Borrowed Billionaire #5 Set it on Fire

by Strong, Mimi

  “The stars ...” I had every intention of getting out of that bed, but I was so comfortable, and I drifted off to sleep.

  I slept straight through the night, and in the morning, my leg felt almost normal. I reached for Luthor in the bed next to me, but found only pillows.

  I sat up and noted that his things were gone from the room. With the realization he'd left, I felt both sad and relieved. It was over.

  He hadn't ditched me; I'd known he was leaving before us, and we'd discussed it the night before, but I'd forgotten. He was off to somewhere in Europe, Denmark, if memory served, and I'd leave Indonesia the same way I'd arrived—with Suzanne and Simon.

  Breakfast was sombre.

  Simon kept talking about the fruit juice, about how he'd miss it when we got back home. “You can get it from frozen concentrate, but it's not the same,” he said.

  Suzanne pulled her croissant apart and rubbed the spots on her shoulders where she'd gotten sunburned.

  Simon poured another glass of juice from the pitcher. “Maybe we could buy a juicer.”

  I snapped. “Shut up about the juice already. Who cares! It's just juice.”

  He said, “Excuse me for trying to enjoy the avails of your work.”

  Suzanne gave him a sharp look, and thanks to that look, I knew she'd blabbed.

  Anger flashed through me. “Suzanne, you told him? You told him everything?” I slunk down in my chair. “Great, now all my friends know I'm a whore.”

  He stammered, then said, “I haven't told anyone else.”

  “Nice.”

  The server came to refill our coffee cups, and we all glared at each other silently.

  After a moment, Suzanne said, “This reminds me of every vacation I've been on, ever. On the final day, all hell breaks loose. So … we're right on track, I'd say.” She tipped her head to the side and gave me a sad, sympathetic look. “I didn't tell Simon anything, but he's a smart guy, and he figured it out on his own. I may omit details sometimes, but we don't lie to each other. We have a policy of absolute honesty. It's the only way to build trust.”

  Simon gave me a sheepish smile. “Don't be angry with my wife. It's all my fault. I was being nosy. You know, I do work for a lot of guys like Luthor. I could probably give you some insight into his psyche, if you're interested.”

  I glanced down at my crossed arms and rigid posture. Who was I kidding? I wasn't angry at my friends. They'd done nothing wrong. I uncrossed my arms and shook them out.

  “Simon, I'm fine. And I don't need insight. We had our fun, and now it's over. Luthor and I are from different worlds. We don't match up.”

  “I wouldn't be so sure of that,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  Suzanne tried to suppress a smile, probably thinking about what she'd seen in their pool, about us matching up just fine, physically.

  I said, “Sex is not a relationship.”

  Simon stirred the cream and sugar into his coffee. “With or without money, people still have their issues. In fact, rich guys like Luthor are often starved for affection. They grow up with paid caregivers, like nannies and whatnot, and their parents are too busy building an empire or enjoying their lifestyle to give them the attention they crave.”

  “He had a brother who died when he was young.”

  Simon took a deep breath. “He's a decent guy, but I'm not surprised to hear that. He seems kind of ...”

  He glanced over to his wife.

  “Vulnerable,” Suzanne said.

  I started to laugh. “Vulnerable? Please!” I kept laughing, until the idea sunk in.

  When I was growing up, my mother and I didn't have a lot of money, which had seemed like a hardship at the time. When Halloween came around, the other kids at school got purchased costumes, whereas I'd wear some strange get-up my mother and I had fashioned from old clothes and props purchased at a thrift store. We had so much fun picking things out. One year, we found an old wedding dress, covered in tacky lace, and dyed it black in the bath tub for a witch costume. The different fabrics hadn't taken all the dye, and parts of the dress were purple, but it had been gorgeous, the envy of all the other girls.

  I got a flash in my mind of Luthor, as a little boy. That hungry look in his eyes.

  “This vacation,” I said. “We're the ones taking advantage of him.”

  Simon pulled back from the table, eyebrows raised. “I wouldn't go that far.”

