Lust Muscle: A Billionaire Revenge Romance

by Alexis Angel

  “So good…” I moan, not even knowing if my heart's still beating. “I want more.” Instead of swaying my hips, I stop doing that and prepare to use what little energy still remains inside of me. I start jumping on his cock, and I do it hard. He’s cupping my ass as I go, and I lean just a bit forward, slightly bending his cock down and imagining the pressure he’s feeling right now.

  “Fuck,” he exhales sharply, slapping my ass again.

  His whole body becomes rock solid and I can’t help but jump on him with all the strength that I have in me. Suddenly, he hooks his fingers on my waist and pulls me down onto him. I sit on his crotch as his cock goes as deep as it has ever been inside of me.

  Oh my God!

  OH FUCK!

  Suddenly, I become nothing.

  Pleasure rages through me in a way I’ve never felt before, utterly consuming my mind. I’m high on sex; I’m high on Lance. And as his cock spasms again, his load shooting deep into me, I moan so hard that my voice starts quivering. He keeps cumming for a long while, the seconds ticking away as a torrent of semen takes hold of me.

  Only when he becomes still, do I roll to the side and lay back against the seat, my limbs sprawled. I didn’t even notice it, but I’m covered in sweat, locks of hair plastered to my face. I want to speak, I want to move, but there’s not a single reserve of energy inside of me. I gave it my all, and in return, I’ve been sacrificed at the altar of pleasure.

  Lance turns to me and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Just lay back… I’ll take care of you.”

  “Yes...” I nod, Lance’s lips travelling down my neck. His mouth hikes down between my breasts and over my stomach, only stopping when he has his head right between my legs. Tenderly, he starts licking my folds, taking care of the cum that’s dripping down my thighs. Pushing his mouth into me, he sucks my folds in, wrapping his lips around them and taking in every single drop of cum I have on my pussy.

  Satisfied, he goes up, lying back with his body pressed against mine. “There… Much better now,” he whispers, smiling at me. I run one lazy finger over his lips, an errant drop of cum still hanging there.

  “Yes… Much better.” With him, everything’s better.

  I close my eyes and smile, taking a wicked sense of pleasure in knowing that Michael is riding the limo in front of us, completely oblivious to what just happened between his son and I.

  Serves him right, I think with an exhausted grin.

  New York Daily Journal

  From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

  Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

  If you think this election is getting nasty, you’re not the first to think that and you’re not the only one. Cheer up though; every day that passes is one day closer to the election. But, one thing everyone is thinking and asking me is this: If we’re already so low less than a month into the election, how much lower and dirtier is it going to get before we get to the voting booths?

  Let’s do a rundown of what we’ve seen so far.

  The campaign of Mayor Anders has accused Jim Jenkins of being a Socialist, scaring voters into thinking that should Jenkins get elected, police will no longer be able to use guns as they patrol the streets. Mayor Anders' campaign surrogates said in speeches all last week that Jim Jenkins is so opposed to gun control that he would ensure that police start doing their beats with TASERS, night sticks, and stun guns.

  Not to be outdone, at a major campaign speech, Jim Jenkins suggested that should the Mayor get another term, his policies would include shutting down public schools that run on taxpayer money in support of private schools, raising the price of educating our little New Yorkers in training.

  “Do you want to have to choose between a broken, burned, and underfunded public school, or a private school? Because that’s the choice under Michael Anders!” Jonathan Franks, the campaign manager for Jim Jenkins was quoted as telling this paper afterward.

  The Mayor's campaign shot back that Jim Jenkins' policies would include not prosecuting most crimes and opening up the prisons and letting out hardened felons.

  “You want that man locked up for being a child sex offender to start looking at apartments next to public schools? Because with Jim Jenkins as mayor, they’re going to be able to do just that,” the Anders campaign manager retorted when asked for a follow up.

  With Jim Jenkins being portrayed as a soft-on-crime bleeding heart liberal and Michael Anders being portrayed as a corporate fascist, voters aren’t left with much of a choice of picking the better man. Instead, they’re left with finding the least of two evils. That’s right, fellow Gothamites, it’s not about who we love anymore. It’s about who we hate the least.

