by Aria Ford
God, was she a moron sometimes.
When the hell would she ever learn?
But it wasn't just the money that was occupying her thoughts. Not at all. Mr. Jones, that illustrious billionaire who was worth infinitely more than she would ever be, filled up a great portion of her thoughts in the ensuing days as well. The way he had looked at her, over the course of their interaction... There had been something more in his eyes than simple gratitude, she felt certain. Frankly, she had to confess to herself, she'd felt a similar way in return to what she fancied he'd been experiencing in those long, hypnotized moments of silence.
But even as she entertained the notion of some magical love connection between a poor girl and a wealthy billionaire, she chided herself for doing so on any number of levels. For starters, it was rather an ugly and exploitative notion. Surely she was just attracted to him for his money, after having lived a lifetime in poverty and becoming sick of her inescapable circumstances? She despised herself for the possibility that she had become this sort of woman, more interested in comfort and luxury than she was in finding the sort of person who could truly make her happy in life.
Or had she, in fact, become this sort of woman?
Perhaps she was becoming too hard on herself, and accusing herself of such attitudes without having any real reason or basis for doing so. She'd done nothing wrong, and wasn't it entirely possible that the strange and unpredictable feelings she felt for this man were more substantial in nature than simply revolving around money?
The way he'd looked at her had made her feel encouraged, hopeful. It had filled her with longing for someone who would actually appreciate her, who seemed genuinely glad to be in her company.
She hadn't really felt that way for a long, long time.
She'd had a number of failed relationships over the years, almost always with men she should have known better than to be with in the first place. No one had ever treated her with the genuine respect she sought, and yet she'd scarcely remained single for any extensive period, feeling emotionally dependent on others to help bolster her self-esteem. Her most recent relationship had ended in turmoil. Her ex, Danny, had been a terrible person, never hurting her , but engaging in various criminal enterprises that put her at risk. She'd been about to leave him when suddenly she found herself in the midst of a pregnancy scare, thinking that her protection had failed and that she was carrying his child. Danny was finally busted by the cops, his many misdeeds at last catching up with him, and Megan had had to fear the prospect of raising his child all on her own.
It had been one of the lowest periods of her life, and she had anticipated a future in which she had absolutely nothing to look forward to. Thank God, though, her period had at last come, apparently thrown off somehow by her birth control, and any other symptoms of the supposed pregnancy all in her head.
She was freed at last of Danny's hold over her life, and she'd decided, from there on out, to avoid dating anyone so long as her life remained in such a state of disarray.
Months had passed since the breakup, and Megan had stayed true to this promise to herself throughout the ensuing period. However, it became harder and harder for her to remain so alone for so long, and that day at Henry's house, where he'd been subtly flirting with and showing interest in her, had been like a breath of fresh air.
She'd read up on him online prior to the return of the wallet, simply as a means of knowing just what it was she was walking into. In the process of doing so, however, she'd discovered a lot more about him than she'd intended. She'd uncovered a lot of redeeming qualities -assets to his personality- which served to establish him as a decent and trustworthy individual in her mind. She knew about the circumstances under which he'd grown up, the amount of hard work and effort it had taken for him to make it to the point where he found himself today, and she let herself believe that, somehow, this served to establish a strange sort of kinship between them. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be like one of those magical relationships that you read about in fairy tales. A rags-to-riches princess who falls in love with the man of her dreams, catching his eye for being so different, so pure, and so honest compared to other girls; the two of them living happily forever after on the throne of his kingdom.
But God, it made her feel like such a moron to even entertain such notions. She felt so pathetic, so narcissistic. For Christ's sake, the man was married already. And not that that was anything that could really stand in the way of a man with the world at his feet who resolutely set his mind on infidelity, but his wife was a goddamn supermodel. What the hell could he possibly want from a girl like herself, when he was married to a platinum blonde bombshell who routinely graced the covers of famous magazines?
Megan, herself, wasn't all that terrible to look at, she knew, but more often than not she found herself underestimating her own beauty. She was nothing in contrast to the beautiful and talented Ashley Jones, she told herself, and it was time for her to stop entertaining these ridiculous fantasies and come back down to reality.
One day, however, her phone rang. The number was one with which she was unfamiliar, and yet she felt certain, before even picking it up, that she knew precisely who it was.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Megan? This is Henry. Henry Jones. I was wondering whether you might be able to come over this Saturday afternoon. It's about the wallet. Nothing serious or anything, it's just, well, I just wanted to talk to you about something. Do you think you might be available then? Or maybe some other time if you’re busy.”
“No, no, that should be fine,” she hurried to say, although this was a lie. She had work on Saturday, and her ass would be on the line if she missed her shift. But the chance to meet with Henry again, to see him and have the chance to do things right this time, was simply too great an opportunity for her to pass up.
“Okay, great, I'll see you then,” he concluded, and the two of them hung up.