  “This was fun,” Suzanne said. “It was a one-time thing, and we all had a nice time. I saw Luthor on his way out this morning, and he gave me a big hug and said he'd had a great time.”

  “Really?” My eyes hurt, like I might start crying. “Did he seem happy?”

  “Very,” she said, nodding.

  Simon gave me a broad smile. “We have all the time in the world to work things out, once we're back home. Everything seems surreal when you're in a different time zone. You can talk some more on your next date, when you see each other at home.”

  “I'm not seeing him anymore. If I do see Luthor Thorne again, it'll be to break up with him.” I poked at the fruit on my plate. “Or to resign from my position as paid consort.”

  “Don't call yourself that,” Suzanne said. “It isn't true. He told me you refused to take any money from him. Yes, he paid for the vacation, but that's it, and that was a gift. I don't want to hear you say any of those words about yourself.”

  She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. I gasped at the shock of being touched. Her hand on mine brought me out of my head and back into the world. Emotion rose up in me, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both.

  The flight back home went as expected.

  Those crazy lovebirds Suzanne and Simon were at it on the plane again. They started off kissing and flirting in their seats, being anything but subtle with their shared blanket. I gave them a dirty look, and they excused themselves to the bathroom.

  They weren't in there very long this time, so I guess they were getting the hang of it.

  When they came back out, I said, “The Mile High club is for sexy strangers who meet up on the plane. Not for married people who are going to be sharing a bed tonight and every night for the rest of their lives.”

  “We are strangers,” Simon told me.

  Suzanne tossed back her hair as she settled into the seat across the aisle from me. “I'm a famous Hollywood actress who's going through a messy divorce.”

  “And who are you?” I asked Simon.

  “Uh … isn't it obvious? I'm a rock star.” He pushed up his glasses on his nose.

  The air hostess came by and handed Simon his cell phone. “You two left this in the bathroom when you were in there together.”

  Simon blinked up at her. “My wife was feeling unwell.”

  The woman said, “I hope she's feeling better now.”

  Suzanne blushed, turning redder than I'd ever seen her before. “Much better,” she said.

  After the air hostess left, I said, “You guys are going to get us all put on a special list. A naughty list.”

  Simon sat up straight and proud in his seat. “Lexie, honey. You only live once.”

  2: Return to Jacob

  Back home, I got nervous about making a date with Jacob. I hadn't replied to his email, but I'd re-read it so many times, I had it memorized.

  The last bit gave me chills:

  Oh, Lexie, I've been such an idiot. Of course I want more from you than what we have. Where are you? We need to talk.

  I've never been a big fan of that phrase. “We need to talk.” Why did people have to talk so much? Couldn't they just take off all their clothes and show each other how they felt? Wouldn't that be so much more fun and less stressful?

  I gave myself a little time to recover from the trip and get my head back on local time, and I made a date with Jacob for Friday night. Now, when I say I made a date with him, I mean I sent him a chickenshit text message saying: Friday at seven? Wanna come over?

  He immediately phoned me instead
of texting. I did not pick up the call. He didn't leave voicemail, but called a few more times. Finally, I got a text message saying: Sure. We'll go out. I'll pick you up.

  I'd made dates and hookup plans with Jacob probably fifty times in the past, if not a hundred, but I was feeling as nervous as a virginal high schooler. Did he like me? Did me like-me-like-me? What would I wear? What did it mean? Were we going to go steady?

  The only thing that calmed me down was relaxation time in the tub with some of my favorite toys. Unfortunately, as soon as I closed my eyes, I thought of things I shouldn't. Like Luthor Thorne, and those hungry eyes of his. Luthor, his flesh so hot against mine in the cool swimming pool under the moon in Indonesia. That cute way he had of getting straight up out of bed without any lazy snoozing. Rubbing my back when I threw up over the side of the boat after getting hurt by the stingray.

  The wound on my leg was healing nicely. I squinted to imagine the scar that would remain. It would be a cute scar, just a little one. A life well-lived was going to leave a few marks here and there.

