Borrowed Billionaire #3 Return to Mr. Thorne

by Mimi Strong

  “I'll say.” I took his hand and guided it up.

  He hooked one finger in under my panties, stroked my clit three times, then angled his hand around and plunged one thick finger into my opening. I thrust against his hand and sighed. He fingered me some more, and his thumb flicked over my clit, setting it ablaze.

  Something clinked, and I realized he was using his other hand to locate either his wine or his water glass, which made me giggle. “Don't spill any wine on yourself,” I said.

  He swallowed audibly, and his hand got aggressive, diving in and out of me with more energy, his thumb bearing down on my clit, pulsing out pleasurable waves, pushing me up that mountain.

  “Ohmygod, you're going to make me come,” I said.

  “Moan for me.”

  I did moan, softly, and I started to get up from my chair, but he forced me back down again, saying, “Sit. Lexie, sit.”

  “Woof!”

  He chuckled. “Good girl.”

  “I wish I could see you,” I said. “I wonder if you have a tent in your pants.”

  “Oh, I do. Whimper for me. I enjoy hearing your satisfaction.”

  He rubbed me some more, waves of bliss pulsing out from those moving fingers, buried in a pool of wetness, merging with me. I cried out in pleasure, and he rewarded me with more pressure.

  “Let me touch it,” I said. “Let me touch your cock.”

  I leaned forward and found his knees under the table, nearly touching mine. I had to turn my body sideways, because the table was in the way, but I could reach with one hand, all the way up the fabric of his trousers.

  The bulge was there, unmistakable. I traced my fingers up and down the shaft, through the fabric, finding the outline of the head. Even though the room was pitch black, and I saw nothing, I could imagine it in perfect detail, that perfect, stiff cock of his.

  “That's enough,” he said, and he pulled his bulge just out of reach. “Save it for dessert.”

  I leaned back and focused just on the sensations he was giving me with his fingers. The room smelled pleasant, like vanilla, but not the cheap air freshener stuff. I also smelled flowers, fresh flowers, plus my own sweat, my personal scent, coming off my soaked panties.

  I ached for him, and even though he was giving me pleasure, touching me, I wanted more. I wanted him in my mouth. His cock, or his lips, or any nice bit of skin I could get my hands on.

  “Kiss me,” I said.

  “I will. Just wait. Be a good girl, Lexie. Are you a good girl?”

  “Woof!”

  He laughed again, and then he was quiet, focusing. He was feeling around carefully, running his fingers skilfully up and down my folds. By now, my panties, a better pair selected special for the occasion, were pulled off to the side. The back had ridden up the crack of my buttocks, and even that felt good. Everything felt so good. In the dark, in the quiet room, with only the scent of flowers and vanilla, I thought I might die from pleasure. There was soft music, too, the kind you don't notice.

  “You like that,” he said. “Tell me you like it when I touch you.”

  “I like it when you touch me.”

  “Tell me to finger fuck you.”

  “I don't like those dirty words.”

  He eased back his pressure. “Say it.”

  “Finger fuck me.” As I said the word fuck, a little tremor passed through me. It felt good to say that word. So I said it again. I said it over and over again. “Finger fuck me. Harder. Faster.”

  “Uhh,” he groaned, his voice sounding urgent. I wasn't touching it, but I could sense his need, sense the stiffness of his cock.

  He kept going with that skilled thumb and those fingers, pulsing over my nub, sliding in and out of me. I wondered about the waiter and our dinner, and then I forgot about everything. In the darkness, I slid my hands up to my breasts and squeezed my stiff nipples.

  “Fuck me,” I said.

  Pleasure ripped through me, so sudden and unexpected I gasped.

  I continued, “Oh, fuck me. Oh, it's so good. Just like that. Yes. Good. Yes.”

  He moaned again, barely audible. “You like that. I can feel you, gripping my fingers while I fuck you with my hand.”

  I rocked my hips, helping the hand movements, the hand that was inside my panties, rubbing away at my swollen pussy.

  “Come for me, Lexie.”

  I pinched my nipples again.

  “Come for me.”

