BABYSITTING THE BAD BOY BILLIONAIRE

Madison Harper needed the money badly. So when the agency offered $5,000 a week to “babysit” eight-year-old Liam Cunningham for the summer, she didn’t ask questions. She definitely didn’t expect the boy’s father to be Hunter Cunningham — the 29-year-old Wall Street wolf who’d just been crowned Forbes’ Sexiest CEO Alive. Only for him to open the door shirtless, sweat glistening on abs that belonged on a Times Square billboard, gray sweatpants hanging criminal-low. “Madison, right?” His voice was pure gravel and sin. “Liam’s asleep. You’re late.” She glanced at her phone. 9:02 PM. “I got stuck in bridge traffic—” “Rules,” he cut in, stepping aside so she could enter the $42 million Hamptons mansion. “Door locks at nine. You break curfew, you get punished. Same rules I give my son.” Madison swallowed. His eyes raked over her tiny denim shorts and cropped college tee like he was already deciding to do something sinister to her. Upstairs, Liam was sleeping. Downstairs, Hunter poured two glass of 50-year-old Macallan and handed her one. “Drink. You’ll need it.” She obeyed. The whiskey burned. So was his stare. But she endured it for the sake of the job. “Tell me, Madison,” he said, circling her like a shark. “How old are you?” “Twenty-one.” “Perfect.” He set his glass down, caged her against the fridge with one arm. “Old enough to consent. Matured enough. His mouth crashed into hers before she could say anything. Tongue invading, teeth nipping, one hand fisting her ponytail while the other slid straight under her shorts. No pants. He groaned against her lips. “Naughty babysitter,” he growled, two thick fingers plunging inside her slick heat. “You came here wet for the job?” Madison whimpered as he pumped hard and fast, thumb grinding her c**t. Her knees buckled. He held her up by the throat. “Answer me.” “Yes, Mr. Cunningham f**k yes!” He spun her around, bent her over the kitchen island, and yanked her shorts down in one brutal tug. Cold marble on her n*****s. His belt buckle clinking open behind her. “Look at that perfect college ass,” he rasped, slapping it hard enough to leave a handprint. “Been hard since you walked in.” He didn’t ease in. One savage thrust and he buried every inch balls-deep. Madison screamed into the granite. He gripped her hips and f****d her like he was trying to split her in half — long, punishing strokes that slammed her c**t against the counter with every thrust. The security camera blinked red in the corner. He noticed. And smirked. “Wave for the footage, baby. Tomorrow the whole staff watches you come on Daddy’s dick.” She shattered first orgasm ripping through her so hard she saw stars. He didn’t stop. Just pulled out, flipped her to face him, and lifted her onto the island. Legs over his shoulders. Tongue on her c**t before she could react. He ate her like a starving man — sucking, biting, three fingers curling inside her until she squirted all over the counter and his $20,000 watch. Then he stood, shoved back in, and f****d her through two more orgasms while choking her just enough to make her vision blur. When he finally came, he pulled out and painted her t**s with thick ropes of c*m. “Uniform for the summer,” he panted, smearing it over her n*****s with his thumb. “No bra. No panties. Just my c*m drying on you while you watch my son.” He zipped up, poured another whiskey, and walked away. Madison slid off the counter on shaky legs, c*m dripping down her stomach, p***y still clenching around nothing. She smiled through swollen lips. $5,000 a week? She’d babysit the bad boy for free.