BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4)

by Juliette Jones

  I’d almost become used to the effects of the rounded beads inside me, gathering sensation as I moved. I was existing in a haze of euphoric stimulation that made me feel as though I was glowing from the inside out. That these men would rove my body with their hungry eyes only compounded the effect. I let them look. I felt their gaze collecting on my skin.

  But I was glad Alexander was holding my hand. I held onto that hand tightly, almost desperately. It was him I wanted. It was his attention I wanted to bask in. And when his hand slipped from mine to shake their hands as they patted him on the back in a manly greeting, I disengaged lightly, almost swaying or dancing or somehow just moving in any subtle way I could to keep myself from simply going mad from the passion that was gathering in my depths.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” I volunteered, glad for something to do to distract myself. I walked down the hall to the kitchen, twirling, reveling in the swivel of my hips and the youth of my body. Each step heightened the luscious torture. My senses were keenly attuned, hyper-aware of sounds and textures. I entered Alexander’s grand gourmet kitchen. I ran my hand along the marble countertop, appreciating the excessive opulence, the over-the-top gleaming stainless steel appliances that looked like they’d never once been used. It was so far removed from the dingy kitchenette in Eva’s apartment, and even more removed from the dilapidated grunge of my faraway childhood home that I took a second just to marvel. The luxury. Could a person get used to it? Did the feeling of decadent extravagance ever wear off? I wondered if Alexander ever cooked. I could picture him serving me up some romantic, lovingly-prepared meal. But it was a fictional scenario I didn’t dwell on. I had no idea what the future of our relationship – if this could even be called such a thing – held. And at this moment, the only precise point in the future I could think about was the event of my very next immanent orgasm.

  I found a tray and went to the massive double-doored refrigerator. As I walked, and moved, diligently going about my task, the beads rolled inside me, caressing me from the inside, pressing lightly against every sensitive trigger I possessed. And when I reached into the fridge, bending at the waist to lean down, the feeling was so full and so rife with pleasure I moaned softly. The men were in the other room so wouldn’t have heard me, a detail which both relieved me and, inexplicably, disappointed me. The sensation the beads were delivering was maddening. I was so aroused that a tiny trickle of moisture began to drip down the high skin of my upper thigh. My pussy lips were almost painfully swollen, throbbing lightly. My clit was aching with a sweet, pulsing burn. I was so close to coming that my body felt like it was humming with the build-up.

  I could touch myself now, I knew. It would take only the lightest swivelling touch. The orgasm would crash blissfully through me. I wanted it so badly I wriggled my hips to quell the tide, or maybe to spark it. But I wanted Alexander’s touch. Like he’d said. Under the table. Right there, in front of all those lusty men. All I’ll have to do is brush my fingers gently across your clit, and you’ll come all over my hand, right there at the table. You won’t moan or cry out. You’ll look into my eyes and I’ll see the delicious pleasure washing through you. And I’ll know it’s all for me. It’ll be that easy.

  It would be that easy. And I wanted it now. I was so restlessly excited I could barely see straight. My thoughts and focus were blurred by the rage of my need. My sex felt like it was consuming me with its heat, all swollen and pulsing and barely concealed under my very-short skirt.

  I put six beers on the tray and walked back into the great room where the men were seated around the large oval table. The room was softly lit by several table lamps, which gave off subdued circles of yellow light. The table itself was lit by several tiny, artfully-placed spotlights that hung from the ceiling. Through the expansive glass window, the lights of the city were glimmering in the lively darkness of the night.

  Alexander and his friends were holding their cards, placing bets, talking and laughing. Alexander’s hair was lit by one of the spotlights, giving him a golden halo. These were big, handsome men, but Alexander was in every way superior. Like a general or a quarterback. Or, like an olive-skinned CEO. He seemed to glow with an appeal that reached out to me, enveloping me.

