Mr. President: A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiancé Romance

by Alexis Angel

  His lips go over every single inch of my inner thighs, carefully caressing my skin before he finally dives in: parting his lips, he fits them around my clit and sucks it in, circling it with his tongue at the same time. Feeling as if pleasure itself was stabbing me in the spine, I thrust, pressing my pussy against his mouth; he responds by opening it wide, placing it over my labia and sucking on my folds.

  Feeling my lungs and heart about to explode, I try to calm myself and breathe deeply, but that’s an almost impossible task. The more I try to do it, the more furiously he starts to lick me, his mouth completely ravaging me. As he starts to slide his tongue past my labia and into my pussy, he presses his forearm across my waist and his thumb over my clit, massaging it. Even though even my soul is burning, I can’t fight the urges that beg my mind for more: I sway my hips back and forth and from side to side, rubbing my mouth against his face as I start to succumb again.

  For the millionth time today, I come. I bury my fingers in his hair and keep him in place as I thrust as hard as I can, my pussy pressed tight against his mouth. I let the waves of pleasure crash against my soul, rapture enveloping me. Right now I’m on cloud nine, just on the corner of the seventh heaven: if ecstasy has an address, this has to be it.

  As he slowly pulls back, I know that I won’t be able to keep this going for much longer. For the first time since we started fucking, I literally feel on the verge of truly collapsing. Like with most drugs, I guess I can also OD on Arsen’s cock—which, to be honest, doesn’t really sound like a bad thing.

  Even so, I don’t want to give up. My body might be shutting down, but my mind will push through. So I do what I have to. I roll on the bed, going on all fours as I feel his eyes going straight to my ass. Getting up in a hurry, he gets out of the bed and grabs me by the waist, pulling me back so that my knees are on the edge of the mattress; standing up, he positions himself behind me, running two fingers over the length of my pussy before pressing his body against mine. I feel the outline of his abs with my ass, but I don’t have the time to focus on them; in just another second he has his cock between my thighs, my labia parting as he pushes it in. I arch my back as he slowly eases himself in, that sweet thickness of his straining against my insides.

  “Fuck me, Arsen…” I beg. “As hard as you can.” I can’t even believe I’m saying this. I can barely hold the position I’m in, let alone survive the fucking I begged for. But, oh well… If I can’t survive it, at least that’ll be a nice way to go. Oh, okay, I know, I know… Sometimes I get too dramatic. But what do you want? I just can’t help but act over the top whenever Arsen is concerned. I mean, who would have thought that I’d do all the crazy things I’ve done with him? Never once in my life did I believe I’d have a sex life like this. For God’s sake, with him to come three times is just a standard affair! This is what fantasies are made of. And if you’re jealous of me, well, that’s something that I can understand. But Arsen Hawke is mine, and I’m not really inclined to share. Sorry.

  And yes, I said it: Arsen Hawke is mine. And I love him. I admit it, and I accept it. Still, it’s not easy… Even though I know how I feel toward him, there’s still one problem, and that problem is King Henry. My mystery king. As much as I try to do it, I simply can’t push him out of my mind. The man has sunk his hooks into me, and I have no idea how to take them off.

  All thoughts of Henry vanish as the sound of Arsen’s thighs slapping my ass cheeks start to fill the room. My head’s down, my hair hanging over my face, but I still smile; I’ve come to relish that sinful sound, something wicked and pleasurable to it. Perhaps I like it so much because it translates as me being fucked hard by a perfect man.

  He has one hand on my ass, his other one holding my left breast as he pinches my nipple. I moan subdued, my throat too spent to do anything that demands more of an effort. Even so, all my muscles cramping, I start to rock my body against his, impaling myself on his cock. As I start to do it he slaps my ass hard with the back of his hand, this time just once, but hard enough that I know there’s going to be a mark there for the next few hours. And that’s just fine; I love indecent mementos like these.

