Taming The Billionaire

by Darcia Cobbler

  Just like it had been all those years ago. This time, though, I trusted that Drake would stay. It was all I could do. With the way he looked at me, I believed that this time he wouldn’t let me down.

  His eyes traveled down to my breasts and he stared at them like he’d never seen a naked woman before. He reached for me, placing his hands on my tits. He kneaded and massages me, his thumbs running over my nipples. I gasped, the sensations arousing me.

  I lifted the elastic of Drake’s boxers over his erection before pulling it down with his jeans and he sprung free. He was hungry for me, lust oozing from the tip.

  Drake did the same for me, helping me get rid of my pants. We were both naked and still in his living room. Drake leaned forward, wrapping his arms around my thighs just below my ass and picked me up. I squealed, putting my legs around his body. He held me up like I weighed nothing and I felt beautiful. He kissed me again, tipping his head up.

  He walked us to the bedroom like that and laid me down on his bed. When he crawled over me my thighs fell open for him. He placed himself at my entrance and I gasped. I knew what was going to come. I shivered.

  “I’ve dreamed about this for a long time,” Drake whispered.

  I nodded. I had too, if I had to be honest. I would never admit it to anyone, of course.

  Drake pressed himself harder against my pussy and my body welcomed him. Slowly he slid into me. I gasped as my body yielded and stretched to accommodate him.

  When he was in all the way to the hilt he looked at me. His eyes were a deep blue, the color of the ocean, and I could drown in them. He kept his eyes on me as he pulled out almost all the way. He pushed in again and repeated it again and again, faster each time.

  Drake picked up the pace and I gasped. He put one hand on my breast, balancing himself on the other hand next to my head. His hips bucked faster and faster against mine and I whimpered. He stirred up an orgasm at my core and I closed my eyes and tipped back my head, letting the sensations take over. Drake’s hand disappeared from my breast and a moment later his lips landed on my neck. He kissed and sucked on the skin, keeping up his rhythm between my legs.

  The orgasm built, filling me up like hot water. If he kept going I was going to spill over.

  Drake alternated his rhythm, dropping speed and picking it up again, keeping me on the edge. I was frustrated and aroused all at the same time. I wanted to climax. I wanted a release.

  As I thought it Drake picked up the pace again. He hammered into me and my body rocked beneath him. I moaned. Our skin was slick where we touched. Drake had abandoned my neck and his breath was hot and heavy in my ear now.

  A moment later, the orgasm took over. A wave of ecstasy washed over me and I cried out. My muscles clenched and I curled around Drake’s body, nails biting into his shoulders, my mouth open in a silent scream. I rode out the orgasm with Drake hard and still inside me.

  When I finally relaxed, the climax fading, I opened my eyes. Drake was smiling.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  “You’re beautiful when you do that,” he said.

  I blushed scarlet. But there was no need to feel shy. Drake started moving inside me again and this time it was for himself. My body was sensitive after orgasming, the muscles clenching down around his cock. I felt every movement and as he rocked harder and faster, echoes of my own orgasm returned.

  Instinct took over and Drake pumped into me even faster, his strokes shortening until he pushed into me all the way and his body jerked. I felt him twitch inside me as he released. He claimed every inch of me again and again until, finally, it was over.

  Drake collapsed on top of me, breathing hard. We were both wet with sweat and our sex. My heart hammered against my chest, against his. When he lifted his head his hair was wet around his hairline and his cheeks were flushed. He looked like he’d escaped from a GQ magazine.

  He pulled out of me, already going soft, and rolled onto his side next to me. He pulled me closer. I lay on my back. He kissed me on my forehead, my nose, and then a peck on my mouth.

  “You know I love you, right?” he asked.

  I nodded. “You said,” I whispered.

  “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  I nodded and rolled onto my side, my back to him. He pulled me against his body, curling around me like a question mark and it felt, for the first time since we were kids, like I was home again.

  He said he loved me. He said he wouldn’t leave.

  And this time, I believed him.

  THE END

  Baking For A Billionaire

  ZOE

  A dick cake.

  She was holding a dick cake.

  And Christopher was staring at her.

  Zoe felt a shiver race through her. It left an army of tiny hairs on her arms standing on end as if the very air held a positive static charge.

  Still, she stood in her chef’s jacket, holding her chin high and daring anyone to say something. No one did. No one even met her gaze.

  Except him.

  She knew Christopher by reputation and reputation alone. He was worth more than her whole family, all her friends, and everyone she’d ever met combined. A guy like that had no reason to associate with her.

  He had even less reason now that she was holding a giant dick cake at his birthday.

