The sound of her plangent cries brought me back to myself. I might be hurting her, I realized. I wanted to lace her pleasure with pain to intensify it. But I didn’t want to hurt her or scare her. I didn’t draw away but just held, allowing her to adjust to my forcefulness. I felt her relax just slightly at my stillness. Once she’d gone pliant again, I swirled my fingers more gently, until she was wriggling along with me.
“I want you,” she mewed. “I want you.” Her voice was all pleading. Which is exactly how I liked it. I felt a masculine surge of satisfaction at her submissive neediness. “Let me show you, Alexander. Let me show you how much.”
She would show me when and how I allowed it: that’s how this was going to play out. She could read my controlling state of mind and responded with a female tactic of her own.
In an almost beseeching crawl, she moved. Searching almost blindly, just with her mouth and her hands. For me. For my monster erection. She sort of nuzzled against me and I swear I almost lost it right then and there. Her open mouth, rimmed with those shapely, pouting lips, all accepting and imploring like that. Offering herself and wanting me inside. Needing to suck dutifully on my big cock. Fuck. It was almost too much to bear.
And my fingers were still inside her.
She began to suckle on me in docile, deferential little draws, kissing my shaft, licking it, then taking me deeper. And she was rocking her hips along to the deepening exploration of my hands.
I was going to come. Already. I decided to allow it. I knew I would be hard again soon enough and I wanted to come again. So I went with it. I let her suck the pleasure higher. I could feel the ecstasy gathering in a molten surge, rising from the roots of my being. I was on the brink, coasting on a wave of hot, sweet certainty. I couldn’t have held back but I was riding it. My thumb teased her clit and her body responded by bucking against my hand, squeezing both my fingers strongly as her mouth clamped moistly around my bursting cock, taking me deeper than she ever had, almost gagging with her greed. I was coming in rolling, liquid throbs, down her throat, all over her mouth and her chin. It looked dirty, what I was doing to her. Sexy-dirty and over the line. I was hardly a boy scout but I’d just come all over her face, for Christ sakes. In the most lusty, abandoned, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-anything-except-coming-right-now kind of way.
It wasn’t that I was disrespecting her. Quite the opposite. I was respecting her so goddamn much that I was worshipping at her altar with the unrestrained fervor of the devout. She was the most religious experience I had ever had.
As though to prove this to her, even though she had no way of reading my thoughts, I moved to cradle her in my arms. I used the sheet to clean her face and I carefully brushed the damp strands of hair back from her face.
That face. Seraphic and softly sculpted with perfect, graceful lines. Eyes the color of light green sea glass. Her eyebrows were several shades darker than her hair and not plucked like most New York women, making her look young, somehow, and inexperienced. The friend must have overlooked the eyebrow waxing on the makeover to-do list. I liked the effect. The full, natural arch of her eyebrows gave her a small town look of naïveté and freshness: those traits that never failed to stir the protective urges in me. Small towns, in my experience, were to be avoided at all costs. Bad things happened in small towns. Children were vulnerable and darkness crept even into the light.
I knew Lila was fresh to New York. She’d not only told me this but it was clear enough from her look and her wide-eyed eagerness. She’d arrived only weeks ago, from Princeton, where she’d lived for three years. I’d seen her résumé and I remembered she came from somewhere in Virginia. I tried to recall the name of the place and couldn’t. Other than the forgotten name of some nondescript high school, where she’d excelled academically, a raft of achievements from Princeton, and a few summer internship details, I knew almost nothing about her.
“Where did you come from?” I asked her with nebulous intention, kissing her eyelids, the smooth surface of her rounded cheek, the corner of her sumptuous lips.
She seemed to understand that I wasn’t asking for real, specific details, that my question was more about wonder and gratitude over the fact that I was with her in this moment and couldn’t quite believe my luck. She didn’t answer me. She turned her face just slightly, parting those lips so my kiss landed on the open, succulent heat of her mouth.