  But one thing is becoming pretty abundantly clear. With the policies being twisted so badly, both campaigns are relying more and more on their families to burnish their credentials and raise their favorability ratings. Jim Jenkins showed up at Coney Island on Saturday with his wife Martha and their daughter Jennifer to eat at Nathan’s Hot Dogs and ride the Cyclone before taking some pictures.

  And Mayor Anders has brought out his family plenty of times, bringing his son and newly married wife to every single one of his campaign rallies and making a big show of taking them out to dinner at Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Factory in Times Square.

  So, it looks like this campaign is going to be won or lost based on who is hated the least. And a lot of that can be based on who has the most lovable family.

  That’s all for today, but we’re digging up as much as we can about both families. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

  Lance

  I knock on the door to dad’s office with a fucking weight in my stomach. It’s been three days since the limo. Since I was balls deep into Jocelyn. Just thoughts of my hands holding her supple, curvy, lithe body inspire my cock into a frenzy of twitches. Fuck. I can’t be thinking like this because while my cock doesn't seem to care, I’m dying of fucking guilt here.

  That’s right. I’m feeling guilty. I hope that doesn’t surprise you.

  I’ve never in my life done anything like this. This goes way beyond just fucking a married woman. First, she’s older than me. I’m 15 years younger than her. I would have never considered anything like this before coming back to the city. Second, she’s married to my dad. That makes her technically my stepmom.

  Now hold on there. I know based on everything you’ve seen so far, you’re going to tell me to calm the fuck down. That 15 years is nothing. You probably know a couple where the woman is 15 years older than the man and they have a happy marriage. And then you’re going to move on to tell me that Michael Anders married my mother after I was already born. That when she died a year later, he assumed the role of guardian, but he’s not technically my biological father.

  Fine. From a technical standpoint, no one is related, okay. You fucking got me.

  But we’re not talking about technicalities here.

  This is the man who fucking paid others to raise me. The man I resented my whole life for always being busy and never having time for me. The man who was always wrapped up in his life and viewed me as an accessory to trot out to make him look good by talking about how he was raising the son of his dead wife.

  In short, he’s the only father I’ve ever fucking known.

  And so what do I do? I fuck the one woman who maybe he thought he would find happiness with? Really? Is that what I’ve come down to?

  Have I fucked so many women in my life that now I need to do things that shock the senses? Has normal fucking just gotten too boring for me?

  “You going to stand there or are you going to come in, Lance?” dad asks from his desk. He's staring at me, an annoyed look on his face. He’s got two tablets and a computer open in front of him and it’s obvious he’s busy. The television is on in the far corner of the room and he puts it on mute.

  I step into the office
and walk to the desk. What am I even going to say here? Hey dad, how’s the mayoral race coming? By the way, I’m fucking Jocelyn. Just thinking you should know because it's the right thing to do.

  How do you even go about telling another man you’re sleeping with his wife?

  “What do you need?” dad asks, cutting through all the clutter in my head and going straight to the point. “I’m busy so I can’t give you that much time. So be quick.”

  I sigh. He looks at me with sharp eyes.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Jocelyn,” I say after a moment.

  He looks at me and sighs as well. Does he know?

  Dad leans back in his chair. “Sorry I didn't invite you to the wedding, Lance,” he says and takes off his glasses. “But there really was no wedding.”

  “Yeah, but you know, there wasn’t even any advance notice,” I reply back to him.

  Dad looks at me for a moment. “Lance, you’ve been here for quite a few days now and you’re just coming to me with this question?” he asks. “What’s prompting you to ask now? If you were really this upset about not knowing, this would have been the first thing you asked me.”

  What the fuck? Leave it to this guy to search for the ulterior motive.

  Although, to be honest, don’t I have the ulterior motive here? I mean, I’m making this conversation because I feel guilty about Jocelyn. He’s right to an extent.

  “I’m just asking you because it seemed like a good way to get into the conversation,” I tell him, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s not like we’ve gotten much time to talk since I got back.”

  He appears to consider this.

