Borrowed Billionaire #3 Return to Mr. Thorne (6 page)

My breath stopped and my heart started to hammer. You'd think I'd be more relaxed after a few glasses of wine and a lovely meal and conversation, but I was terrified.

“No,” I said cautiously, wondering if
no
was the right answer.

“Why don't you slip them off, and bend over this table. I've got something for you.”

My mound throbbed with desire, hungry for what he had for me. “We shouldn't do things in here,” I said. “What if there's a spy camera in the room, like an infa-red camera?”

“There isn't.”

“But you don't know.”

“Take your panties off.”

I took a deep breath, and then said, “I'm not finished my coffee yet.”

He raised his voice, just a little. “Now. Not later. Now.”

I dropped the coffee cup against the platter.

Changing tone to be sweet again, he said, “Good girl. I bet you're all wet for me, aren't you?”

I stood and rolled up my pencil skirt, then rolled down my panties.

Even as I did, the voice in my head screamed at me,
No! Don't! Don't give up all the power. You have the upper hand here!

But I didn't want to have the upper hand. I wanted to have
him
—have him deep inside me. My pulse throbbed in my clit, which had forgotten all about the orgasm I'd just had an hour earlier. My vagina ached, ached as though I hadn't had any pleasure in weeks.

With my panties off, I pushed my skirt back down and shuffled over to stand at the edge of the table. My legs trembled.

I asked, “Shoes on?”

“How tall are you?”

“Five foot eight.”

“Shoes on.”

I heard a belt buckle, and then a zipper running down.

The room was still pitch black, as it had been the entire time, only now it wasn't pleasantly black. Now it was sinister black. Scary black. I felt exposed.

“Lift up your skirt,” he said.

I considered refusing.

“Now,” he said.

I shimmied it up, crumpling it around my waist, exposing my butt to the air.

He put his hand on my bare lower back and pushed me. “Bend over. Over the table.”

I leaned forward, gripping the sides of the table with my hands. I nudged a few of the taller dishes, the wine glasses, out of the way.

“You smell delicious,” he said, one hand still on my lower back, but no other part touching me. His voice seemed to come from all around me in the tiny, dark room. “I could eat you up.”

Feeling brave, I said, “Dessert?”

The hand that had been on my lower back traveled down, over my bare ass. He stroked my butt cheeks gently, his hand moving around each cheek, caressing it. I moaned with pleasure, because it felt so good, especially after sitting on that hard chair, to have him touching me again.

The one hand was joined by another, calmly caressing and massaging. The hands ran down my center line and found my soft lips. A finger parted them and dragged my moisture all the way up my center line.

His voice startled me when he spoke, saying, “Lexie, do you want me to fuck you in the pussy, or in the ass.”

“Not the ass,” I said.

“The pussy. Picky girl.”

“Yes, please. Yes, please, sir.”

A finger trailed up and down my slit, so slowly. I pushed back against the finger, but it pulled away.

“I'm going to fuck you right where you want it,” he said.

“Okay.”

The finger on my slit was joined by the head of his cock, nudging in. I ached for it, ached for more, for all of its length.

His hands moved around to my hips, to the outer edges. His fingers sunk in, deep into my flesh. Hard.

Holding my hips steady, he plunged into me in one forceful slap.

I gasped in surprise.

Gripping my hips so tightly with his hands that it was almost painful, he rammed into me, harder, and harder, and then harder again.

My eyes opened wide and I gasped for air. I'd never felt anything like it.

Underneath my chest, the table rattled, and dishes crashed to the floor.

He rammed me, harder and harder, until I thought I might burst from pleasure, explode from such fullness and force and so much desire.

The dishes crashed some more, and my half-full coffee spilled on the table, soaking the front of my blouse and my breasts, but I was only peripherally aware of this, because the whole world disappeared, and I was just the tight little pussy, wrapped around his desire, wrapped around his cock.

He thrust into my eager hole from behind, slamming the muscles of his abs plus his hip bones against my ass, our bodies slapping, the speed increasing.

I grabbed the edge of the table and started to pant, my second orgasm of the night building.

It was a strong one, coming from deep within, from
deep
penetration.

His cock was stiff, and big, and pulsating with power. Despite the shock of his sudden movements, my pleasure rose up like heat waves.

He released his hands from my hips and grabbed me by the shoulders. He shoved me down against the table, and then he proceeded to fuck me even harder.

