Exotic: Billionaire Alpha Male Romance (The Pleasure Series Book 2)

by Ryli Jordan

  And sucking my abs in as the passion overwhelmed me. I wanted to be inside her again. I pulled a magnum out of my jeans, ripped it open, and pulled the rubber down my shaft to the base. I practically grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into her bed like a fucking bull.

  I watched in awe as her beautiful, naked body slowly got into position, I slowly pushed into her womanly essence. Her wetness was warm and tight, making me groan in pleasure, not at all exaggerated. The kind of body-shaking sex that’s so good you don’t care where you are.

  I grabbed her by the side, shifted her to be on top to ride me. Tracing the shape of her ribs with my hands as she slowly moved back and forth on top of my lap. I leaned back and moved my hands lower down, pressing against her pubic patch and feeling her wet heat from the outside.

  She met my eyes harshly just so she could crash down on me, so unforgiving. So bereft of love and feeling. Staci Abrahams was using me as a sex toy all right, and I didn’t want her to stop.

  She gripped my chest and held on tight as she increased the pressure of her bouncing knees. I reached out and cupped her breasts, squeezing both nipples as she continued our ride. She was so wet her juices leaked down to my balls, and my entire body flexed.

  Our bodies were so tightly connected, thrashing madly and wetting the bed with our filth. This is what loveless sex felt like all right…

  And yet all I could think about in the midst of getting my cock pummeled was this sexy goddess …

  I knew exactly what I should say to her…you know when it’s over. When things are quiet and our eyes meet in a moment of reflection.

  Was I really falling for her? Was I craving the afterglow more than the sex?

  “Don’t ever avoid me again gorgeous…” I growled, grabbing her body and holding her tight, encouraging her to ride me hard and I bucked my cock into her without mercy.

  She squinted her eyes and then closed them as her body began trembling. Staci’s sweet orgasm was out of control screaming to the top of her lungs now, she grabbed my shoulders. I gripped her tightly, willing myself not to come. I thought about the menus and ingredients as I nursed her through her climax, holding her quaking body. She relaxed with her head on my neck, her breath panting and hot. I knew she was spent, satiated but I could keep going. At least one more so we could cum together.

  “I’m not done with you Staci baby.” I adjusted the rubber, and rolled her over on the bed again bending her legs to her chest. My hands and body putting pressure on her bed. I was ready to pound so hard as the headboard started to squeal. Her hazel eyes moved up from my dick to my eyes. I kissed her forehead. Goddamn she was amazing. Pussy was so sweet and tight I could feel every inch of her walls.

  She tilted her head back as I ravaged what was mine. She was mine. I wanted her to know it. To know me. I looked down at her face to etch her beauty into my memory as she climaxed, pushing out more waves of pleasure.

  I felt cock tensing up at the base and instantly I pumped harder to release everything I had into her without restraint. I felt the final moments of my orgasm overpower me. I growled on top of her as her shaking legs slowly fell beside me. Our chests touched and we could hear the thumping of each other’s heart.

  I didn’t want the moment to stop. We sat still, frozen in each other’s arms and still deeply entangled mechanically speaking—my penis still hard and only gradually softening. I pulled myself out carefully and caressed her with my fingers as I fell back on the bed.

  Her bouncy breasts still jiggled from rapid breathing, was the single most obscene moment of my week so far. How could a person I respect and cherish be so much fun to exploit?

  My eyes were exhausted but her woozy face was all I wanted to see. I reached over and gave her a long and lingering kiss. Her eyes shot open in surprise at first but she then closed them…letting me take one more whiff of her lips, her breath, her unique scent which I still craved.

  And now the moment had come. We were both calming down and taking deeper breaths. The awkwardness set in. The moment of what the hell are we doing here?

  I figured she would speak first, being the super organized type she is. However, she said nothing. She seemed unusually quiet, all things considered. Comfortable with her nakedness and mine, but not meeting eye to eye. She looked at me during the sex, during the intense thrusting and agonizing pulling and pushing…

  But this time she was far removed.