  My arms feeling weak, I go down, supporting myself only with my forearms. Feeling me go limp, he laces my waist, one arm of his holding my ass up as he keeps on ravaging me. God, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my entire life… This tired and content, I mean.

  Arsen’s thrusts don’t take long to do their job—a fire rises inside of me, driving away all exhaustion, and I start pushing my ass back against him once more. My whole body tenses up, every fiber in me becoming as solid as concrete, and I brace for impact. And, this time, it seems that I won’t be the only one burning up: Arsen’s cock is already twitching hard inside of me, kicking against my inner walls as I feel his fingers digging deep into my flesh.

  We don’t say a word. We let our bodies do the talking and we just surrender, the high tide of pleasure sweeping us both. I fight back against the pain in my throat and give birth to one final scream, the sound of it so shrill I feel my eardrums recoiling. As my voice quivers, I feel my insides becoming warmer, his cock shooting a river of cum inside of me. We remain still and locked in place, our bodies in communion as we both climax.

  He fills me up to the brim, his cum dripping down my legs and staining the sheets under me. And still he keeps cumming - Arsen truly is a God among men. Ripped as a model, hung as God… It’s only fitting that when he cums he has gallons of it to shoot. Not that I’m complaining, far from it. In fact, I absolutely love it: to see him cum like that and knowing that I’m the one responsible for it… Well, do I need to say anything else? His pleasure is my pleasure.

  I don’t move until he’s done, his cock finally stopping all movement. By then the sheets under me are a wet mess, strands of cum going down my legs and pooling around my knees.

  The moment he slides his cock out I simply collapse on top of the mattress, lying on my stomach. Swear to God, the moment I feel the soft sheets under my belly, I drift off to sleep almost immediately. My eyelids droop and it’s as if I’m unconscious, even though my body’s still registering everything around me.

  I feel Arsen’s fingers tracing the outline of my ass, and placing both his hands between my thighs, he makes me spread my legs. Even though I’m barely conscious I can’t help but sigh heavily as I feel his face between my thighs, his mouth once again on my labia, licking me dry. His tongue goes up and down my folds in such a gentle way that the corner of my lips curl into a tenuous smile, almost as if I were in a dream, the kind of dream from which you don’t want to wake up.

  He keeps going until there isn’t anything left to lick, going as far as licking the strands of cum that slid down my legs. Finally done, he joins me on the bed, lying next to me. I roll to the side, snuggling against him with one arm across his chest. It’s time to stop fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness, and that’s exactly what I do. With my eyes closed, I take one deep breath and I’m out.

  I dive head first into the void, a dreamless sleep engulfing me. But, before I drown in it, I still have the time to feel my heart fluttering inside of my chest, a pleasant warmness crawling toward my mind. God, I couldn’t be happier right now. Whatever happens, nobody will be able to steal this moment from me: our naked and exhausted bodies pressed together, both Arsen and I drifting off.

  I’ve never been what you’d call a romantic… But, wow, this just feels right.

  50

  Arsen

  I look out of my office window and across the impressive city skyline. I can't sit still any longer and I'm pacing back and forth like a caged lion, my fists are balled in the pockets of my suit pants. I look back at Gerard sitting at the conference table and say for the second time, "I'm not selling."

  I feel the tension in my jaw ease a little after releasing those words, but I look over again at Gerard and see that my frustration has simply transferred to him. We've been arguing for over 45 minutes.

  He s
hakes his head and slaps his palm down on the table. "I don't understand! It makes no sense!"

  "I don't expect you to understand." My voice is now resigned to the situation.

  "Why?" he asks. "Why do you insist on holding onto Simulated Pleasures LLC? You've released your ownership on everything else. Just explain that to me!"

  "Why can't you take no for an answer?" I reply.

  "I told you everything that Luca Giannoni has told me, sir. Mr. Morozov has taken a special interest in your phone sex operation, and he's keen to purchase it from you. He's offering you an excellent price. You won't get this price anywhere else. I can promise you that. Why not sell before the ship sinks?"