  I settled into the hot bath and rubbed my whiskerbiscuit. The touch of a man is incredible, but there's something comforting about taking care of yourself. I held my free hand to my mouth and thought of kissing Luthor on his soft, full lips, and of roving down his body, taking his cock in my hand and mouth.

  We had fit so well together, like old friends. Friends. We could be friends.

  Starting Friday, I was going to try a “normal” relationship with a regular, non-billionaire person, Jacob. I could still be friends with Luthor Thorne. I just needed a few days to get him out of my mind, off my skin.

  I remembered how desperate he'd been for me in the shower, thrusting and slapping his wet body against mine, how I'd gripped the handles so tightly my knuckles had turned white. In my mind, I saw him as the man I knew, yet he was also the younger version of himself I'd imagined, the one who never got enough, whose hunger for affection could never be sated.

  In the shower and in the bed, he'd come so deep inside me, panting, gripping me tight in his arms, as though I might try to get away. Why would I? Why had I?

  I tipped my head back against the cool rim of the tub. I needed to come, so I could at least have those ten minutes post-climax where I was impervious to men. I'd be able to think straight, to do or say anything.

  Thinking of Luthor, I drove my fingers into my flesh.

  My orgasm shocked through me like lightning. Absolute pleasure. Heart pounding. Clarity.

  Suzanne had me out on an organizing job all day Friday, and this time I had a brand-new assistant to help me.

  Suzanne and I hadn't started out as partners. It was more like my business in the beginning, and she started by helping with the bookkeeping. After a few months, she ran the numbers and insisted she take over the phone number and the booking system I'd been running through a mini-office service. She lowered my overhead, and then she took things a step further and started acting as a salesperson, going to social networking functions with business cards, and actually selling my time. She provided a valuable service, since I had zero interest in schmoozing. She very much deserved her commission, but it was getting to the point where her commissions were limited during the busy times, because I only had two hands and could do but one job at a time.

  We'd always talked about hiring more staff so that she and I could grow the business without limitations, and this new assistant was just the first step.

  The kid—she was twenty-three, not much younger than me, but she still seemed like a kid—was eager, but she nearly wore me out with her enthusiasm. I was considering firing her when I realized we'd finished the job two hours early. It had only felt longer because of all her annoying questions.

  I could certainly field a few questions if it meant finishing two hours early!

  Back home, I showered and got changed for my date with Jacob. As far as I saw it, our next step would be to do what we'd been doing, perhaps with more frequency, and to stop doing it with other people. That seemed both reasonable and enjoyable to me, but as the minutes ticked by leading up to seven o'clock, I re-read his email and started to sweat.

  When a guy says he “wants more,” what the heck does that mean? Since when did guys want more?

  My phone rang at exactly seven.

  “Hello?”

  “I'm down in front,” he said.

  “Why don't you park and come up for a minute?”

  I detected a hint of irritation in his voice as he said, “Are you not ready?”

  I didn't have an answer. I was ready, but I wanted to see him on my turf, in my condo. “Just come up for a minute.”

  “Already parking.”

  Five minutes later, I opened the door before he could knock.

  His forehead furrowed. “You have a tan.”

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him in. “I'll have to tan a lot more before we can match.” I arched up to kiss him hello. He moved his head at the last second, and my kiss landed on his jaw.

  He was clean-shaven, and his face was smooth and smelled delicious, as always. I reached up and stroked his curly, black hair. We shifted around and he kissed me, landing on the lips this time.

  I sensed a hesitation, a holding back, which made me want him, so bad.

  My hands scrambled down his front, where they latched onto his belt buckle, working it quickly.

  “Mm,” he said into my mouth.

  I pulled back and gazed up at his dark brown eyes. “I want you so bad.”

  His eyes crinkled with a smile. “No time. Come on, let's go.”

  I pouted and snaked one hand down the front of his jeans. “I thought you missed me.”

  He gasped as I latched onto his semi-firm cock. “I did, Lexie.”