Once upon a time I might’ve been concerned over the extent of my addiction. But now, with all that hot invitation, I didn’t give a fuck about what I was losing. I didn’t care if I’d gone past some kind of self-imposed limit that said I could only feel so much. This was too intense. This pleasure was too captivating, just from that soft tongue teasing mine. She was taking my tongue into her mouth, sucking it, and the sensation drilled a white-lit channel of electric need straight to my cock, which reared up in a sudden, jolted swell. I was instantly and miraculously rock-hard. Again. Already.
My hard-on reignited the dominating beast in me that was remembering how my friends had touched her with their hands and their mouths. Still kissing her, I lay back onto the bed and eased her onto me. Her body was supple and willing and easy to manipulate into place. She straddled me and I held my cock with one hand, touching the crown to her pussy, opening her with my rigid shaft. The tightness of her astounded me, like pushing into a juicy, magical fist. Each little gain was a triumph laced with a torrent of gratification. This wasn’t just the derivation of pleasure; it was winning, conquering the world, fulfilling every earthly purpose with each determined drive.
I couldn’t hold back. I had to have more, to get deeper. I held her hips with my hands, forcing myself into the moist compression. I was bucking into her like some kind of rodeo hero. She made little moans and dug her fingertips into my shoulders. Tiny bites that barely registered but that might have signalled the beginnings of a plea to slow down, to be careful.
In my mind I was slowing down and treading carefully but my body was speeding up. My need was a wounded bull in a sea of red flags.
Holding her in place and continuing the forceful rhythm, I reached for the vibrator. Flicking it on with one finger, I held it against her backside, burrowing between the rounded mounds of her ass, lightly pushing into the place I wanted it. I didn’t plan on pushing too far. She was new at all this. Two days ago she’d been a starry-eyed virgin. I already knew I was pushing her hard. I just held it there, gently urging with slippery, cyclical pressure as I lifted into her, sliding deep, again and again. My thumb found her clit and skated across it, caressing in unrelenting glides.
I worked the rhythm so all sources of sensation converged into one. Incrementally, I increased the pace.
Her low cry was untamed, a sound a small, feral animal might make. “Alexander,” she breathed. “Please. Please. I can’t. Too much. Can’t. Please.” Her speech was slurred with the effects of her rising orgasm. I could feel it coming. Her pussy was tightening. Her clit was a little rigid nub. Her whole body was damp and writhing with surrender.
“Kiss me,” I said. She seemed to barely comprehend. She leaned forward, her breasts bobbing and touching my chest. She didn’t so much as kiss me as offer her mouth to me. I slipped my tongue into her. I wanted to absorb the sounds she made as I thrust into her, driving her past the point of no return.
She moaned into my mouth as her pussy began its voluptuous spasms, clenching so strongly around my cock the pain was exquisite, gripping and pulling the pleasure from my body in gushing, seedy surges. Lila’s body was coiled over me, wholly overcome, rolling and grinding as though to ease the excesses.
Her movement slowed until she was limp and boneless on top of me. But I wouldn’t let her disengage. Not yet. I pushed into her again, forcing her body onto mine with my hands and the buzzing, invading toy. I coaxed another orgasm from her, rocking against her and in her until she whimpered, mindless, from the force of her final release.
I flicked off the vibrator, easing it from her body and tossing it a
side. I let her lay there for a while. She was completely spent, dazed and replete. I lifted her and took her to the shower. I used the European-style shower head to wash her, holding the pulsing jet carefully, intimately, to bring her to yet another dreamy, cyclical rise. I dried her with a towel and carried her back to the bed, holding her in my arms for a few minutes. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. Her head rested against my chest and I could feel the downy silk of her hair draped across me.
I’d never considered myself a deviant but my thoughts were sliding into crazy, crafty directions. I reminded myself she was not only my lover but my employee. I could remove her from the distractions of this city for a while, to a place where she knew no one except me. I wanted her to be entirely dependant on me for everything. I wanted her to need me. And I wanted to keep her all to myself.
