by Lena Skye
It was easy to tell the effect she was having on the man: his face around the scarf that covered his eyes was tight with anticipation, his hands gripping the air, his jaw clenched to muffle the moans that came up through his throat. Danielle finally—finally—descended on his hard cock, sucking him into her mouth as much as she could in one quick movement.
She sucked and licked him, pulling back to focus on the tip and then taking him as deeply as she could, her fingers wrapped around the base while her other hand reached up to cradle Victor’s balls gently. Victor’s hips jerked, thrusting up into her sucking mouth, and Danielle kept just back enough to avoid gagging on him, pulling up and pumping him with her fingers to keep the tension going. She had no illusions about her ability to hold him down the way he’d done her; she knew she had to be sneakier.
Danielle worked Victor with her lips and tongue, reading the tension in his body, feeling him come closer and closer to orgasm the longer she worshipped him with her mouth. After a month together, she knew—just as well as he did for her—when he was on the edge.
For a moment or two, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to let him come or back off and delay his gratification just as he had hers. But then a little devil seized her mind and she sucked him as deeply into her mouth as possible, resisting the gag reflex that rose up, breathing through her nose as she carefully massaged his balls in her palm. Victor groaned out, his hand finding her shoulder, latching on and gripping tightly.
“Fuck—fuck, Dani...shit, if you don’t stop—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Danielle knew what the end of it would be nonetheless. She continued sucking, pulling back just enough to swirl her tongue around his length, and all at once Victor’s cock twitched in her mouth in erratic spasms, and the sweetness from all the ice cream and toppings melted away as the first gush of his orgasm flooded into her mouth, coating her tongue with the sharp-salty flavor of Victor’s come. She swallowed, and then swallowed again, moaning in vicarious pleasure around Victor’s cock as she continued to work him with her hands, her lips and her tongue.
She pulled back when she felt the last of the spasms, swallowing the last traces of him, and looked up at Victor’s face. He slumped against the table, panting slightly, and Danielle smirked to herself in proud satisfaction. She might not have come—yet—but she had enjoyed tormenting him, and she knew that Victor would work much harder to get the upper hand, and make sure that she had at least two orgasms before letting her get him off again.
After a few moments, Victor pushed the scarf up over his eyes and sat up slightly, looking at her. “You cheated,” he said with mock disapproval.
“You said dessert, I had dessert,” Danielle said with a shrug. “You didn’t want to let me come yet—but I didn’t say anything about not wanting you to come yet.” She stuck out her tongue at him and Victor smirked.
“I think we both need a shower,” he said. “We’re both sticky, and I need a few minutes to recover before I can fuck your brains out to get even.” Danielle snickered.
“Well, you can get started in the shower,” she pointed out. “Maybe make up for disappointing me before.”
“Oh that is definitely on the agenda for this evening,” Victor confirmed. “And then maybe some coffee, and then bed.” He grinned evilly. “I want you up as late as possible.”
“Well don’t just tell me about it,” Danielle suggested, a note of challenge in her voice. She started when Victor managed to climb down from the table in one quick movement, more coordinated than she would have expected so soon after his climax. He reached for her and pulled her close, kissing her eagerly on the lips even as his hands trailed over her body, intensifying her arousal once again.
Danielle could feel the tension deep down between her hips, the wetness between her thighs beginning to grow once more. She was definitely willing to go for hours still; and any thought of her brother’s friend, or of her brother, was a million miles away from her mind in that moment. She didn’t even remember the fact that something had thrown her off, much less what that had been; all she thought about in that moment was the question of how many times Victor would be spurred to make sure she got off, his pride good-naturedly wounded by her getting him off first.
Chapter12
Victor sat back at his desk and considered whether or not to call it a day and go home; Danielle had left about an hour before, after a last-minute tryst to finish up her workday, and Victor had stayed behind, intent on finishing some paperwork for his accountant for the quarterly taxes he would have to file.
It had been a week since their first real date, and Victor was glad to find that things hadn’t become awkward between them as a result of that night together—it hadn’t escaped his awareness that going on an actual date with Danielle would not only further deepen their connection to each other but would also potentially open things up between them to become awkward.
But they hadn’t. Instead, they’d spent the night together, getting clean and then having sex as many times as they could both stand before they fell asleep in his bed with their limbs still tangled. The next morning, Danielle had joined him for breakfast and then left him on just as friendly terms as she’d met him with at the beginning of the night, and the following Monday she’d reported to work as if almost nothing had changed between them.
But Victor had noticed that there was one change: their sex together was only getting hotter, more passionate—and, he thought idly, more frequent. It would almost be a problem, except for the fact that Victor had plenty of help to take up the slack, and Danielle was superb enough at her job of spending his money on helping others that he was almost certain that she could take an entire week off and still have a list of names, organizations, charities, and projects for him to spend money on.
Now that she’d been with him over a month, Danielle had moved out of just compiling reports and information and into properly spending his actual money, with Victor providing minimal approval; he barely looked over the reports she gave him, confident that she had done her due diligence, and signed off on everything readily.