  Desperation flooded me. I imagined his big, fat cock, yearning to plunge into me, and I pinched my nipples yet again. The waves crested over me and I climaxed, rising up out of my chair, arching back on the backrest, ready to take all the fingers, his whole arm if he wanted.

  “Good girl.”

  I heard myself moaning and clamped my mouth shut.

  “Oh, baby, don't stop,” he said, digging deeper with those fingers and smoothing over my pulsating nub with his thumb, amping up the final waves to ecstasy.

  I came for him, came on his fingers, moaning and writhing in the dark. It was a desperate orgasm, one that didn't satisfy, but made me want more. I wanted another one.

  He kept going, but I thought I heard someone at the door, and terror pulsed through me. Now my clit was too sensitive, vulnerable in the dark, trying to pull away.

  Panting, I pushed his hand away, overwhelmed. “Wow,” I said.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  I quickly rearranged my panties and pulled down my skirt, not that anybody was going to see anything in that pitch-black room.

  He said, “Come in.”

  The door opened, and the scent of hot food filled the little room.

  I grabbed for my ice water and sucked it back.

  In the utter darkness, Mr. Thorne said, “Ah, that'll be the first course. Perfect timing.”

  4: Even More Dining in the Dark

  I'd pulled my panties back into place to cover myself, and the hem of my skirt as well, though I also had to laugh at my modesty, since the room was so dark that I could have been butt naked and the waitstaff wouldn't have known.

  The person who brought in our first course explained what we'd be eating—a mushroom risotto. This was what I had ordered, and apparently Mr. Thorne had requested to have the same thing.

  “Something in common,” he mused as the bowls were placed in front of us.

  The person explained more about what we'd been eating, as well as the instructions for us to press the buzzer on the wall if we needed assistance. The person's voice was low, but didn't quite sound like a man. In the dark, I was unable to identify the sex of this person by voice! It was the strangest thing.

  I asked, “Do people ever panic?”

  “No, no,” the person assured us, and I thought, yeah right.

  After the person left, Mr. Thorne said to me, “Was that a guy or a girl?”

  I laughed, loud. “I don't know!”

  “And like hell can they guarantee people never panic.”

  “I know, right? Like if my mother was here, she'd be hyperventilating right now.”

  His spoon clinked against his bowl. The risotto smelled heavenly, all wine and chicken stock and deliciousness. I didn't even care about the next course.

  He asked, “Is your mother afraid of the dark? Or claustrophobic? Many people are.”

  Him talking about claustrophobia, plus my mother, put my nerves on edge. The black walls of the room seemed very near, and the air hot.

  “She knows how to fend for herself,” I said. “She'd whip out her trusty lighter and set something on fire for light.”

  Mr. Thorne laughed at this.

  “I'm serious! She would. Never take my mother to a place like this.”

  “I'll try not to,” he said, then he was silent, presumably eating the risotto.

  I pinched my arm and screamed at myself in my head to not mention my mother again.

  We ate all of the courses, enjoyed more wine, and tried to figure out the sex of the person serving us. At one point, we had the cle
ver idea to ask the server his/her name, but the server said, “K.”

  I asked, “And how do you spell that?”

  “You don't,” K said. “It's just one letter, K. We all have one-letter names here.”

  Mr. Thorne said, “Of course you do,” and laughed heartily.

  I giggled. “Yes, of course. It makes perfect sense. Goodness knows you wouldn't want people to find out your identity. Oh, wait, but we can't see you, so ...”

  The room was quiet, and I imaged K rolling his or her eyes.

  K said, “Can I get you anything else?”

  We'd already been served after-dinner coffee and dessert, so Mr. Thorne dismissed K.

  We were alone, and the food had all been eaten. My dessert had been something with poached pears, raspberry sauce, and chocolate. I had a bad feeling I'd be craving it from that point on.

  I was grateful the restaurant was fine dining, and therefore light portions. I felt full and satisfied, but not bloated like I would have after a big dinner with family or friends.

  “Lexie,” he said, my name sounding like a command.

  “Yes, Mr. Thorne?”

  “Ooh, I like it when you call me Mr. Thorne.”

  “Of course, Mr. Thorne.”

  “Do you have your panties off yet?”

  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.
<
br />   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.”