Selling Out to the Billionaire

by Penny Wylder

  "I think that went really well," she says, a blissful smile on her face.

  I agree, I think the event was a huge success. We got some major donors involved for the charity—whom I'll be matching in their donation—and Pen charmed everyone she met. I had a hard time focusing because she looks so delicious. Her auburn hair is swept up into these curls I'm going to have a good time taking apart, and that blue dress. Damn. It shows off her shoulders and every curve she's got. I had to adjust myself more than once. Now I don't bother. My cock is raging for a taste of her. I can never get enough.

  "Pen," I say. "Do you remember the day you said you'd go out with me?" I watch the blush climb up her neck. It's one of my favorite parts about her, the girl blushes over everything, and I love being the one that makes her turn red, either from embarrassment or arousal.

  "Yes I do," she says.

  "Do you remember when I had you for dessert."

  "Yes—" I see her eyes widen as she realizes exactly where I'm going with this. "You gave me a rain check."

  I smile. "And now I'm taking it away."

  She flushes a deeper shade of red, but she doesn't say no. I glance towards the front of the limo and make sure that the barrier is raised. The thought of the driver seeing this happen makes me even more hard, but it would make Penelope uncomfortable. I hope one day I'll be able to make her a little more daring in her exhibitionism.

  Pen kneels on the floor of the limo, that blue dress pooling around her and making her looking like a mermaid. A mermaid who's about to suck my cock. She undoes my pants, and even just the brush of her fingers makes it jump. Her tongue is the first part of her mouth that I feel. At the very base of me, she licks along like I'm the most delicious lollipop she's ever tasted. Once at the tip, I watch as her she sweeps her tongue across my head, my cock twitching with the explosion in my nerves.

  Then she takes the head of my cock into her mouth and god it might be the hottest thing I've ever seen. She's wearing this bright red lipstick that I love seeing circle me, and I love even more seeing it smear on my skin and her lips. She sucks me in and I feel pleasure pulling through me and towards her mouth. She keeps going and I let out a groan that the driver is sure to hear. Pen can take more of me now, her determination driving her to push herself every time she puts her mouth on me. And now, looking down, I feel the tip of my dick pop inside her throat, and she keeps going. She looks up at me with those beautiful eyes, and the sight of her mouth and throat stretched with my cock nearly makes me come.

  She slides off me slowly, leaving a trail of saliva and red lipstick, and I lock my jaw because I'm not going to come. Not yet.

  I reach into my pocket and find the little remote I've been saving for this moment. I press the button and watch Pen jump, startled. The lingerie I gave her early has a vibrator inside it, disguised as nothing more than decoration. "Oh god." Her hands grasp my knees as I push the button to increase the intensity.

  "Don't come," I say. "You're not going to come, and neither am I. Not until I can be inside you."

  Her eyes are glazed over. "You could be inside me now."

  "Not yet," I say. "Now finish your dessert."

  I tap up the intensity on the vibrator as her mouth covers me again, and she moans around my cock. The vibrations from her moans go straight to my balls. She slides me into her throat again and I my hips lift off the seat as the fierce need to come flows into me. I said I wasn't going to come, but she just might overrule my willpower. She releases my cock from her mouth, instead leaning down and pressing her tongue against my balls. She laps at them, finally taking them inter her mouth, and I curse as she sucks them away from my body.

  I press a different button on the remote—one that starts a pattern, and she makes a surprised sound. Finally doing what I've wanted to all night, I work my fingers into her hair and guide her mouth back to my cock. I keep her moving at a steady rhythm, one that feels great but also isn't going to make me finish. But Pen isn't cooperating. She runs her teeth along me, using her tongue to tease me, and it's got me on the edge.