  "Who says the ship will ever sink?" I ask. "You heard yourself that this is the most profitable phone sex operation in the tri-state area."

  "Come on, Arsen. You know as well as I do. Phone sex won't remain profitable forever. Young people want web cams and free porn streamed to their cell phones. Why call when you can see the real deal, you know what I mean?"

  "Phone sex is an art. I don't think it'll ever be completely dismissed like you say it will."

  "Maybe so, but it'll be relegated to some small niche. Why not cash in when the money's still very good? You'll be a very rich man from the sale of this."

  "I'm already a rich man!" I growl. "Are you forgetting that? I'm worth billions, so before you say another word about money, I want you to remember everything Dad left me with."

  My mood has soured again, and I want nothing more than to end this meeting, but Gerard can be like a fly that won't go away and his incessant buzzing in my ear is wearing me down. He's doing a good job of making me think that this issue may never go away. Nothing I say seems to deter him. He always has a rebuttal, and frankly, it's pissing me off.

  I know rationally speaking I should be blaming this on Luca Giannoni and the Russian Mob that wants to buy me out. But instead the anger is manifesting itself toward the one man who is always there for me.

  And he’s giving it right back to me as much as I’m giving it to him.

  "Yes, yes, of course you're a rich man! No one is doubting or forgetting that. But who has ever said no to more money? Arsen, I just don't understand it. It's completely irrational and bordering on madness! Why are you so hell bent on throwing away a golden opportunity? Why can't you see the value in this deal?"

  “Maybe it’s the way the mob is going to treat the staff?” I say, rhetorically.

  “What’s wrong with how they treat their staff?” Gerard asks. “It’s always on the up and up.”

  “You wouldn’t feel a little guilty knowing we just sold someone’s business to the mob?” I shoot back.

  “It didn’t seem to stop you from unloading the porn studios, the web cam operations, the sex dungeons, the brothels, the escort services, and strip clubs,” Gerard says. “Name one time for the other businesses when you brought up an issue with how the mob treats its workers.”

  “That’s not the same Gerard, and you know it!” I shoot back. “The strip clubs independently contract out to the girls. They can leave any time. Hell, we don’t even know if they’ll come in on any given night if its raining or snowing. And the bouncers and managers are all men; they can take care of themselves.”

  “The other businesses?” Gerard asks.

  “They’re too decentralized. The sex dungeons, if the mob wanted to lay down the law or do anything, no one would show up. And we contractually dealt with everyone on the web cam operations or the porn studios. The escort services we just got a cut. Nothing much would change.”

  “And so nothing much would change for this sale either, Arsen,” Gerard says, getting up and grabbing a glass of water and running his hands through his hair. “This is the best deal that’s out there and you’re dragging your feet.”

  “These people that work at Simulated Pleasures have never worked with gangsters before,” I tell Gerard.

  “And neither have you, Arsen,” Gerard says to me. “We’re not dealing with blue chip corporations here. They can make this personal.”

  “Then why would I want them in the lives of my current employees?” I ask back. I think I’ve got a point.

  But I know that Gerard has one too. Why didn’t I care so much about letting the mob into the livelihoods of the employees at the other establishments? I mean, fuck, I just told myself back then that they were tough and they could handle themselves.

  “Arsen,” Gerard says sitting down and leaning back in his chair. “Something is bothering you about this entire situation. Ever since your father died the single goal you’ve had was to rid yourself of your father’s empire and start from scratch at something else. To cleanse yourself of his filth, as you put it. But the closer we get toward achieving that goal, the more you pull back.”

  I’m silent as he continues. “You asked me to find out who Mr. Giannoni’s client was. Against my better judgment I pursued it. And I found out. You wanted to break the sale into pieces. We did that. Now at the last business, you hold everything up. Luca Giannoni and Mr. Mozorov have been patient,” he says in the voice filled with wisdom. “But if we are to continue, I need to know what your reasons for holding us back are. And I need to know now.”

