yet. There’s just something about the shape of my body, and it’s been that way since puberty. And if Emmaline is in the game too, what chance do I stand? The woman has the perfect hourglass shape, with a tiny waist that makes the rest of her all the more irresistible.

I’m just about to throw in the towel when she grabs my wrist.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Next thing I know, she’s dragging me through the crowd toward the line. I dig my heels in.

“Wait, Emma, no.”

She whips around. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to do it,” I lie.

Her eyes narrow behind her mask.

“Yes, you do,” she says. “I saw you watching him, you were totally drooling in your mouth.”

I hesitate, but the woman is like a pit bull. She’ll bite into the matter and not let go until I spill all the tea. So I give it to her, just to make this quick and minimize the pain.

“What’s the point? Just look at that line. The offer is well exceeding the demand. Let’s face it, he’s not going to choose me.”

“You don’t know that.”

I scoff. “Don’t give me that shit, Emma. I have a better chance of getting picked at a rock concert for backstage action than getting under the armor around that guy’s jewels, and you know it.”

She squeezes my hand and yanks me closer. “Then you’ve got nothing to lose planting yourself in that line, do you?” She starts pulling me along again, but I resist.

“Damn it, Margot, what are you afraid of?” she challenges.

Rejection. Watching his gaze sweep over me and not stop for a single instant.

“I just don’t think I can handle rejection tonight,” I admit.

For a moment, Emma stares at me like she doesn’t understand.

“Rejection?” Her pretty mouth twists around the word. “Margot, have you looked around to see how men have been reacting to you all night? I had to push my way through a whole gang of drooling college boys just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, those kids would fuck just about anything,” I dismiss.

“Damn right, and they have plenty of options here. Yet they had their sights set on you.” She looks down at my body to make a point. I’m wearing a flimsy toga that hints at all my curves, clinging just right to some of my body, but it only creates an optical illusion. Underneath, I’m a far cry from the goddess of fertility I’m representing.

“As good as every girl here wants to get laid tonight,” she says. “Those college guys are a bunch of hotties, they could fuck anyone.” She glances in their direction. “And don’t make me remind you how many guys write to you on Tinder.”

“Yeah, indeed, I’m a magnet for creeps,” I tease. 

Emma grabs both my arms in an attempt to shake me. 

“Margot, I know you think I’m just being supportive, but I need you to trust me when I say: Men aren’t actually into the beauty standards that the media is pushing down their throats.” She looks toward the arena, where the action has heated up so much that the crowd is roaring. The gladiator is pounding into the woman with fucking abandon.

“Look at that girl,” Emma says. “Far from a runway model, wouldn’t you say? Yet a billionaire has built this entire event around her and, by the way he’s doing her right now, her thicc body drives him crazy.” 

I follow her gaze down to the show. “She’s a body positivity influencer, if I’m not mistaking.”

“She is,” Emma confirms, happy that I’ve just proven her point. “And she talked shit about him online. Instead of hate, this is what it got her.”

“You’ve been following her content,” I realize in surprise, returning my attention to Emma. She shrugs unapologetically.

“She makes me feel good about my body. And you should feel good about yours, too.  Beautiful or not in your own eyes, it clearly has an effect on men. If you paid more attention around you, maybe you’d notice.” Then, closer, “and maybe you wouldn’t be still be single despite having so many suitors.”

Those words send a wave of sadness through me, not because of my own situation, but hers. 

“Is that why you put up with Rick’s shit?” I dare to finally broach the subject. “Just to not be single? Because let me return the compliment and assure you that you wouldn’t be single for long if you decided to dump his sorry ass.”

I expect her to lash out at me. I actually see her inhale deeply to do it, and I brace for the hit, but instead she says, “You’re getting in that line and period. If the Roman hunk chooses you, then you’ll have the best night of your life. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll be right here to point out another dozen men with serious boners just from looking at you.”

As she begins dragging me toward the line again, another possibility fills me with dread.

“What if he chooses you?”

How would I be able to ever look at her again without feeling nauseatingly jealous?  

She glances at me over her shoulder. “Oh, I won’t be part of the offer.”

This is how only I end up in line to be chosen and used by the Roman hunk, relieved that I don’t have to compete against my best friend. If I lose to anyone else, the sting won’t be as bad. In fact, I expect to lose. 

But I also hope I’ll win, which makes this more unbearable by the minute. 

The waiting is filled with tension and competitive glances until the main show ends in a shattering orgasm for the main characters and the rest of the fornicating crowd. That’s when the Roman hunk starts in our direction.