  I change the setting on the remote and she does something different with her mouth. It's back and forth, a battle of will and pleasure until we're both panting with the effort of keeping ourselves at bay. My body sighs with relief as we turn into the driveway. I don't wait—as soon as the car stops, I drag Pen from the car, my hand barely holding up my pants. The driver of the limo has already been paid, and I don't worry about what he sees as we sprint to the front door. As soon as we're through, I scoop her up in my arms, and carry her up the stairs. She already tripped once in the dress and I'm not having a sprained ankle stop us from this.

  Our clothes seem to shed themselves and then I'm naked, Pen still in that stunning underwear. If I wasn't already hard, the sight of her standing there in it, the black lace making her pale skin glow and hugging her curves would make me just as hard as I am now. I push the underwear off her hips, and she gasps in relief, the vibrator no longer touching her clit. I push her back onto the bed, spreading her legs to see her pussy, swollen and wet from being so aroused. I want to taste her, but I don't know that she or I can last that long.

  "Fuck me," she says. "I can't wait."

  How can I say no to that? She’s so wet that I slide in easily, and she feels like heaven around my cock. Pen's eyes are closed, and the noise she's making…god. I know I'm not going to last long. I thrust into her, pushing myself as deep and hard as I can. The bed frame is shaking with our fucking and I can't think, I can't breathe. Pen is saying my name over and over and I lose control as her pussy squeezes me. I drive deep into her, releasing my orgasm with a shout. It feels like lightning pouring down my spine and through my balls, sweet hot pleasure that doesn't let me go.

  I can feel Penelope coming around me, pussy spasming and back arching. I love the sound of her coming on my cock. I won't ever, ever have enough.

  Laying down with her, I gather her into my arms as I try to control my breathing, my body still amped up from release. Small muscles in Pen's back and stomach are still twitching—a sure sign that I've done my job and made my woman come hard. I turn her towards me, bringing her mouth to mine.

  Her fingers brush my chest. They trace my tattoo, and I capture her wrist on impulse. We freeze, sharing a look—unspoken, I know what she's about to ask. I beat her to it. “You want to know about this?” She nods quickly. I gather myself, filling my lungs. “My father,” I whisper. “This ink is so I remember what he did.”

  There are deep holes in her eyes, like she wants to suck up everything I saw and never forget. I see my face in those shiny pools—it's pained. I say, “When I was a kid, he vanished from my life. My mother raised me alone until the day she died.” Pen frowns but I lift a hand to silence her. I don't want her to say she's sorry, I want her to understand.

  “My father appeared at the funeral. I was doing very well, already a billionaire. He said he wanted to reconnect with me. To make up for lost time.” I flinch at the memory of his sour grin. “It was all lies.”

  “Oh, Derek.” Her arms circle me; I hug her back.

  “He took a ton of my money and vanished again. He'd said he wanted to start up a foundation in her name to help others—she died of cancer. Instead, he skipped town. The charity came after me, feeling I'd somehow done them wrong. It was a huge mess to fix.”

  Her fingertips roll over my chest, lifting goosebumps. “That's awful. Can I ask... why the tree?”

  Chuckling, I hold her hand against me. “My mother loved cherry blossom trees. I named the Maria Foundation after her and planted one hundred of those trees around the building.”

  “That's wonderful,” she whispers. “I think I understand you better, now.” And I know she means it. This perfect woman is the first to know my history. I've always kept it close to me, afraid to open up.

  I didn't lie to Pen when I told her that I know what I want right away. I knew that day when I showed up late and she looked worried and professional and way
too proper that I wanted her. I wanted all of her without limits. I knew that I was in love with her the day I kissed her, and I also knew that telling her would do more harm than good. But I've waited long enough.

  Those big blue eyes are looking at me, glazed and blissful. "Penelope Swanson," I whisper, "I love you."

  Her eyes clear, and I see her focus on me, register the words. A brilliant smile spreads across her face at the realization. "I love you, too." She kisses me hard, and despite the odds, my cock stirs again. I hold her against me, showing her how my body wants her, and she laughs. "You're insatiable."