Now the table was banging against the wall, and I worried about the waitstaff walking in, and then I laughed out loud.

He grunted, “What?”

“Just that if someone walked in right now, they wouldn't see anything, and—”

He cut me off with, “No talking.”

I shut my mouth, closed my eyes, and succumbed to the sensations. Maybe it was the darkness, or maybe I'd been lulled by the pleasant conversation, but things had taken a strange turn. I can't say I didn't
like
getting it hard like this. He grunted like an animal, and it made me feel like a cavewoman or something.

All my nerves were lit up, and even though the room was black, I saw bright light. White light, pulsating to blue, then purple. We were merged, and I didn't know where he ended and I began.

My head pulled back, pulled by my hair. He still had one hand on my shoulder, but the other had a thick lank of hair, and he was pulling it. My scalp was stinging, but it felt so good.

I moaned and moved my body, tilting my hips up so he could penetrate me deeper. Impossibly
deeper
he went.

And that was what he wanted.

I felt his body behind me tense up as his orgasm began, and mine began in rhythm with his.

I imagined his hot seed spurting into me.

My walls shuddered, and I cried out as my own orgasm, my second, but even stronger than the first, shot through me like a bolt of lightning.

He was gone, then, pulled out of my vagina, and hot liquid landed on my butt cheeks as he came on my damp skin.

He pressed his balls into the crack of my butt and gently (now he was gentle!) rubbed up against me as he grunted and came on me.

We both paused, not moving, only breathing.

Then he pulled away, sighed, and went to sit on his chair. I still couldn't see him, but I could feel his body heat, hear him breathing.

I heard something clink. His belt buckle. He was getting dressed already.

“Hang on,” he said, and he dragged a cloth napkin across my butt and bare lower back, cleaning me up.

“Thanks,” I said, then I released my vise-like grip on the table and stood back up. My front was wet, and it took me a moment to realize it was from the coffee on the table. I didn't say anything about the coffee, or any of it, because … I didn't know why at the time. I felt uncomfortable. I'd never been taken so roughly, much less in the pitch black, by a man I hardly knew. I didn't know what to make of the situation, or the confusing emotions crashing over me, but I wished at least someone would turn on the damn lights.

“That was nice, Lexie,” he said, which made me feel a little better. I located my panties, put them on, and took my seat.

Something buzzed, and I startled and made an alarmed sound.

He said, “I'm just letting them know we're done.”

I rubbed down the front of my wet garments, making sure I wasn't covered in the sticky chocolate that had been drizzled on my dessert. I seemed to only have coffee on me, black, which wouldn't show against my deep eggplant-hued blouse or black skirt when we left, or so I hoped.

“You're quiet,” he said.

“Mm hmm.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“I don't know,” I said coldly. As I adjusted my seat, I noticed I was already feeling a little sore in the vaginal area. I'd be doubly sore the next day, and that gave me mixed feelings.

He said, “Do you have plans … Monday?”

“That depends. What did you have in mind?”

“I need a little work done for me.”

“Work? I'm a professional organizer. That's what I do.” My voice was sounding icy. “I'm not some call girl you can call up at your convenience.”

Silence.

Finally, he said, “Lexie, I didn't think you were.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he repeated after me. “Now are you available Monday or not?”

“If it's for work, you'll have to go through Suzanne,” I said. “These are the terms of my partnership with her.”

“Fine,” he said. “I'll call Suzanne.”

Just then, the waitstaff person knocked at the door, came in, and told Mr. Thorne his car and driver were waiting at the back entrance.

The person left, having made no mention of a bill.

Something dawned on me, and I said, “Do you own this restaurant?”

“Among many other things, yes.”

“You might have told me that over dinner.”

“Why? Would you have enjoyed the risotto any less? Or any more?”

I squirmed in my seat. “Never mind. What did you have in mind for Monday?”

“I'll let you know,” he said.

“Um. Okay.”

“I have the number.” His chair made a sound as he pushed it back and stood.

“Great,” I said, pushing my chair back as well.

“Lexie, do me a favor and wait five minutes, until I'm gone, before you come out.”

My jaw dropped open. He wasn't going to drive me home? That was it?

The door clicked shut. He'd left.

And I was alone in the room with a coffee-soaked shirt and a sore seat.

THE END OF BORROWED BILLIONAIRE #3

#4 - Under the Sea - is now available

This is a 5-part series.