I’d already berated myself over the subject of my obsession and decided I was over being all conflicted about it. Fuck it. This obsessiveness was all about protection and pleasure. The extremity of it would probably pass soon enough and I could return to my blasé ways. But even as I mulled this thought over, I knew it was bullshit. I couldn’t imagine not being obsessed with Lila. I didn’t want to not be obsessed with Lila. Sure, the whole overblown scenario was enough to piss me off. But the only way through a problem was through it. So I decided to indulge my addiction until it began to wear off, or at least until it began to mellow by a single degree.
I’d detected the smallest edge of reservation in her tonight. I’d pushed her, maybe, just a little too far.
I could make it up to her by lavishing tender affection onto her and giving her everything she had ever dreamed of. I could prove to her that I was necessary. That she couldn’t do without me.
My offices had affiliates all over the world. It wasn’t unusual for me to show up unexpected, to check on the state of my interests on a whim. My employees had come to expect that of me and the results were, in general, positive. It kept people on their toes. Accountable. I thought I had a scheduled meeting in Paris I could move forward. And if I didn’t, I’d make one.
Lila had never been abroad, she’d told me.
By far the best introduction to world travel was the City of Light.
I would take her to Paris, and as soon as possible.
When I was sure she was deeply asleep, I tucked the blankets around her. Very, very softly, I kissed her mouth.
Finding my tossed clothes, I dressed and shut the door firmly behind me. Then I went downstairs to smooth away any rough edges, to make sure the boys knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lila was entirely off limits, and to finish my game of poker.
BILLIONAIRE (Part 4)
Lila
“Paris.” I’d already said the word three times but couldn’t seem to get my head around the reality.
“Yes,” Alexander said. “It’s that city over in France with the big iron tower where everyone talks funny and eats a lot of bread.”
I might have still in a half-catatonic state from the intensity of what had taken place last night. I’d been taken in directions I had never, ever imagined. I’d not only had, at that point in time, the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced or even imagined in a pile of money on a poker table as no less than six gorgeous, rich, virile men had put their hands and mouths all over me, but I’d then been made love to so thoroughly that I was still reeling from the effects of the remarkable, unbelievable, earth-shattering triple whammy.
I felt like my soul had somehow shattered and been reassembled. The fit of the pieces was new and unpredictable, and I was still adjusting.
It was true that Alexander opened doors in me that had never been opened, not just literally but figuratively. Each time he came inside me, it seemed he was filling me with himself not just physically but spiritually. Like he was taking possession of me, redefining the chemistry of my body with his essence. I’d wanted him in me, each and every time. Voraciously. I wanted him in me even now as we lay naked and sticky from our lavish, hedonistic ecstasies. But there, as a tiny dark thread against a white field of longing and pleasure and satiation, was a barely-acknowledgeable sense of unease. Possession. Ownership. Control. There was no doubt that Alexander had gained all of this and more. I was his and I wanted to be his. But I also wanted to be mine. And I could feel, at the outer periphery of what was happening here, that I was unsure about the distinction. The power spectrum was unbalanced in some indefinable way. I was being swept away by him and I could feel that. But I had no idea how to slow that down or to even the scales. Or even if I wanted to.
I let the thought fade.
I ran my fingers over his chest, circling his nipple, without even fully realizing what I was doing. We were that comfortable with each other, that the joining and the touching felt intrinsic, like we’d already become an extension of one another.
The progression had been quick, to say the least. On Thursday morning, I’d been a hapless, practically-untouched girl. Now, only three days later, I was a fully-bloomed, ripe, sex-crazed, worldly woman. With a rising, silky erection in one hand and a fistful of hundred dollar bills in the other. I had no idea why, but our entire bed – I just realized at that moment – was covered in strewn money.
I sat up a little to take it all in. “Why –” I began.
“I won.”
He must have gone back downstairs after I’d fallen into my multiple orgasm-induced coma.
Alexander turned to look at me. “I won the jackpot last night. In every possible way.”
