BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) (4 page)

I couldn’t hold back.  I had to have more,
to get deeper.  I held her hips with my hands, forcing myself into the moist compression.  I was bucking into her like some kind of rodeo hero.  She made little moans and dug her fingertips into my shoulders.  Tiny bites that barely registered but that might have signalled the beginnings of a plea to slow down, to be careful.

In my mind I
was
slowing down and treading carefully but my body was speeding up.  My need was a wounded bull in a sea of red flags.

Holding her in place and continuing the forceful rhythm,
I reached for the vibrator.  Flicking it on with one finger, I held it against her backside, burrowing between the rounded mounds of her ass, lightly pushing into the place I wanted it.  I didn’t plan on pushing too far.  She was new at all this.  Two days ago she’d been a starry-eyed virgin.  I already knew I was pushing her hard.  I just held it there, gently urging with slippery, cyclical pressure as I lifted into her, sliding deep, again and again.  My thumb found her clit and skated across it, caressing in unrelenting glides.

I worked the rhythm so all sources of sensation converged into one.  Incrementally, I increased the pace.

Her low cry was untamed, a sound a small, feral animal might make.  “Alexander,” she breathed.  “Please.  Please.  I can’t.  Too much.  Can’t.  Please.”  Her speech was slurred with the effects of her rising orgasm.  I could feel it coming.  Her pussy was tightening.  Her clit was a little rigid nub.  Her whole body was damp and writhing with surrender.

“Kiss me,” I said.  She seemed to barely comprehend.  She leaned forward, her breasts bobbing and touching my chest.  She didn’t so much as kiss me as offer her mouth to me.  I slipped my tongue into her.  I wanted  to absorb the sound
s she made as I thrust into her, driving her past the point of no return.

She moaned into my mouth as her pussy began its voluptuous spasm
s, clenching so strongly around my cock the pain was exquisite, gripping and pulling the pleasure from my body in gushing, seedy surges.  Lila’s body was coiled over me, wholly overcome, rolling and grinding as though to ease the excesses.

Her movement slowed until she
was limp and boneless on top of me.  But I wouldn’t let her disengage.  Not yet.  I pushed into her again, forcing her body onto mine with my hands and the buzzing, invading toy.  I coaxed another orgasm from her, rocking against her and in her until she whimpered, mindless, from the force of her final release.

I flicked off the vibrator, easing it from her body and tossing it aside. 
I let her lay there for a while.  She was completely spent, dazed and replete.  I lifted her and took her to the shower.  I used the European-style shower head to wash her, holding the pulsing jet carefully, intimately, to bring her to yet another dreamy, cyclical rise.  I dried her with a towel and carried her back to the bed, holding her in my arms for a few minutes.  Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful.  Her head rested against my chest and I could feel the downy silk of her hair draped across me.

I’
d never considered myself a deviant but my thoughts were sliding into crazy, crafty directions.  I reminded myself she was not only my lover but my employee.  I could remove her from the distractions of this city for a while, to a place where she knew no one except me.  I wanted her to be entirely dependant on me for everything.  I wanted her to
need
me.  And I wanted to keep her all to myself.

I’d already berated myself over
the subject of my obsession and decided I was over being all conflicted about it.  Fuck it.  This obsessiveness was all about protection and pleasure.  The extremity of it would probably pass soon enough and I could return to my blasé ways.  But even as I mulled this thought over, I knew it was bullshit.  I couldn’t imagine not being obsessed with Lila.  I didn’t
want
to not be obsessed with Lila.  Sure, the whole overblown scenario was enough to piss me off.  But the only way through a problem was through it.  So I decided to indulge my addiction until it began to wear off, or at least until it began to mellow by a single degree.

I’d detected the
smallest edge of reservation in her tonight.  I’d pushed her, maybe, just a little too far.

I could make it up to her by lavishing tender affection onto her and giving her everything s
he had ever dreamed of.  I could prove to her that I was necessary.  That she couldn’t do without me.

My offices had affiliates all over the world.  It wasn’t unusual for me to show up unexpected, to check on the state of my interests
on a whim.  My employees had come to expect that of me and the results were, in general, positive.  It kept people on their toes.  Accountable.  I thought I had a scheduled meeting in Paris I could move forward.  And if I didn’t, I’d make one.

Lila had never
been abroad, she’d told me.

By far the best introduction to world travel was the
City of Light.

I would take her to Paris,
and as soon as possible.

When I was sure she was deeply asleep, I tucked the blankets around her.  Very, ve
ry softly, I kissed her mouth.

Finding my tossed clothes, I dressed and shut the door firmly behind me.  Then I went downstairs to smooth away any rough edges, to make sure the boys knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lila was entirely off limits, and to finish my game of poker.

BILLIONAIRE (Part 4)

Lila

“Paris.”
  I’d already said the word three times but couldn’t seem to get my head around the reality.

“Yes,” Alexander
said.  “It’s that city over in France with the big iron tower where everyone talks funny and eats a lot of bread.”