  "For you?" I ask, "Always. Do you know what you are?”

  “What?”

  Hugging her tight, I breathe out. “My everything.”

  And she always would be.

  THE END

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  I pull the sheet tight across the bed and reach for the crumpled comforter. I really should have come in here earlier. It’s dusty and could use a good scrub down. But Brad will be here any minute and I have to settle for remaking the bed. I sigh. The dust will bother me, but it won’t bother Brad. My son has never been concerned with how clean his room is. All the same, I make a mental note to give this room a good cleaning before he comes home for the summer.

  I shake out the blanket harder than I normally would to clear any dust from it, and as it settles, the air sends papers flying off of Brad’s bulletin board. I shake my head. Of course. Finishing the bed, I reorganize the disturbed papers on his desk and reach down behind for the things that fell behind it. I can just feel the edge of a couple of papers, but my arm won’t quite make it far enough. A couple of Brad’s old hockey sticks are in the way, but I think I can reach without knocking the sticks over. I stretch, reach… and the hockey sticks go crashing to the side and I lose my balance and slip down onto the floor. Ow. I’ve got the papers though.

  I pull my prizes out from behind the desk and take a look. It’s a newspaper article featuring my son’s high school hockey team. There was an article when the team won the state championships his senior year. The other thing I rescued is a picture, and as I pull it out from behind the article, I immediately feel myself blush. The picture is of Brad and his best friend, Trevor King. Must have been taken some time last year. Brad and Trevor were friends all through high school, and Trevor spent more time here than he did at home. Then senior year, his family moved to a different part of Boston, and I didn’t see him again until he visited Brad for the day last year around this time.

  That visit makes my whole body fill with remembered embarrassment, as the way my body reacted when I saw Trevor again was…not appropriate. He had filled out, grown into himself. He was sexy. And eighteen. He and Brad are still best friends, and they play on the hockey team at Boston College together, but I rarely see him.

  I stare at the picture. A woman my age probably shouldn’t describe people as hot…but my god Trevor King is hot. I think about all the times he stole into my fantasies, even when I tried to keep him out. But that’s all they were. Fantasies. Harmless fantasies about what he would look like under all his clothes, what he would look like over me, what he would look like—

  Stop.

  My body is already warming with just those thoughts, and I can’t. Brad will be here soon and I can’t be hot and bothered by his best friend. It’s wrong on so many levels. I pin the article and the picture back to the bulletin board and pick up the hockey sticks I knocked over. Looking around the room, I see so many things I could do to make it just a little cleaner. I won’t be able to finish any of those things by the time Brad gets here though, so I decide to leave it alone.

  I head into my office next door—stepping over the mattresses I’ve set out for my nephews—and check my e-mails. This time of the holidays it’s slow. I have a conference call with a client tomorrow, but nothing else is urgent. But speaking of urgent, I send a text to my sister reminding her to bring butter for tonight’s dinner. I haven’t had a chance to get to the store, and we’re going to need it. My email pings and I see an email from a new client asking when we can schedule a call to talk about their new marketing plan. I’m checking my calendar as I hear a key in the lock downstairs. A smile comes to my face. Brad is finally here.

  “Mom?” Brad calls.

  “I’m up here,” I call back.

  I hear the shuffling of luggage and footsteps on the stairs as I check my calendar, and send a quick email so this isn’t nagging me. I hear Brad get into his room, and as I step into the hallway, I hear him laugh. Then I hear another voice, a distinctly deep and male voice. So my son isn’t here alone. Okay…

  Probably just a friend from school for the day. I step into the doorway of Brad’s room and tap my knuckles on the door. “Knock knock,” I say, and I have to keep my jaw from dropping, because I’m now face to face with Trevor King.

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  Know what happens when you bring a bottle of cinnamon whiskey to a party? Nothing good, that’s what. It should come with an additional warning label: May cause extreme stupidity and drunk sexting.