I blinked at him, smiling a little. I could see that just that small movement, just the blink of my eyelashes and the curve of my lips, was mesmerizing to him. That he was unfathomably conquerable just like that. And this susceptibility in him gave me comfort. I was losing myself in him, a little if not more. There were aspects of this headlong rush that were unsettlingly all-encompassing to me. But I wasn’t the only one: he was equally overcome. I could read in his eyes that he was charged and changed by this. He was unsettled, too, by this tsunami of mutual attraction. Maybe he had never had a weakness before. Before now. I was his Achilles heel and his kryptonite, all rolled into one little ball of womanly allure.
“And now we’ll have a little more spending money in Paris,” he said.
Paris. Again, I couldn’t quite absorb the actuality. I was going to Paris. Never, ever in my life had I dared to dream for something so magical. I wasn’t just going to Paris. I was accompanying my sexy billionaire lover to Paris. Something occurred to me. “When will we leave?”
“Tomorrow night.”
I thought about this. “Alexander?”
“Hmm?”
“Today I’m going to go back to my apartment to pack. And to see Eva before we go.” I didn’t follow it up immediately but when his expression changed to one of almost stricken complexity, I added, “All right?”
His mind was working on several levels. His eyes became clouded. “I’ll have a driver take you,” he said, and his voice had taken on darker fringes. “I’ll come with you. We can go to lunch from there, if you want. And I’ll take you shopping for anything you need.”
“You already took me shopping,” I reminded him. “I already have more than I’ve ever had.”
He didn’t reply, but he turned to face me and his hand moved to rest on my lower stomach, just above the triangle of soft curls.
“You don’t have plans for today?” I said gently. “You don’t have things you need to do before our trip?”
“I might,” he said with a strangely petulant surliness. His hand moved lower, so the tip of his finger lay almost touching the very top of my sex, where the tiny, softened nub was concealed beneath the folds of my pussy.
“Would you prefer to go alone?” he asked, prodding further, running his finger along my flesh to reveal my clit to his careful touch. He used his fingers to lazily form a tenderly-pinching cage, drawing the nub into his clasp, elongating it, reawakening the slow, intensifying burn. “You want me to leave
you to it?” he said, increasing the pressure, dipping two of his fingers into me as he played me more insistently, pushing deeper. The pleasure was unfolding from within me. The lips of my pussy began to tingle and swell. I moved a little, spreading my legs just slightly, almost inconspicuously, to allow him easier access. My core began to dew with the sweetness of his touch as he swirled and squeezed and plunged. Further. Higher. Until I was slippery and my hips were swaying along with his guiding perfection.
But then he stopped.
I made a small sound of complaint, rolling towards him, hitching my leg over his hip, offering myself in an open invitation.
Blithely, he said, “You didn’t answer me.”
I stared into his dark eyes as my pussy throbbed with his injustice. “What was the question?”
“Do you want to leave me for the day, to take care of whatever it is you need to take care of?” he said, his mouth curling into that manly little pout that drove me crazy.
“I – I don’t know,” I said. I knew he was testing me. I knew he would only give me what I wanted if I gave him what he wanted. I might have felt an inkling of concern at his tactics. I could have protested, and stood my ground. But then again, why did I need to take time out from this new, überintense connection anyway? What did I have to gain by spending five hours without him, when I knew I’d spend the entire time counting the seconds until I could return to him, to touch him and taste him and be wholly at his mercy. As I was at this exact moment.
I leaned closer, touching the tips of my breasts to his chest, swivelling my hips against the jut of his erection.
His finger returned to me, resting oh-so-gently on the hardening peak of my clit. “Because I could take you,” he murmured, kissing my lips. “If you want. If you want to spend the day with me.” His finger swirled skillfully as he kissed a trail across my jawbone, and the fiery beauty began to rise. The deep swirl of my climax was forming, gaining momentum. I tried to kiss his mouth but he pulled back, and his hand once again disengaged, sliding to my leg which he held firmly. “Only if you want me to.” His eyes were as black as the deepest, darkest night.
BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) Page 3