  Her cheeks stung red as she met his gaze. But she refused to back down. With her chin held high, she studied his startling emerald eyes. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with a couple of his spoiled friends. But while they were laughing and talking in an animated fashion that left her pondering the old adage that women are like hens in a hen house, Christopher was quietly focused on her. He seemed serious, scarily so, and Zoe suddenly felt certain he’d have her thrown out.

  Bring it on, she thought, narrowing her eyes at him in a clear challenge.

  As if he heard her thoughts, he shifted. It was a tiny change, an almost unperceivable one. But the fighter in her felt the change rather than saw it. The subtle shift of his weight to the balls of his feet. The flex of his jaw as if he’d clenched his teeth. The sudden tension anchoring every fiber of his being.

  He was in fight mode.

  And she watched as he excused himself from his friends, who nodded and continued talking to each other as he left the little group. The way he cut through the crowd reminded her of the fin of a shark parting waters in a truly terrifying way.

  And he was coming right for her.

  CHRISTOPHER

  He was pretty certain she was cowering internally, based on the way her eyes clouded at his approach. The pretty clear blue became stormy, turbulent as an ocean, and he knew he was in for a battle.

  But she maintained a smile.

  “Happy Birthday, Mr. Cartel.” Her voice was sweet, pretty like her, but had a surprising edge to it. He doubted she’d take shit from anyone, even him. Especially me, he thought, watching her eyes harden as her sleek little body went taut. She had goosebumps up and down her arms where her chef’s jacket was rolled at the sleeves.

  He took her in, sizing her up, and found her eyes once more. Her pupils responded with just a hint of a spasm and he knew he had her. Her body was responding to him. And the pink twinge in her fresh cheeks wasn’t makeup.

  She was uncomfortable. Bothered. And obviously innocent, judging by her juvenile nervousness holding the dick cake.

  He’d thought it was a joke at first. Like one of his friends must have made the order in a childish attempt to humiliate him on his birthday.

  That friend must not know him well, he’d concluded.

  When he’d learned it was actually the bakery’s fault, he’d decided to let things be to see how it all played out despite multiple offers to kick the baker out. His father had been disgusted, but his mother had seen right through him. She’d given him a hug and whispered in his ear, “She’s beautiful, but be careful.”

  A mother’s worry was something he both understood and hated. At thirty, he’d obvi
ously always been careful. He didn’t have kids. He didn’t have any ex-wives. Hell, he’d never told any woman he loved her.

  Because he hadn’t.

  Maybe that made him a dick – he was well aware of his reputation – but he was honest. It seemed worse to him to lie and hurt people or string someone along. He’d rather be transparent and tell everyone where they stood.

  Which brought him full circle to his reputation and the dick cake.

  ZOE

  He was just standing there. So close she could smell the heady scent of his cologne, the warmth of his damp skin, the heat of him that set off primal warning bells in her brain. God, he was so sexy.

  Shaking her head a tiny bit, she tried to clear her senses of him.

  “Now what?” he asked, startling her.

  She found herself captive in his emerald eyes. What was he asking her? Why couldn’t she keep her thoughts straight? Her lips parted, but only a sip of air entered her lungs. His eyes left hers to trace her lips and her heart began to pound so hard she felt faint.

  “It was a mix up,” she said, her words a sheer whisper. Suddenly, she just wanted to be done. She wanted to leave. Be done with all of this, with the insane reaction she seemed to have around this spoiled rich boy.

  “A mix up,” he said, but the way he said her words back wasn’t right. He said it like she’d intended this, like she’d planned to humiliate him.

  “A mix up. We had two orders come in and my assistant wrote the wrong things on the wrong forms.” Feeling lighter now that she’d finally been able to unburden her soul, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  His emerald eyes met hers. “You fired her, right?”

  “Him,” she corrected without thinking and the sudden heat from Christopher startled her. His eyes narrowed a fraction and she sensed he was ready to breathe flames though nothing else betrayed him. “And I did not.”

  “Fire him,” Christopher said, his tone deadly serious and quiet.

  “No.” Standing firm, she had the sudden urge to shove the cake in his face. The only thing that stopped her was the look in his eyes. “You’re not going to bully me into firing my assistant because he did something you didn’t like.”

  At her words, Christopher’s eyebrows shifted up just a tiny bit. Satisfaction roared through her. She doubted anyone had ever told him no before. It felt good to be his first. She doubted he had many firsts left. Money allowed people to experience everything, but some things in life were far more valuable than money could cover.

  Like being put in his place. She knew by the slight surprise behind his nearly unreadable eyes that he wasn’t used to being told where he stood. And she’d spelled it out for him. Let him chew on that for a while. Let him come to terms with the knowledge that she didn’t give a damn who he was; he wasn’t going to turn her life upside down.

  “It’s more than that-” he began, but she cut him off.