  I served the beers, leaning over Alexander’s friends to place them, one by one, on the table. I was aware that my breasts were very visible in my white fitted top. I wore no bra and my nipples were beaded, poking at the thin fabric. The neckline of my top was low and as I leaned forward, the line dipped lower, barely covering my nipples. And the beads deep inside my body rolled again with my movement. I held back a moan but I could not contain a breathy gasp.

  The men were still talking but their gaze on my body only stoked my arousal by another degree. Oddly, I almost wanted to pretend to drop something, so I could lean over fully and expose the desperation I was feeling. I wanted them to see how wet I was, how ready. I needed some kind of relief. Any kind of relief.

  And Alexander’s eyes were dark. As dark as I had ever seen them. Narrowed. His mouth was twisted in a pouting sneer. And as I drew closer to him, the flare intensified. I was going to come. The swell was rising. I was so close.

  As I leaned over Alexander to place the last beer on the table in front of him, I couldn’t help it. His mouth. So close to my straining, swollen breasts. I wanted my aching nipple in his mouth, to be eased and stroked by the wet silk of his tongue. I let my fingers trace a line through his hair and down his neck. I didn’t care about the men. I leaned closer, and closer still, offering myself to him.

  To my intense delight, Alexander caught my nipple between his lips, biting me gently through the fabric of my top with his teeth. This time I couldn’t suppress the moan that rose in my throat.

  The other men at the table made various noises of approval, surprise and gruff encouragement.

  I moaned again as he sucked me through the thin veil of my shirt. “Touch me,” I breathed. “I need you. I can’t wait.”

  Alexander eased my top down to expose my breast and he kissed my nipple lightly as though to placate me. Then he covered me and made a patting gesture on the chair next to him. “Sit down, sweet. I’ll teach you how to play.”

  But his touch was not enough. I was too far gone. I wanted his mouth on me again, more forcefully. I wanted him to suckle me and touch me so I could finally find this elusive, infuriating peak that promised to be so high and so good I was absolutely frantic to reach it. So frantic that I could comprehend nothing but the billowing, all-consuming need. I truly had gone mad.

  Watching his eyes, I pulled the top of my shirt down lower, to expose myself fully, easing the fabric down to frame and plump my breasts.

  “Fu-u-ck,” one of the men said in a disbelieving, drawn-out breath.

  I touched myself, rolling my nipples between my fingers. Then I offered myself to Alexander’s mouth, weaving my fingers through his hair to pull him closer.

  “Now,” I breathed. “Please, Alexander. Please suck me. Please put your mouth on me.”

  “You want me to take you upstairs, Lila?” he said, beginning to rise from his chair. “I can do that. If you boys will excuse—”

  “No,” I said, pushing him down. “Here. Now.” I lowered myself onto him, straddling his hips. Through the miasma of my acute, edgy neediness, I wanted to keep him there and to somehow get closer. Right now. To touch myself to him.

  Several of the men were encouraging him. “Come on, man. Give her what she wants,” one of them said.

  “You want me to get you off right here, right now,” Alexander said to me, not as a question but as a sultry, beautiful definity. He was looking deep into my eyes. “As my friends watch me, with their eyes on your body. On your breasts and on your mouth.”

  “Yes. Yes,” I moaned, almost crying with the anticipation of release.

  “Yes,” one of the men repeated. But he wasn’t laughing. He was waiting.

  “She wants you bad, man,” said one of the other men, jealousy and awe clear
in his statement.

  “For fuck’s sake, give it to her,” another said.

  “You sure about this?” Alexander said softly to me, and I was kissing him, licking his lip, dipping my tongue into his mouth.

  “Please,” I begged softly into his mouth.

  Alexander lifted me up. Bottles were removed from the table instantly, poker chips swept aside, and I was laid back into the pile of money.

  Their hands were on me, holding me down. And Alexander was there, pushing my thighs apart. “Oh, sweet baby,” he exhaled when he saw how ready I was. His fingers touched the rim of my sex, skirting lightly across the slippery petals, opening me. I almost died when he kissed me, his tongue licking the moisture, lapping at me, starting low, exploring. He circled the fiery nubbed peak of my clitoris, not yet touching it, getting closer, and closer.