It felt good, knowing that some of his wealth was going back into the community, helping people who hadn’t had the same level of luck he had had—and Victor knew that it was mostly luck that had seen him into the position he found himself in. He’d gotten a report from his accountant about the first expenditures that Danielle has made, and everything was exactly as it should be; he was more than happy to let her do more or less as she saw fit with the budget he had for her.
“Might as well go home, Vic, you’re not getting anything done,” he told himself, glancing at the time. He could order from Zahav before he left and pick it up on his way home and get back to the apartment in time to watch some of the new episodes of Black Mirror on Netflix. You know you’d rather invite Danielle over and share dinner with her, maybe lay around a little while and then go to bed together, he thought, and almost as quickly pushed the thought out of his mind.
Things were fine between him and Danielle—but he knew that it was a bad idea to push them to try and make them go faster. So far, she was perfectly happy in her current role working for him, and the date hadn’t changed that; he didn’t want to risk making her feel cornered by coming on too strong too quickly.
He wasn’t sure when it was that he’d realized he had actual feelings towards Danielle, beyond just liking to have sex with her and wanting to do her a solid by giving her a lucrative job working for him. It was—he thought vaguely—sometime after she had started working for him, and before the date they’d gone on together, but something about the date had solidified the abstract, vague feelings he had for her into something a little more specific, though he still wasn’t entirely sure what to call what he felt for her.
Victor shut down his computer, made sure that he had his wallet, keys, and phone, and rose from his desk, deciding that rather than ordering from the high-end Israeli restaurant he would have something delivered to his building instead. His
usual nighttime plans suddenly seemed so lonely, so lacking compared to the way they’d appeared to him before things had started with Danielle, and Victor wasn’t sure how to tackle that problem. You could get an actual girlfriend, his mind suggested, but Victor didn’t want an “actual girlfriend”—not unless it was Danielle.
He stopped just short of the door to his office at that realization. He’d known for weeks that he had wanted to spend time with Danielle outside of their work hours, and he’d known that waking up with Danielle in the bed next to him was the best feeling he’d had in a while, but he had shied away from thinking about the specifics of that feeling, and what it would mean. “Just admit it to yourself: you’re into her,” he said quietly in the silence of the office. “And you at least partly gave her the job so that you could spend more time with her.” Victor stood for a moment and let that knowledge settle in his mind.
The question that accompanied that fact—now that he recognized it—was what he would do about it. Danielle had responded well to the date, and seemed to be interested in the idea of another celebration when she’d been working for him for two months; but did that mean that she would welcome the idea of having an actual relationship with him? She hadn’t made any forward moves herself, after all.
Victor continued out of his office and towards the elevator, ready to get back to his apartment, even if he knew he’d only feel restless and bored once he got there. By the time he’d reached the ground floor of the building, Victor had begun to think about how he could broach the topic of his feelings with Danielle.
“Excuse me! Excuse me, Mr. Andersson!” While he wasn’t precisely famous, since he was a billionaire Victor had grown accustomed to the occasional paparazzo accosting him; every once in a while some magazine or another wanted to do a story on wealthy people under 40, or ones living in unusual places—and while Philadelphia was a major city, and certainly he wasn’t the only billionaire living there, there were not very many others, especially compared to places like New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, and so on.
“Yeah?” Victor only slightly paused on his way to his car.
“I just want to ask you a couple of questions, if I can,” the man said. He had a badge for one of the smaller national magazines; Victor guessed that it must have been a slow week for the man.
“Go ahead—but I’m on my way home,” Victor said, gesturing for the man to make it quick. Alan got out of the car and shot him a look, and Victor shook his head; he was okay with answering one or two questions for someone.
“Rumor has it that you’ve got a new girlfriend,” the man said. “You were spotted about a week ago with a beautiful woman.”
“That isn’t a question,” Victor pointed out. The man’s cheeks flushed for a moment.
“Can you confirm?” Victor managed to avoid rolling his eyes.
“I don’t currently have a girlfriend,” he replied. “I have recently gone out with a colleague, to celebrate a full month of employment.”
“Is it true that you were on-site at the raid that happened at Vagabond a month ago?” Victor looked more sharply at the man for that question.
“I visited early in the night,” Victor replied. “But I wasn’t there when the raid happened—I had already left.” Nobody could prove otherwise, unless Alan, one of the Sokolov family, or Danielle came forward; but the fact that he’d been seen by anyone—noticed by anyone—enough for someone to be asking about it so long after the fact shook Victor more than he would have expected.
“You must be one of the more boring billionaires I’ve ever come across,” the man said, almost dismissively. Victor chuckled.
“Most billionaires are boring in their daily lives,” he told the man. “Anything else I can answer for you?”
“Is it true that you’re embarking on a mission to get rid of as much of your wealth as possible?” That, Victor thought, he could answer in all honesty.