Her heart was thundering in her ears as she contemplated the prospect of going to see him again.
Chapter Four
She made her way through the hallways of Henry's mansion, escorted by one of his servants, and she found him seated in a spacious room, with what looked like original paintings hung up all along the walls.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, waving a hand to her, and she did as he instructed. “Can I offer you a drink this time?”
“Yes, please, a drink sounds great.”
He poured her a glass of wine, and it tasted wonderful as the first sip trickled through her painted lips. Still, in spite of herself, she felt nervous as hell right now, and she struggled to find a means of setting herself at ease.
There was a long silence hanging in the air between the two of them as they drank. At last, however, Henry spoke up, admitting to what Megan had suspected in the first place. “So, I must confess, I may have invited you here under somewhat false pretenses.”
“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. Well, I suppose there's no real skirting around the issue at this point. Look Megan, ever since that first meeting the other day, I can't explain it, really, but you seem to have left the most lasting impression upon my mind. I don't know if this is discomforting for me to say to you, and I apologize deeply if so, but-”
Megan, absently, began to shake her head, as though to assure him that it was not at all an unpleasant thing for him to be telling her, and encouraging him to continue with what he had to say.
“I've not been happy in my circumstances, for quite some time now, and when I saw you here, the other day, I just felt more comforted and at peace with myself than I have in a long, long while. I know I'm probably doing a poor job of explaining all of this, but-”
“No,” interjected Megan, sitting forward. “No, no you're not. To be honest I suppose you could say I've felt largely the same way about you, since that first meeting. This is all very strange for me. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't feel like I even have a right to tell you this sort of thing
, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you either.”
Both of them suddenly seemed to experience a lightening in their hearts, a lifting of their moods, and a joy beyond words that they were on the same page. Yet they remained fearful, uncertain as to where exactly this new and welcome direction in their lives seemed to be taking them.
The moments slipped along, and they continued to stare into one another’s’ eyes, mutually disbelieving the conversation had really happened. They seemed wholly uncertain as to where things should go from here, at least as far as maintaining any reasonable sort of propriety was concerned. Each of them knew precisely where they wanted things to go, but neither of them was wholly confident that what they craved could, or should, actually happen.
At last, Henry took the plunge, risking at all, and asked with a quiver in his voice: “I hope this isn't too forward but, could I kiss you?”
There was no need to answer.
Slowly Megan leaned into him, trembling as she did so, but trying to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, and electric sensations crackled through her system as tenderly, passionately, Henry's lips melted against her own. The entire room surrounding them seemed to vanish in their heat.
Megan became lost in the kiss, twisted up in her feelings, and so entirely absorbed in Henry that all else seemed to cease to exist. He tasted wonderful, and somehow the fact that she knew he truly desired her made the kiss all the sweeter.
Only after a considerable period of time did the two of them pry their lips apart. The kiss had left them both winded, lightheaded, and craving so much more.
They smiled at one another and their mutual passion passed wordlessly between them. Once more, they leaned into one another, going in for another kiss.
This time, the uncertain delicacy of that first peck gave way to an intense, passionate round of making out. Their tongues explored one another’s’ mouths as their hands roamed over each other’s bodies. Megan fisted her hands into the fabric of Henry’s shirt and pulled him closer to her.
Neither of them was accustomed to things progressing at such a brisk, unthinkable speed as they seemed to be doing presently. Yet each of them found themselves helplessly lost in the moment, willing for things to move forward as quickly as possible, without giving a damn about propriety or pacing. Neither did they seem to care about any potential consequences that may present themselves as a result of their actions.
Each of them found themselves completely and utterly consumed by the passion that they felt in that moment.
Faster than they might ever have imagined, they found themselves stumbling their way into Henry's vast, expansive bedroom, hitting the mattress of his marital bed with an intense speed.
Henry's hands began to slide along Megan's body with a steady intensity that drove her mad with lust. He slowly pulled the blouse up over her head and pressed his hands up against her breasts in the scarce covering of her bra. He squeezed his fingers deep into the flesh, and she sighed, shuddering with frenzied passion, unable to get enough of his touch. He began to remove her skintight jeans as well, wriggling her out of them, and then moved just slightly back to gaze in awe at her body, scantily clad in nothing but her bra and panties.
She leered at him with a look of the utmost lust in her eyes, and he smiled at her in return. She savored the sight of him unbuttoning his shirt, slipping out of it, and revealing his taut, muscular physique- the result of a lifetime's self-restraint and perseverance, entirely too sweet to behold.
He crawled back up beside her, and continued to ravish her with kisses, pecking them all over her exposed flesh. The straps of her bra began to slip out of place, threatening to shimmer away altogether, and Henry's hands seemed reflexively to twist up into the thin lace of her panties.
He dragged them down her legs, and she bent her knees to allow him to completely remove them. She felt wonderful, baring herself to him in this way, and he dipped down slowly, passionately, between her open, luscious thighs.