  It was then that I felt a mouth at my breast. Sucking strongly on my nipple. And then the other. Hands were playing with my hair. Someone was kissing my shoulder.

  And then, it was as if the world had taken on a dazzling brilliance, and all of it was centered at that one throbbing sweetspot. Alexander began sucking on my clit and at the same time, he reached two fingers into me, slowly pulling the beads out. The swell was bright and immediate, the intensity excruciating. From my swollen, pulsing sex to my belly to my tender, marauded nipples, the pleasure rose in a vibrant swell. I was moaning something. Oh God oh God please yes, or something equally profound. Alexander’s fingers delved into me, forcing the pleasure deeper, and further. Sucking on the unendurably sensitive center of the cataclysm. Ecstasy overflowed, gripping me, setting paradise loose, wringing me through wave after wave of electric, unending bliss. I don’t know how long the orgasm lasted. Many, many minutes as my body was plucked and played. I entered a state of being where nothing mattered, save the infusion of joy erupting throughout my being.

  But then, when the waves finally died down into still-ecstatic ripples, Alexander, as if he’d been so distracted that he’d only just noticed that there were others not just in the room but in fact touching me and tasting me with increasingly ardent intention, slid his arms under my knees and behind my shoulders, picking me up. “That’s enough,” he said. “Hands off. She’s mine.”

  The men didn’t protest but their eyes were ravenous. From the way Alexander held me, I knew they could see the swollen lips of my still-pulsing sex protruding from between my clasped-together legs.

  With that, Alexander carried me up the stairs to his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind us with a decisive click.

  Alexander

  All this had gone way beyond the limits of my tolerance or control. She had the power to blind me to everything but her. She’d begged me to suck her and taste her and make her come right there on the fucking poker table. And I’d done it, only aware of her, like all the focus of the room was diverted to her mouth and her nipples and that pinkly sublime, newly-realized center of my universe that clenched softly around my tongue as she climaxed, and tasted sweeter than anything on this entire fucking goddamn Earth.

  In my stupor I’d blanked on the fact that my boys were touching her. Will, who runs the second, larger and more crucial of my investment companies had been kissing her mouth. Jon, my old junior year roommate from Princeton had been sucking her nipple, running his hands over her body. Mark, Skyscraper’s senior editor, was all over her other breast, feeding on that purity and that divine, immaculate essence that was mine. Mine.

  All of them. Everywhere. Getting more and more eager. If I hadn’t grabbed her and taken her out of there, I had no doubt things would have gone in all kinds of directions I didn’t even want to contemplate.

  She might have even allowed it. Allowed them. She was that overcome. By me. I knew this. I knew it was me she wanted and to such an extent that, with me, she would do anything. In a way, I knew it was a reason I’d allowed and in the end encouraged her to come right there on the poker table. There was a certain satisfaction to acknowledging that uninhibited, frenzy of abandon I inspired in her, my innocent, wriggling, honeyed little Lila, and for all to see.

  The mere thought of my friends and their escalating desire boiled in my brain and infused my whole body with a fanatical rush. I was suffering from some foreign variety of rage that ghosted along the fringes of my sanity.

  Mine mine mine.

  Even as I processed the infuriated, possessive litany, I battled against it. I wasn’t a lunatic, last time I checked. I wasn’t one of these overly controlling assholes who dominated their women and lorded over every move they made. That wasn’t me. I was the guy that usually got accused of being too distant, too distracted, too noncommittal.

  But now, as I carried Lila into my bedroom and slammed the door closed, I wouldn’t have trusted myself to behave in any way that might be considered rational. I placed her gently on the bed but my lightness was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I went to the closet where I kept a few gadgets that had been given to me and which I had never used. I knew myself to be a thorough and experienced lover who had always been pursued by women, especially after the fact. They always came back for more. It was me who refused them when I grew bored. But I was also a man who was, as these things go, fairly vanilla in my tastes. A good wholesome fuck in all its positions and varieties was, to me, entirely satisfying. Pussy was the aim, the target, the goal, the score. I had never felt the need or the curiosity to venture down kinkier avenues. Until now.