Panic clogs my throat. This is getting real.

If I weren’t squeezed among the other girls, I’d probably bail, even though Emmaline would drag me right back, waiting like a Cerberus behind the lines. 

“He’s coming, he’s coming, oh em gee, he’s coming,” one of the girl bursts out, grabbing one of the others so hard the girl yelps. Another one screeches and fidgets on her feet. A lascivious sigh somewhere close draws my attention to another woman slipping a hand into her panties while looking at him, already worked up from the main show. 

My teeth grind, a territorial instinct firing me up. I have a lot of seriously twisted desires, but sharing my men with multiple women isn’t one of them. 

I should really bail now, because there’s no way he’s going to choose just one of us, not with the overwhelming demand. 

By the time he reaches us, the group fangirls hard and, as hot as he is, I find myself rolling my eyes, and feeling stupid.

“Line up, wenches,” the round-bellied harlequin orders theatrically as the Roman guard steps into hearing range. He naturally moves like a feline on the prowl, and I wipe the corners of my mouth to make sure I’m not drooling.

I pull back, not moving in line with the girls as the harlequin starts snapping shackles around their necks. They look like real iron, but the girls don’t flinch under the weight. On the contrary, they giggle even harder. They’re looking forward to the role-play and, while it’s good to see that I’m not the only one with sick fantasies, I know I don’t belong here.

I take another step back, but trip on a discarded empty bottle, which draws the harlequin’s attention.

“You, there,” he calls, his red-and-white painted cheeks glowing in the torchlight. He picks up another faux shackle from the pile, and holds out his gloved free hand. 

“Get over here,” he commands in the same theatrical tone, impersonating a slave master preparing the goods for his client to inspect. “Show this honored soldier what he can get for the right amount of coin.” 

The Roman guard appears larger with every step he takes closer. I mean, you could tell he was exceptionally well-built even from a distance, but up close he’s striking. With the helmet obscuring half of his face, my eyes lock on the lower part, trying to infer what he might look like without it. That jaw is perfectly cut under a shade of stubble, his nose is straight and perfect, and his lips… what would it be like to ride that mouth while holding on to his helmet? What would it have been like to encounter this man in ancient times, take him hostage on the battlefield, chain him, and then have my way with him in the dungeon while everyone else in the villa was sleeping?

I’m still indulging in that fantasy when he reaches the first girl. It’s oddly painful to watch him giving her attention, but I can’t look away.

He lifts his hand, and she whimpers, eager for him to touch her. But before they make contact, he lowers it again. Changing his mind, he moves on. The girl’s jaw drops, and I watch in real time how despair sets in. It resonates in my bones and, for a moment, I feel sorry for her. Having this man come so close and then walk away, not choosing you… I can’t imagine anything crueler.

His rejection just destroyed her ego, and it’s about to do the same to mine. I shouldn’t be here. 

The girl steps out of the line, moving to grab him, but what seem to be members of the staff appear out of nowhere; they blend into the crowd so well you don’t even register them until the need arises. They yank her arms back and drag her away while she struggles and wails like a fan being torn from her idol. A few other girls lose it too after he simply passes them by, suffering more or less the same fate.

He moves closer and closer, until he’s just a few girls away. They shift wildly, pushing their tits forward, one turning around and starting to actually twerk for him. Nausea creeps up my throat. I’m all for the right man degrading me, but debasing myself for the privilege of it? No fucking way.

I spin around before the big man can even see me, but the harlequin grabs the chain of my shackle, yanking me back. I reach up, curling my fingers between the shackle and my throat, trying to get it off my windpipe while also fighting to regain my balance. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” the harlequin demands, too loud and annoyingly theatrical. “Turn around and face the master. Let him see what he’s getting if he chooses you.”

He’ll never fucking choose me. He probably won’t choose anyone, and only gets off humiliating women, breaking their hopes and their egos. There are all kinds of creeps in this world.

Well, sure as fuck not with me. And where the hell is Emma? She must see that I could use her help. 

I whip around to glare at him with all the poison I’m capable of. The harlequin takes a step back with a sobered expression. Glad to see that I have that effect even with a mask on my face. 

“You’re taking this game too seriously,” I grunt, looking daggers at him. “Don’t forget, it’s just that—role play. I’m free to leave whenever I fucking choose.”

“But do you really want to?”

That wasn’t the harlequin speaking. It was a much deeper voice, calm and collected, and directed straight at me. 

READ the first novella of this series, King of Decadence, HERE!