“That is true, actually,” he said. “I’ve recently hired someone to help me find ways to put my money to good use in the community and the economy—I would rather not put forth a lot of details as to how, because I want to keep that private. But I can confirm that I am interested in and pursuing the goal of giving back.” He nodded to the man. “If that’s all, I do need to get home.” Either the man had no more questions, or he was startled to get an actual answer; either way he wasn’t able to think quickly enough to detain Victor any longer.
“That’s an odd line of questioning,” Alan commented to him as they pulled away from the curb, and Victor nodded.
“Someone on my staff is telling tales,” he said with a sigh.
“What are you going to do?” Victor shrugged.
“Not much I can do,” he pointed out. “There’s always someone who’s going to say something where a person can hear.”
“Loose lips,” Alan commented cryptically. Victor chuckled.
“Fortunately, there are no ships to sink, but as long as it’s only vague things like that, I have to live with it, I guess,” he said.
“Do you want to stop somewhere on the way home? Get something to eat?” Victor shook his head.
“I’ll order in when I get back to my place,” he said. He settled in for the relatively short ride to his apartment building and looked out the window, trying to figure out how upset he should be about the questions the journalist had asked him. Someone had said something about him visiting Vagabond; someone had seen him with Danielle—it had to be her, since he hadn’t gone anywhere with anyone else in months—and had learned about her job, even if they hadn’t learned that it was her doing it.
He sighed. There was someone he could call, he knew, who would get to the bottom of it, but did he really want to bring a private investigator into the situation? Victor shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was nothing—at least for the moment. He should just let it go.
Chapter13
Danielle hurried to her door when she heard the knock, her heart already beating faster in her chest. She felt the way she had the time she’d been called to the principal’s office in fourth grade, accused of flashing one of the boys in her class during gym class; except this time, she actually was guilty.
Sam had sent her a text about thirty minutes prior. Where you at? And she’d replied that she’d just left work. No, because I’ve been here for 20 minutes, and you haven’t come out. She’d had to stall then, and told him she’d see him at her apartment, to give her ten minutes to get changed out of her work clothes first and then come over.
Danielle took a deep breath and closed her eyes, reminding herself that, after all, she hadn’t done anything wrong: she’d taken a better job, and her sex life with Victor wasn’t any of Sam’s business at all. Just tell him enough to make him understand, and then don’t tell him any more, she reminded herself, opening her eyes to get the door as Sam knocked a second time.
“Okay, so I’m not going to yell at you,” Sam said as he came into the apartment. Danielle rolled her eyes.
“If you did I would tell you to get the fuck out of my house and if you didn’t do that I’d call the cops,” she countered, plucking up her courage in the face of her guilty conscience.
“You wouldn’t call the cops on me,” Sam said dismissively.
“If you didn’t leave after I kicked you out? You can bet your black ass I would,” Danielle confirmed. She took a quick, deep breath.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Sam said, seating himself at her kitchen table. “I go to your work to surprise you, and they tell me you haven’t been working there for a month.” Danielle shrugged.
“I got another job,” she said simply.
“Obviously—but a month ago? And you didn’t tell me?” Danielle sat down across from her brother at the table.
“I did tell you I got a raise,” she said slyly. Sam rolled his eyes.
“You can’t take that cop-out with me,” he said. He shook his head.
“I got a job with someone I met the
night of the raid at Vagabond,” Danielle said, thinking about how to phrase what she was doing, how her life had changed—so as to reveal as little as possible to her brother.
“You’re with the Sokolovs?” Danielle shook her head sharply.
“No,” she said. “I got out with a guy before the cops could get to me, and it turned out that he was looking to hire somebody for a job—he’s not connected to the Sokolov family.”
“At least you’re not betraying your own brother that much then,” Sam said dismissively. Danielle sighed.
“I’m not betraying you at all,” she countered. “You don’t need to know every single detail of my life.”
“So what’s the job?” Sam held her gaze, hands folded on the table, and Danielle knew her brother was going to try and mine for as much information as possible, that he was going to push—not physically, but mentally. She took a quick, deep breath and tried to make her heart slow down. She’d grown up with him: she knew how to manage him.
“It’s a job working for a rich guy,” she said slowly. “I’m coordinating his charity efforts.” Sam snorted.
“Sounds legit,” he said sarcastically.
“It is,” Danielle countered, her pride a little piqued. “I’m making a hundred thousand a year and since my job includes talking to charity organizations, I have a clothing stipend. It’s a good job, Sammie.” Sam’s eyes widened slightly at that and he looked a little more respectful—but skeptical at the same time.
“You get a clothing stipend? What the hell kind of job gives you money for clothes?” Danielle shrugged.
“One where the clothes I’m wearing when I meet with charities are important,” she replied.
“So who the hell are you even working for? There aren’t that many rich dudes in Philly—or at least, not that many who are rich enough to hire a whole other person just to do charity stuff for them,” Sam pointed out. “And aren’t you going to offer me something to eat or drink?” Danielle rolled her eyes.