  “It’s not. You’re too used to getting your way. I’m not going to bend so easily.” She stood, toe to toe with him, aware of the throng of people swirling around them in an ebb and tide of pompous rich bastards enjoying the finer things in life. She was out of her element here.

  “Let me explain my position,” he said, his reasonable tone sending red flags flying in the back of her mind.

  “So explain,” she said, “I’ll listen.”

  “Not here,” he said, and she felt the net closing around her. “Over dinner.”

  Zoe felt her mouth drop open. A business mogul wanted to sit down with her and talk shop? Hell yes! She could pick his brain around his pushing her to fire Porter. She was certain she’d be able to run him in circles long enough to at least get some good tips out of him on running her business.

  “A business dinner?” she asked, wanting to be certain she’d heard him right.

  Christopher nodded, his eyes locked on her face.

  “Sure,” she said, her heart thumping uncomfortably behind her collar bone. Everything in her screamed that it was a bad idea, but he was a billionaire, someone who could help her with information. Information she could use to catapult her business into the stratosphere.

  “What kind of cake?” Christopher asked.

  Confused, she stared at him, her mouth open. He nodded to the cake in her hands. Snapped back into the present, she felt like an idiot. “Oh, yeah, it’s strawberry cream cheese cake.”

  “So it’s cheese cake?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

  She shook her head. “It’s cheese cake flavored sponge cake.” How many times had she had to explain that to people? Why didn’t anyone ever listen to her? With a sigh, she watched him stand before her. Her arms were aching, but she knew the drill. Part of her job was to stand until the birthday came to the point of singing. Then the birthday person would cut it and it would be distributed.

  She had a feeling it wouldn’t work out like that this time.

  To her shock, he whisked it out of her hands and placed it on the table behind her. She watched as he unceremoniously shoved a stack of gifts and bottles of champagne out of the way with the edge of the decorative baking tray. She held her breath that he wouldn’t topple gifts or tip bubbly bottles on the damn cake.

  Though part of her wanted to see the god damned thing destroyed. He glanced over his shoulder at her as if proud of himself. She wanted to throw something at him, but the only thing in her pocket was her luckiest knife carefully nestled in the homemade leather sheath her dad had made for her.

  Killing Christopher at his birthday might not be the best recourse.

  He grabbed the pretty silver cake cutter and raised both hands. The party became suddenly silent as all eyes found him and all lips shushed at his silent order. Zoe was impressed. He had a way of leading the room, of guiding the activities. But the speed with which he brought everything under control was an art.

  He faced the crowd of uncomfortable onlookers and flashed a dazzling, slightly off-center grin that left his stern face almost boyish. The transformation stunned her and she felt herself freeze as she stared at him.

  He spoke in a tone that was full of laughter to the crowd that was still very much on edge.

  “Well, she nailed the scale, the sheer impressiveness, and even gave it a sweet and tart strawberry cheesecake flavor. Give it up for Zoe of Zoe’s Bakery!” His voice ended on laughter from the crowd and Zoe winced as applause filled the room, drowning out the laughter.

  Ever the diplomat, she bowed, but spoke words intended for only the rich jackass himself. “If I made it true to life it wouldn’t feed the whole room, would it?” she muttered, arching an eyebrow at him.

  To her surprise, he didn’t respond in anger. No, his voice was calculated, as was the intensity behind his stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I absolutely would not,” she said, feeling her cheeks stinging as he began cutting up and serving the cake with a grin for everyone who accepted a piece. His jokes and banter elicited laughs, but she knew he was focused on her. She could feel it. He was leaning her direction, his head cocked to listen to her, his whole being seemed like an antenna tuning to her frequency.

  Her knees went weak as he flashed her that sexy grin and simply said, “Not even a little bit?”

  She shook her head, feeling very like she was waving her fingers over the flame of a candle. Sooner or later, she’d get burned. “Not even a little bit.”

  With that, she bade him farewell, needing to be free of him, of the day, of all the issues she’d faced. Nothing sounded better than a bath, a glass of wine, and some decompression TV time.

  CHRISTOPHER

  Christopher watched her leave with her head held high. She’d taken his humor with grace. She’d played along with him, but hadn’t thanked him for saving her ass. He’d covered her, but she’d responded with a snark that told him she didn’t give a damn about him, or the damage she might have done to her business.

  It was a shock.

  Christopher was used to people kowtowing,
ass-kissing, or boot-licking for some praise, a good review, a tidbit of advice, anything.

  Zoe didn’t give a fuck. She’d make or break without him.

  He had to respect her spirit. She was a fighter. It took balls of steel to stand here, in his home, holding a dick cake before his friends, family, loved ones, and people in his circles. But she’d persevered to the end. She’d reacted with grace, with poise. Sure, she’d shifted the blame to her assistant, but she was the one standing here, shame-faced in the wake of a mistake that she’d not had time to fix.