He brought his mouth to her and Megan let out a sigh of the utmost passion as he proceeded to lick her tenderly, sliding his tongue into her pussy and tasting her. He continued vigorously, as though her flavor were the most wonderful, decadent luxury he had ever before had the pleasure of experiencing.
She moaned, and her spine arched up from the sheets as his head bobbed steadily between her legs, sucking and twisting his tongue into her, filling her up with such perversely glorious sensations that it sent her head spinning. Her fingers curled into the bedsheets as every nerve ending in her body came to life.
“Oh God, yes. Yes!” she screamed out as her body rocked from the sensations.
Here was a man who genuinely knew what he was doing; who knew how to please a woman and was genuinely dedicated to meeting her needs on every level. Her pussy seemed to blossom under his dutiful tongue and wave after wave of her orgasm came crashing through her system, causing her to moan with ecstasy.
At last, Henry slowly pulled away licking her desire from his lips as he moved away, and leaving Megan feeling both sated and empty at the same time. His tongue had felt incredible, but she wanted to feel him deep inside of her.
The two of them proceeded to undress the remainder of the way, and spent a long moment simply staring at one another's naked bodies. Neither of them could believe they were about to take this next step, but it seemed so completely natural that they almost had to do it. It seemed like it wouldn’t be right not to. Henry's cock was long, stiff, and ready for her. It was hot against her flesh as he lifted his body up onto her, sliding it around her stomach, thrusting himself up against her and savoring the friction as he ground against her soft skin. Then he slowly angled himself at her aching entrance and slowly penetrated her, pushing inch by agonizing inch of his long, throbbing cock into her wet, waiting slit.
The heat of her thrilled him as he continued to push into her. He delighted in her moan as he buried himself to the hilt within her.
And at last his tip touched her womb, and the two of them waited, breathing heavily, perfectly satisfied with one another in that moment. Gradually, he began to thrust, slowly at first and then with building intensity as his need to fill and possess her took over.
He felt her slick pussy tighten around him as he relentlessly plunged into her. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, and she dug her heels into his ass, forcing his tip to hit her womb with each push. She arched her back and raked her nails along his shoulders, calling his name over and over.
Finally, unable to control himself any longer, Henry pumped into her once, twice more and tripped over the edge. He came on a loud roar and felt his cock jump as he emptied himself deep within her tight pussy. At the same time, n orgasm unlike any Megan had ever experienced came crashing down around her. The sensation of being filled with his seed was so incredibly arousing. She shuddered underneath him and her walls clenched around him, milking ever last drop of cum from his thick cock.
When she finally came down from the high, Henry wrapped her up in his arms snugly, pulling her warmly into himself. The two of them kissed longingly, passionately for some time, simply unable to get enough of one another. The moments passed along as though in a dream as the two of them continued to make love well into the night, both experiencing what they’d both been longing for for so long.
THE END
BestSeller: Mr. Big Shot
Chapter One
The Gulfstream IV touched down at the Las Vegas McCarran International Airport and came to a stop on a distant tarmac where a royal blue carpet and a silver Rolls Royce waited for the passenger. The jet rested, as if adjusting to the extreme heat, although its home base was commonly as hot and it was hardly a stranger to deserts.
Although the aircraft could accommodate up to eight people for sleeping, when the door rolled open, only two individuals came out; Sheikh Arran Muhalla and his loyal body guard, Alahan. Impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored silk suit, Sheikh Arran Muhalla’s tanned skin contrasted with t
he heavy golden Rolex he wore on his wrist and the gleaming white of his perfect teeth. Powerfully built, he walked with the grace of a cougar. Even those who didn’t know him could feel his lethal potential. Known to his American friends as Arran, he was comfortable in any environment; that of his birth, and that of his Yale education.
Arran stepped into the glittering silver Rolls. His guard, Alahan, took a front seat and the driver smoothly rolled out of the airport and headed for the Bellagio. Arran adjusted his tie and checked his hair, although there was never a hair out of place. Although there were no meetings planned, he was always concerned with his appearance. He patted the sound system and the vehicle filled with Puccini’s Tosca. He settled back against the upholstered cushions and closed his eyes, allowing the music to carry him to a different place where time was measured in the trappings of grace.
As the driver pulled up before the Bellagio, a doorman advanced to open Arran’s door. Alahan quickly blocked him and stood momentarily, surveying the people and surroundings before opening the limo door. Arran emerged and went into the hotel where he had reserved the Chairman’s Suite.
Arran was the eldest in an extremely successful Middle-Eastern family and the head of their businesses. His younger brothers, Sinhad and Farrah, dealt with various smaller enterprises, but Arran exercised final approval of every move that was made. He was in Vegas to handle the general business for one of the banks the family owned. His schedule provided for a short stay; no more than three weeks at most.