  Perhaps it's the way he's asking—questioning my sanity, or maybe it's because I feel as if I've been interrogated for nearly an hour straight, but just then, I lose it.

  "I'm in love with a girl!" I snap, slamming my fist down on the conference table and flashing my snarled mouth at Gerard. "There, I've said it. Are you fucking happy? Is that good enough for you, Gerard?"

  He’s taken aback, clearly not expecting this to fucking tumble from my mouth.

  "Arsen, I don't understand. What does you being in love with a girl have anything to do with the sale of Simulated Pleasures LLC?"

  "She's one of the phone sex operators."

  He stops for a moment, and a pregnant silence fills the air. For a few awkward moments, neither of us says anything, and then I continue, "She doesn't know."

  I see a wave of understanding come across his face and he finally speaks. "You should tell her."

  "Who are you, my fucking therapist as well as my lawyer?"

  "I mean it."

  "What good would that do?"

  "Well, for one, are things getting serious?"

  I think about that question for a moment. Have things gotten more serious between Ashley and I? It feels like it certainly can, but am I imagining that? Where exactly do I want this to go? Where does she want this to go? I love her. That much I understand.

  "I don't know," I say, and that's the truth. I grab the glass of water sitting on the conference table and take a sip. My face is pensive.

  "If you think things will—or can—get serious, you should tell her," he says, noticing that my mind is pre-occupied.

  I don't say anything, but I nod my head in agreement. Of course he's right, but that's easier said than done. It's one thing to sit here at this conference table and say these things—and even agree with them—than it is to approach the woman you know you love about a secret that you've been keeping from her. Things are working right now. We're fucking happy. I don't want to fuck it all up by coming clean. If she finds out that I've been masquerading as King Henry, there's no telling how she'll react.

  "It's not something you want to hide forever," he says, breaking my train of thought.

  "I don't know what I want."

  "Oh come on now," he says, almost laughing. "Quit kidding yourself."

  "Says the man who's strong arming me into selling the one business I'm adamant on keeping."

  "It's just obvious to me that you want the girl, so do something about it."

  I look at him and know he's right.

  51

  Ashley

  If Arsen is going to keep feeding me like this, I’m going to have to start spending an extra hour at the gym. I mean, seriously. We’re sitting on his terrace balcony, overlooking Central Park. He has a massive table
that’s laid out with breakfast. I have my choice of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, slices of white or wheat bread, fruit, yogurt, granola, and croissants.

  Oh, there’s also pancakes. There’s coffee, tea, orange juice and cereal.

  Apparently, the building concierge has been instructed to prepare a breakfast spread every day for Arsen since I’ve started spending more and more time with him.

  Arsen however, is just eating some bacon and a croissant, with some coffee, and reading the New York Daily Journal. The sound of taxis and delivery trucks wafts over to our little terrace in the clouds and I look over at my handsome breakfast companion.

  “You live very well, Arsen,” I tell him, smiling. He looks over at me and smiles. Last night he took me to the MOMA where we saw the unveiling of some new Frederick Hart sculptures that hadn’t been released to the public after the sculptor’s death. Variations on Three Goddesses and Cross of the Millennium on both bronze and acrylic resin. I look into the room. Arsen bought one of the pieces and it’s sitting in the living room, purchased and now forgotten. Which would be fine if it was a dress from Bloomingdales, except that this tiny sculpture costs around $150,000.

  After we got home, he wasted no time in celebrating his acquisition by unzipping my black dress and kissing my neck. Actually, if we’re being completely honest here, I was already wet when he pulled me over at the MOMA and whispered into my ear, “I want to fuck you senseless right now, Ash. Just rip your fucking panties off and shove my cock inside of you and pound you till you scream so loud that only the fucking birds can hear you.”