  “And that my friend,” I said with a naughty grin… “is why a boy learns how to cook.”

  She laughed heartily and the room seemed to lighten up, thankfully, relieving us of the uncomfortable tension, the pressure to define this.

  Staci finally brought herself to look deeper into my eyes. This time, she even came closer, resting her chin on my chest and breathing so generously on my skin.

  “Don’t fall in love with me. I have no more love to give.”

  I was surprised…the statement left my lips, not hers.

  When she heard it, she opened her eyes wide and then back down. She smiled. She looked…relieved.

  “Deal,” she finally said. “But…you know, Knox, at some point we’re going to have to stop all this and go back to business. Back to talking about serious shit. Money…investment…hedge funds…”

  “I know. They seem so boring now. When I much prefer to talk about fucking and more fucking. I’d much rather discuss business while you explain things naked, using your breasts for a chart.”

  She grabbed me by the mouth and smiled, squeezing my lips in an act of defiance. “Then maybe you just need to get all this hunger out of your system.”

  “I do…”

  “How many more times? To get you focused back on business?”

  “A hundred more times.”

  She laughed. “Come on. You know after the fifth or sixth time it starts to get old.”

  “Only if you’re doing it wrong.”

  “Well…if that’s the way it has to be. You have six more times. And I’m really busy next week so we’re going to have to do them within 48 hours.”

  “In that case…make it ten.”

  I kissed her fervently and made her moan through our closed lips, the sound of unrestrained passion, the exotic taste of a finite relationship…that which runs away from us.

  Chapter 9

  Staci

  I never knew I could come so hard without worrying about whether or not I would be loved in the morning. Every time Knox made me orgasm, the same inevitable feeling of doom would come over me in the aftermath. I would anticipate the next time he would do something to utterly get on my nerves. I would dread the next complaint he had. I would cry at the thought that he…

  That he would find something even better than that in some other woman. Like Miss Jenner. I’ll have to bring her up again. Was he still dating her? It took me a long time to learn that he was patient. He loved being with me, but I didn’t see Knox as staying faithful. And he always hated the fact that I would vulgarize our relationship with something as simple as, “He cheated.” Because to him, that wasn’t all it was.

  When I decided to give Knox the time of his life and to stop goddamn over-thinking it all the time, I activated a switch inside my consciousness. I allowed myself to enjoy, and not to feel. I replaced memories of loveless sex desperately pretending to be love, with loveless sex that was all about the moment. A sense of you had to be there…you weren’t. Nobody but Knox would understand.

  It was our private moment to be cherished and there was no need for it to continue. That’s what made it so beautiful.

  Well, to be accurate it was more like ten hours than just a moment. Forty-eight hours turned into four days of cluster fucking. Then the days turned to weeks, sometimes 5 times a week we fucked. Just when we thought we were over each other, the craving came back. Like a craving for exotic Italian or Indian food…something you feel, something you need satiated. A sense that needed attention, not merely a desire.

  Of course, the most ironic thing of a
ll is that I still never actually went on a date with him. All these sexual dalliances were just episodes of exploration. Accidents. Or memories.

  And then the thought struck me. Maybe what I had with Knox was a beautiful thing. Maybe we both fell in love then snapped out of love just to spare each other’s feelings.

  But dammit…I knew, at that very moment, while daydreaming in my office…WHY the son of a bitch kept arranging for just “one more fling”.

  Because he had to “win”. His ego couldn’t take the idea that we just finished what we started. He still felt competitive and had the desire to win the game! And the only way he could do that was to do exactly what he intended to do all along…

  Get that flipping date with me, just like he promised.

  I know, I know. It sounds crazy. And for a while I thought I was crazy thinking of this conspiracy. It sounded ridiculous to me too. Until that last morning together.