I might have
still in a half-catatonic state from the intensity of what had taken place last night.  I’d been taken in directions I had never, ever imagined.  I’d not only had, at that point in time, the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced or even imagined in a pile of money on a poker table as no less than six gorgeous, rich, virile men had put their hands and mouths all over me, but I’d then been made love to so thoroughly that I was still reeling from the effects of the remarkable, unbelievable, earth-shattering triple whammy.

I felt like my soul had somehow shattered and been reassembled.  The fit of the pieces was new
and unpredictable, and I was still adjusting.

It was true that Alexander opened doors in me that had never been opened, not just
literally but figuratively.  Each time he came inside me, it seemed he was filling me with himself not just physically but spiritually.  Like he was taking possession of me, redefining the chemistry of my body with his essence.  I’d wanted him in me, each and every time.  Voraciously.  I wanted him in me even now as we lay naked and sticky from our lavish, hedonistic ecstasies.  But there, as a tiny dark thread against a white field of longing and pleasure and satiation, was a barely-acknowledgeable sense of unease.  Possession.  Ownership.  Control.  There was no doubt that Alexander had gained all of this and more.  I was his and I wanted to be his.  But I also wanted to be mine.  And I could feel, at the outer periphery of what was happening here, that I was unsure about the distinction.  The power spectrum was unbalanced in some indefinable way.  I was being swept away by him and I could feel that.  But I had no idea how to slow that down or to even the scales.  Or even if I wanted to.

I let the thought fade.

I ran my fingers over his chest, circling his nipple, without even fully realizing what I was doing.  We were that comfortable with each other, that the joining and the touching felt intrinsic, like we’d already become an extension of one another.

The progression had been quick, to say the least.  On Thursday morning, I’d been a hapless, practically-untouched girl.  Now, only three days later, I was a fully-bloomed, ripe,
sex-crazed, worldly woman.  With a rising, silky erection in one hand and a fistful of hundred dollar bills in the other.  I had no idea why, but our entire bed – I just realized at that moment – was covered in strewn money.

I sat up a little to take it all in.  “Why –” I began.

“I won.”

He must have gone back downstairs after I’d fallen into my mult
iple orgasm-induced coma.

Alexander turned to look at me.  “
I won the jackpot last night.  In every possible way.”

I blinked at him, smiling
a little.  I could see that just that small movement, just the blink of my eyelashes and the curve of my lips, was mesmerizing to him.  That he was unfathomably conquerable just like that.  And this susceptibility in him gave me comfort.  I was losing myself in him, a little if not more.  There were aspects of this headlong rush that were unsettlingly all-encompassing to me.  But I wasn’t the only one: he was equally overcome.  I could read in his eyes that he was charged and changed by this.  He was unsettled, too, by this tsunami of mutual attraction.  Maybe he had never had a weakness before.  Before now. 
I
was his Achilles heel and his kryptonite, all rolled into one little ball of womanly allure.

“And now we’ll have a little more spending money in Paris,” he said.

Paris.  Again, I couldn’t quite absorb the actuality. 
I was going to Paris.
  Never, ever in my life had I dared to dream for something so magical.  I wasn’t just going to Paris. 
I was accompanying my sexy billionaire lover to Paris.
  Something occurred to me.  “When will we leave?”

“Tomorrow night.”

I thought about this.  “Alexander?”

“Hmm
?”

“Today I’m going to go back to my apartment to pack.  And to see E
va before we go.”  I didn’t follow it up immediately but when his expression changed to one of almost stricken complexity, I added, “All right?”

His mind was working on several levels.  His eyes became clouded.  “I’ll
have a driver take you,” he said, and his voice had taken on darker fringes.  “I’ll come with you.  We can go to lunch from there, if you want.  And I’ll take you shopping for anything you need.”

“You already took me shopping,” I reminded him.  “I already have more than I’ve ever had.”

He didn’t reply, but he turned to face me and his hand moved to rest on my lower stomach, just above the triangle of soft curls.

“You don’
t have plans for today?” I said gently.  “You don’t have things you need to do before our trip?”

“
I might,” he said with a strangely petulant surliness.  His hand moved lower, so the tip of his finger lay almost touching the very top of my sex, where the tiny, softened nub was concealed beneath the folds of my pussy.

“Would you prefer to go alone?” he asked, prodding further, running his finger along my flesh to reveal my clit to
his careful touch.  He used his fingers to lazily form a tenderly-pinching cage, drawing the nub into his clasp, elongating it, reawakening the slow, intensifying burn.  “You want me to leave you to it?” he said, increasing the pressure, dipping two of his fingers into me as he played me more insistently, pushing deeper.  The pleasure was unfolding from within me.  The lips of my pussy began to tingle and swell.  I moved a little, spreading my legs just slightly, almost inconspicuously, to allow him easier access.  My core began to dew with the sweetness of his touch as he swirled and squeezed and plunged.  Further.  Higher.  Until I was slippery and my hips were swaying along with his guiding perfection.

But then
he stopped. 

I made a small sound of complaint
, rolling towards him, hitching my leg over his hip, offering myself in an open invitation.

Blithely, he s
aid,  “You didn’t answer me.”