  Lila’s body was a drug I couldn’t get enough of. I wanted everything of her. I didn’t just want to possess her, I wanted to devour her. I wanted to explore her and to own her and spend myself in every possibly way onto her and inside her.

  I wanted to die that ultimate death over and over. Right now.

  I had no clear plans as yet, save one, and I chose a smaller vibrator and a tube of lube. I wanted to punish her and reward her at the same time. I needed to make her pay for showing herself to those other men and making herself so unbelievably fucking desirable. I was going to use that desirability for my own pleasure. I wanted to experiment with her. And I wanted to share with her a pleasure and pain that was new to us both.

  I felt big and mean and resolute.

  Her eyes were wide as I approached the bed. She was quiet and still, her only movement the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in an up-tempo rhythm. Her radiant breasts were exposed, framed from below by the loosened neck of her top. Her creamy legs were together and her skirt barely covered her, so I could see the still-swollen lips of her flushed, bare pussy, glistening from the candied effects of her earlier climax.

  “You’re a naughty girl,” I told her.

  Her response to this was to smile shyly and shift her body just slightly, parting her legs. The movement caused her skirt to rise, fully revealing her sex, and I could see the eager little rosy nub of her clit, still engorged and blushing from her lingering pleasure.

  “Will you forgive me, Alexander?” she asked in her starry, almost-petulant voice. Then, not waiting for my answer, she rolled onto her side, drawing her knees up. The exposed, rounded curves of her ass and the plump outline of her pussy down low and in between was enough to turn my hard-on, which already felt uncomfortably gargantuan, into a beast of pulsing agony.

  “No, Lila. I will not forgive you,” I said. “Not until you apologize properly.”

  “How do you want me to apologize?” she asked coquettishly. I’m sure she was offering herself to me this way to drive me insane. Her insolence was making me crazy, not because I expected her to be obedient, but because I wanted to replace that impish little smirk with a mindless expression of pleasure-pain so intense it would signal the tight clench of her pussy around my rampant, explosive erection. I wanted her to suffer like I was suffering.

  I stripped off my clothes and I climbed onto her, holding her in place. She was so small and feminine, she was easy to dominate, to hold in any position I wanted her in. And I was in a dominating mood. She was still on her side and I
held her hip with one hand. With my other hand, I fingered the lips of her pussy, slick and ludicrously inviting. I slid a finger into the hot hollow, astounded by how good she felt. I was reveling in the knowledge that I was the only man who had ever been there, feeling a perverse pang of covetousness. I would protect this little pussy with my life. I would kill anyone who tried to get near her.

  Fuck. What the hell? Now I was becoming not only a raving maniac but also a psycho.

  And the worse thing was I didn’t give a fuck.

  All I cared about was getting inside. But not yet. I wanted to take my time. I leaned in to kiss the pillowy furls, licking into her. She tasted like candy, like juicy sex. I put my whole mouth on her, drawing her in even as I pushed my tongue deeper into her. I found the hard, wanting nub and she made a little moan of delight. But I wasn’t about to let her come again yet. No way. She wasn’t going to come until I came right along with her. I would make her as crazy for me as I was for her.

  I lapped at her, then licked all the way along her sex, and further up, behind. I licked her everywhere, readying her for me. Then I squeezed some of the lube onto her backside. I teased her pussy with one hand and I pressed my finger into the tight little now-slippery cove of her ass, which caused her to squirm in a futile and unconvincing protest. I increased the pace and the pressure, and my manic wrath was gaining momentum.

  “You wanted those other guys to fuck you, too, Lila?” I growled, hardly recognizing the low, husky fury of my own voice. “Is that what you wanted? Like this?” I pushed my fingers deeper in an alternating, rhythmic dual invasion.

  She cried out and her hand gripped my wrist.