  I had fucked him so hard the night before I almost killed him. I told him, in sweaty, wet blanket, hair-pulling sexual rage, that our fling was over. This time was it, no more stalling. And he accepted it, with no argument. But then the next morning I finally gleamed something about Knox that I should have known all along.

  I woke up groggy, and feeling pretty damned good about my no strings attached fun.

  Then I smelled the familiar scent...

  It was the smell of heaven to me. Seared grouper with corn, zucchini and tomato sauté. An exotic recipe, and yet one that I called familiar because my mother used to make it. It was my favorite food. And Knox made it. He cooked for me.

  He fucking cooked for me! Without my consent!

  “What the hell are you doing?” I said, barely shoving a shirt on as I confronted him in the kitchen.

  “Cooking. For you.”

  “Oh my God. It’s all because of the dinner thing, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t tell you to cook for me. I didn’t want you to. Because this was not a date. None of this was a date.”

  “Come again?”

  “No! No coming again! I told you I didn’t want you to cook for me.”

  “When did you say that?”

  “You knew it! I told you before we started this…thing…that I didn’t want to get attached. You agreed with me. So why, the HELL, did you make this meal? This?”

  “I just thought it would be…nice…to make you breakfast in bed.”

  “No. You just had to win. Didn’t you? You had to get your date and you had to cook for me. Because then you would have gotten everything you wanted.”

  He laughed. “You know ,usually women are far more upset about the bumping and grinding stage than the cooking. Accidental sex is worrisome. Accidental cooking…usually not a bad thing.”

  I stared a hole through him and scowled until his taunting eyes left me. Until he got the hint.

  I’m not stupid, Mister Knox.

  “Seared grouper with corn, zucchini and tomato sauté. Just like my mother used to make. How could you possibly know that was my favorite food?”

  He finally wiped the smug smile off his face.

  “Ah,” he said, knowing he was busted.

  “I thought I was crazy too. Then I thought maybe a coincidence. And then I remembered…I posted all about my love of that recipe on my Facebook page. You stalked me. You decided that the best way to win this game was to cook me the one meal you knew would tug at my heart strings.”

  He shook his head, as if knowing the exact thing to say…but not getting it out in time.

  “No way,” I concluded, storming out with a vengeance. “You don’t get to win. I win. Because I’m dumping you.”

  “What? As a client or as a…”

  “Both. I win, Mister Free. I win. Goodbye.”

  Chapter 10

  Knox

  Did she overreact? From the perspective of some, I suppose. From the perspective of others, maybe not. If I look at the situation objectively, I am forced to admit that I made the mistake of hitting too close to home. For a woman with a broken heart, invading her private thoughts is wrong.

  Whatever her past was, however ideal or virtuous, it is now a shielded paradise in her mind, and one closed off from humanity. Having to close down this garden and admit that everything she once knew was a lie, takes a little piece of her soul away every day. Whatever she once knew as love had been buried along with her heart. Now, she has associated me with the worst of negativity—perhaps projecting the very worst of all her ex-boyfriends’ behavior onto me. I am like all the others…I am a truly vile person because I should know better, because I am in a position of wealth. I’m supposed to be the understanding humanitarian.

  I so blasphemously chose to tread on that dangerous ground, by stalking her Facebook page and using private information in my effort to communicating with her. I was so sure that all she needed was charm—all she needed to recover was me, because I would have been good to her. But that was my mistake. There is no greater arrogance than figuring I could cook my way into her heart.

  Sometimes all a woman really needs is to be left alone. Very often, all a woman needs to be happy is to be free of me.

  I let the incident go by and gave Staci all the space she needed. I resigned myself to the idea that it was too late to apologize…maybe apologies are meaningless after all.

  I did receive a text message from Staci about a week later, one that attempted a sort of congenial attitude, saying that she may have “overreacted”. She left me on a note of peace, which was a nice touch. But in her congeniality I figured out the ultimate truth of the matter. She couldn’t do it anymore. I could never be to her what she needed.