I stared into his
dark eyes as my pussy throbbed with his injustice.  “What was the question?”

“Do you want to leave me for the day, to take care of whatever
it is you need to take care of?” he said, his mouth curling into that manly little pout that drove me crazy.

“I – I don’t know,” I said.
  I knew he was testing me.  I knew he would only give me what I wanted if I gave him what
he
wanted.  I might have felt an inkling of concern at his tactics.  I could have protested, and stood my ground.  But then again, why did I need to take time out from this new, überintense connection anyway?  What did I have to gain by spending five hours without him, when I knew I’d spend the entire time counting the seconds until I could return to him, to touch him and taste him and be wholly at his mercy.  As I was at this exact moment.

I leaned closer, touching the tips of my breasts to his chest, swivelling my hips against the jut of his erection.

His finger returned to me, resting oh-so-gently on the hardening peak of my clit.  “Because I could take you,” he murmured, kissing my lips.  “If you want.  If you want to spend the day with me.”  His finger swirled skillfully as he kissed a trail across my jawbone, and the fiery beauty began to rise.  The deep swirl of my climax was forming, gaining momentum.  I tried to kiss his mouth but he pulled back, and his hand once again disengaged, sliding to my leg which he held firmly.  “Only if you want me to.”  His eyes were as black as the deepest, darkest night.

But I reached for his hand,
releasing his fingers one by one until he relented.  I placed his hand between my legs, pressing him against me.  I kissed his lips, pushing little licks into his mouth, tasting him, offering, giving, surrendering.  Anything.  “I do,” I said, opening my legs and my mouth wider in a compliant supplication.  “I want you to take me.  I want you with me.  I want you to come with me everywhere I go.”

Even before I’d finished speaking he was pushing his cock into me, giving me everything I wanted, feeding my pleasure with the thick, skewering gift of his body.
  He was both gentle and fierce, creative yet aware, entirely focused on my bliss, which would mirror, trigger and define his own.  We came together, of course, and the pulse of our simultaneous release was resounding and restorative and absolute.

Everything
seemed a little off-kilter when Alexander’s huge, shiny limo pulled up, with us in it, in front of Eva’s apartment building.  Like we’d just flown in to this grimy side street on a gleaming, otherwordly alien mothership.

Despite the searing intimacy of the past three days, I felt a little awkward when I asked him, “Do you want to come up?”

I could sense that he was quietly curious – God knows why – and Eva had practically been bursting with anticipation when I’d called to tell her
we
were coming to pick up a few things.

“
The billionaire?  Are you shitting me
?” she’d screeched.  I’d ignored the topic then and I ignored it now.  Almost.

“Sure,” he said casually.  At least he wasn’t dressed in an Armani suit that cost more than the shared rent of our apartment or s
ome such.  He wore jeans and a nondescript black cotton long-sleeved t-shirt.  Aside from the limo, he could almost have been a normal, regular guy.  If you didn’t stare too closely at the watch, which was Swiss and might have been solid gold, the way it gleamed.  And the shoes; even though they were basic and leather, they probably cost more than I’d earned in my entire lifetime.  Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that much.

The driv
er opened the door for me and I climbed out.  Alexander followed.  It felt definitively weird, to be standing in this place that was familiar but now entirely changed.  Alexander was like a giant sun, casting his tall, black-haired light onto the dingy and the mundane, recasting the world and my life with his brilliance.  As much as I might have questioned this little shared excursion, I found that I
liked
having him here with me.  I liked this contrast he provided: wealth and beauty where before there was none.

I smiled at him because I couldn’t help myself.  He was gorgeous and a little out of place and wholly in the moment, as strange as that moment might have been.  And I loved him for it. 
Loved.
  No.  I backtracked on that overblown sentiment.  I found his accepting, I’m-with-you manner endearing.  Wildly so.  “This is it,” I said.

He crooked his
arm and smiled back at me.  “Shall we?”

I linked my arm through his.  When we got to the door, I fumbled in my bag for my key, but b
efore I could find it, the door-opening buzzer rang.  Eva.  She was expecting us, with eager anticipation, so it seemed.

Alexander
held the door open for me and we entered the somewhat-gloomy foyer where the little hospital-green mailboxes and their rusty keyholes took up almost the entirely of the left wall.  I hadn’t even gotten around to adding my name to Eva’s mailbox and as we walked past them I wondered if I ever would.  I found the realization that this, now, might never happen surprisingly appealing.

The tiny elevator – smaller and much less plush than Alexander’s own private eleva
tor, I couldn’t help contemplating – took us to the third floor.  The door to 3F was, unsurprisingly, open and filled with the excitable vision of Eva, who was dressed to the nines, in a blue wraparound dress, full makeup and carefully blow-dried hair.  I guess it was warranted; billionaires didn’t visit 3F all that often.

And, while I was overjoyed to see my best friend, I couldn’t help feel a small flicker of competition.  She looked beautiful, as she always did.  She had dark, auburn-highlighted long hair, a willowy figure and an interesting if not textbook-pretty face, and she exuded a liveliness t
hat most people were drawn to.  Alexander, however, was watching me.