  I squeezed the shaft and kissed him hard, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. “Show me.”

  He groaned and glanced over at the door, now shut.

  “Show me,” I demanded.

  He grabbed me roughly and picked me up. I squealed and wrapped my legs around him as he carried me to the bedroom.

  “I need you to fuck me,” I said.

  “Shush.”

  I pulled off my jeans and panties at the same time and lay back on the bed, pulling my knees out to the sides and against myself.

  Keeping his gaze on my face, he finished unfastening his pants and dropped them. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over the chair in the corner.

  His cock was three-quarters rigid, and my eyes widened. For an instant, the high-school-virgin part of my brain feared he might be too big for me, and the fear coursed through me along with the pleasurable sexual excitement. Fear and pleasure at once.

  He eased up onto the bed slowly, moving like a lion.

  “Spank me,” I said.

  “Why?” He seemed genuinely confused by my request.

  I whimpered and rolled over. “Because I want you to.”

  After a moment of hesitation, he slapped my butt cheek, not very hard, but enough to sting.

  I cried out in pleasure and hugged the pillow beneath my chest.

  Spank me because I've been with another man, I thought.

  He slapped me again, a little harder, and I cried out louder.

  Spank me because I'm bad, I thought. Because I don't know what I want, and I'm not normal.

  Jacob started talking, saying dirty things about pounding my pussy, but my thoughts drowned him out.

  He kept spanking me, and I thought maybe I'd ruined the mood, that there'd be no sex after all this, but then I felt his other hand nudging through my labia. He spanked me again, the slap ringing through the room as he pushed his finger through the wetness and over my red-hot clit, burning like an ember for his touch.

  He spanked me some more, and fingered me at the same time. I was in ecstasy, and the thoughts in my head kept jumbling around.

  I'm bad. I'm dirty. I don't deserve the love and respect of a good man like Jacob.

  He stopped for a moment, and I h
eard the crinkling of a condom packet being torn open.

  He grabbed my hips and I felt something nudge against my pussy. He pushed in, moving easily in my very wet pussy. But I was too wet. I couldn't feel it. Especially not after all the spanking, the stinging still burning on my cheeks.

  I pushed my body back into him hungrily, driving against him until our bodies were slapping. I wanted him to take it one step further.

  I didn't ask for it, but I swear he must have read my mind, or read my body, because he withdrew, and I felt the head of his cock a little higher up. I tilted my head around to look at him behind me. We made eye contact, I gave him a nod, and he gently pressed the tip of his cock against the sensitive muscles. His cock didn't go in. My muscles back there felt like a solid wall of flesh, not an opening.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “I need to relax. I guess I'm too excited.”

  “Lube,” he said.

  “Of course!”

  I pulled away from him, opened my bedside drawer, and tossed a plastic bottle his way.

  I returned to the same position, opening myself to him.

  He applied some of the cool lube with his fingertips. He said, “This is my finger,” and he pushed the tip of his finger in. The sensation was electric.

  I whimpered into my pillow.

  “Too much?” he said, sounding worried.

  I glanced back at his worried expression, then buried my face in my pillow so I didn't have to look at him. “More like not enough,” I said.

  More lube was spread onto my opening, and then I felt something that wasn't a finger, but more like a knuckle, at my opening. In the space of four breaths, he eased the head of his cock in.

  “More,” I said, and he gave me more.

  He gave me a lot more.

  Moving as we had been, only with a tighter pressure and more sensation, we continued with the rhythm we'd had before. I reached down and touched my clit, which was almost too hot to touch. I guided his free hand to it and let him take over, everything now wet and slick from my juices and also the bottle of lube.

  My pleasure climbed up and up, and I felt his cock get stiffer, like he was about to come, but he didn't. He just got harder and harder, thrusting into me with an urgency I'd never experienced with Jacob. He slowed, and I cried out, worried he was going to pull out and leave me hanging on the precipice, but then he plunged into me. He moaned in pleasure and released into me, and I cried out as my orgasm shook me, familiar, but different.