  Accepting this was difficult, especially considering how well my life was going—and mostly because of her! Her strategies for building my wealth were performing phenomenally well, and many of my business ventures were reporting record profits.

  She turned my stationary wealth into a multimedia powerhouse in just a few months, creating Kenneth Free Holdings Limited, a boost of millions in just under a year. We opened new restaurants overseas and inside lavish hotels in Dubai…I was hired as an international culinary panel consultant for some of the top airlines in the country, while also being offered my own show and an open contract on the Food Channel for cable. We started new charities in my name and helped people many in poverty.

  Amazingly, even some of the criticisms spreading around about me disappeared. Not to suggest people stopped disliking me, of course, but rather that the “friendless screaming narcissist” as the media dubbed me, actually started to do far more good than he did naughty things. The media slowly jumped over to my side. Maybe in my intermediate years I could be a “humanitarian”, or at least one in perpetual training.

  I owed that to Staci, a brilliant woman who challenged me to think deeper. It was her idea to start aggressively controlling my own reputation. I never felt comfortable making public appearances, but Staci explained the importance of it, suggesting that I had a terrible public reputation in need of a little TLC.

  I took her advice and began appearing on television, on cooking segments and giving in-depth interviews where I said all sorts of bullshit, meant to endear me to the studio audience. But none of it was the real me. The real me was far more interested in the philanthropist work Staci tied me to. Helping children, helping the needy…things my dear friend Henry tried to get me to do as well, if only I had the time, if only I had the motivation.

  “So how do you make manakish? I’ve always wondered what those exotic spices consisted!” the chirpy TV host asked me.

  I grinnned as I explained the fine art of Lebanese cuisine.

  “It’s all about spices, you see,” I replied. “Part of the process is determined by the kind of manakish desired. I mean, there is zataar spices from Israel, or Lebanon…it also depends on the taste desired and what the sides are. Now the ingredients could be thyme, marjoram, sumac…”

  The fact that Staci so valiantly
sought to repair my odious character publicly, only to declare the real me completely soulless, was a harsh slap in the face—and one I deserved.

  Weeks turned into months, and her weekly appearances ceased. She found reasons to postpone meetings and sent other colleagues in her place.

  But all I really noticed was that she was absent from my life. The idea that she apologized for overreacting may well have been the worst part. She regretted getting caught up in all the emotion. Which burns all the more so since at one point, I WAS getting closer to her. I was holding her attention and her heart was so near to mine.

  But what happened? Did she resent me for being too effective in my advances, like a seasoned pro was too insincere, or too off the mark, like a man totally incapable of loving something in the real world?

  ***

  I decided to stop mucking around and escape this prison of doubt and regret. I was fucking Kenneth “Knox” Free! It was time to live again. I strapped on my weighted vest and took a run down to Midland Beach and watched the sunset in curiosity. What was it about women that was man’s great enigma?

  Why was the art of cooking so deeply connected to a person’s soul? Why did Staci captivate my attention more than any other.

  I stared into the distance, admiring the clear blue sky—something pure and almost glowing in its brilliance—I realized that I was never happier in my life than when I was exploring possibilities with Staci. Whether our future was a big question mark or whether I was tempting her with outrageous scenarios too good to be true, everything felt brighter with her by my side…no…it felt juicier. More savory. Delectable like sage, like rosemary and zataar.

  I began to associate everything delicious I ever tasted related to Staci. And as I began imagining the perfect reconciliation dinner in my mind’s eye, a profound thought hit me.

  Life is a recipe, a series of recipes and cooking instructions. All we ever learn is from word of mouth sharing, family secrets, radical experimentations, mad visions of what could be and what might change the way we eat forever. Life is not random or bleak…it’s simply not the right kind of pungent. It needs more salt or sweetness…it needs a new toping or less of a sauce.