  I blame it on Emily. Who needs enemies when you have friends like her? She bought the booze and it was her idea to come to this frat party in the first place and practice at being twenty-one before my birthday tomorrow.

  I admit, it started off as a good time. Several of my friends are here, the music’s perfect, and there’s a hot tub, so bonus. I’m a crack shot at beer pong and hit the best of all the flat notes during karaoke. But, as we all know, good times and good decision-making aren’t one and the same. I may or may not have butt-chugged Gray Goose with future lawyers and house wives. And I probably danced topless on the sofa since that’s what all the pictures on Instagram are showing—only I don’t pay too much attention to those since that shit can be photo-shopped. During all of this, I lost my shoes, and who knows what happened to my bra.

  At least Emily is here to keep me in check. She has always been the responsible one—about as responsible as a toddler dog-sitting, but still, she’s a better grown-up than me.

  She suggests a group of us get together to play Would you rather in one of the quieter rooms. It’s a game. No big deal. A game can’t get me in too much trouble, right? Yeah … right.

  Her question for me is, “Who would you rather fuck, your ex or his dad?”

  Of course I choose his dad, because he was hot and my ex was kind of a douche. Thing is, I’ve always had doe eyes for older men. It all started with my dad’s best friend, Paul. He looks good for his age, a silver fox covered in tattoos, and is in better shape than most guys who go to my school. And OMG those tropical blue eyes and five-o’clock shadow on a strong jaw. Yes, please.

  We’ve been flirting since I turned eighteen. He’d tell me how beautiful I was, complement my ass in a pair of jeans, or notice how nicely I’ve developed. It was all innocent. Never going too far, no touching or talking about sex or anything like that. But I want him. Bad. Just thinking about him has me pooling between the legs.

  I lean against the pool table, looking around at all these young bucks strutting around the house in their polos and cargo shorts. I wonder which one I can use for the night. Maybe do some role playing, pretend he’s Paul, have myself a daddy fantasy.

  A cute jock-type walks by with all his muscles and cocksure youth. His boner is about as subtle as a rocket launcher smuggled under spandex pants. The way he stares at me leaves no questions about his interest. Though I’m definitely in the mood, his baby face just won’t do because I know how this story en
ds. I’ve read it many times—well, not that many. Enough to count on one hand … and maybe some toes.

  I see it so clearly: We’ll end up in his sock-stinky room full of pizza crusts and porn magazines littering the floor. The glow from his snake terrarium and the video game he has on pause will double as mood lighting. He’ll fumble around my body aimlessly and expect me to oooh and ahhh and appreciate all the pleasure he’s not giving me for five minutes until he gets his rocks off. Then he’ll promise to call the next day. I’m bored just thinking about it. So I don’t even bother.

  When he heads toward me, I cover my face with my phone and pretend he doesn’t exist. He’s sober enough to get the hint.

  I continue to play with my phone even after he’s gone. My ass is wet and sticky from spilled drinks on the floor. I move to the stained, threadbare couch next to Emily and find Paul’s name in my contacts. When I’m bored I like to look through our old texts. Birthday wishes from last year, a Merry Christmas here, Happy Thanksgiving there. There are pictures of us during a houseboat trip, and at an airshow. Unfortunately, my parents are in all the pictures too.

  The whiskey has gone to my head and there’s no room left in there for rational thinking. Not a single consequence occurs to me as I type out five little words. I want to fuck you.

  I show Emily. “What if I actually sent this?” I can hear myself talking slow and slurring my words. I’ve drank my body weight in everything over fifty proof and it’s starting to show.

  She squints at the little screen. My phone is prehistoric and has a Post-It sized screen. When she’s done reading, her eyes go wide and she says, with a sly smile, “What if you did?” Her words are clearer than mine. She never drinks as much as I do. That’s what maturity looks like, and someday I want to be just like her. But right now I’m having fun.