  “But I mean, that’s the usual, though, isn’t it?” I ask, adding that one last bit in.

  It seems to convince him that I’m legitimate. He sits back upright and places his elbows on the desk.

  “I knew her father. You were away at school and you’re old enough now that you’re not really much of an asset to someone who’s looking to portray being a family man. Plus, your…antics aren’t really going to endear any of the demographics I need help with. And the only grandkids I’d have would all be illegitimate. So I needed a wife.”

  I’m silent, processing everything he’s just said. It sounds so cold. So fucking calculating.

  “So just like that, you what? Introduced yourself and got her to say yes?” I ask him.

  Dad sighs again, as if stalling for time.

  “Let’s just say,” he says and pauses, considering his words. “Let’s just say it was in the best interests of Governor Carter to give me Jocelyn’s hand in marriage.”

  Whoa. What the fuck is dad just telling me right here. Best interests?

  “Wait one second,” I say, forgetting the guilt for a moment. “Best interests of the Governor? Are you telling me this is some sort of payment?”

  “I’m telling you that this is none of your business, Lance,” dad says, a hard edge of steel hiding behind his voice. “And it’s in your best interests to drop this.”

  “I’m not fucking dropping something when you basically tell me that you may have coerced someone to spend their fucking life with you, dad!” I say heatedly. “Especially when there’s unanswered questions about…”

  But I can’t finish because dad whips his head in my direction.

  “Unanswered questions?” he snaps at me. “Unanswered questions about things we shouldn’t be talking about?”

  I’m quiet as I watch him bring himself under control. Then, with an almost deathly chill in his voice, he says to me. “Be careful how far beneath the surface you want to dig, son. I’m used to this world. I have no problem burying anyone. Especially someone who’s past his useful life as my son.”

  Was that a fucking threat? Are we fucking going to war?

  “Work on the campaign and help the family and I promise you, you’ll be rewarded,” he continues. “But start bringing up the past or stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and don't be surprised if you start getting burned.”

  This man did not sit here in his ornate fucking office and threaten me. I’m the closest thing to a son that he’s fucking got. This would just be a dark wood-paneled room with an old man if all the shit that I’ve suspected comes out. The late night visits with Kenneth. Seeing the two of them kissing on the balcony.

  No, I can’t let this man bully me here and now and not respond back to him.

  “If you want to sit there and threaten me, Dad,” I say to him as I stand up. “Then I’m ready to take this to the next level. But I’m not leaving till I get some answers as to why Jocelyn felt forced to marry you.”

  “Oh, give it a rest, okay? Your dad seduced the Governor, kept the evidence, and then when he was ready, went to Governor Carter and has been holding it over his head since then,” a voice says behind me. I turn around and see Kenneth Loomis standing there with a grin on his face. “Don’t tell me you never suspected, Lance?” he asks me as he steps closer.

  I turn my head to look at dad. At first there’s a momentary flash of annoyance and concern on his face. Then that changes to annoyance.

  But apparently my own father thinks I’m not worth the fucking effort required to lie.

  “You…you fucked the Governor to marry his daughter?” I ask, turning around to face dad. What kind of fucking man is my father? For maybe the millionth time, I’m so fucking relieved that I’m not related to him by blood. That I’m really just his stepson.

  Dad, yeah I know, but I’m used to calling him that by now—he just shrugs. “I didn’t do anything to marry Jocelyn, son,” he says to me, raising his head to look at me.

  “That’s right,” Kenneth says coming over to stand by dad’s side. “That woman was just a fringe benefit. An afterthought to the real goodies that the Governor helped him get.”

  I’m still trying to fucking comprehend. Dad, blackmailing the Governor. Getting God knows what from him. Favors? Power? But Jocelyn Carter, probably the single most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking met ending up as just a fucking afterthought.

  Holy fucking Christ.

  My world is in a state of complete numbness. Shock.

  Just fucking kill me now. A forced marriage that was just icing on a much larger cake.

  This is too fucking much. I can’t believe the callousness. The fucking waste. I get up from my chair.

  “Close the door on your way out, will you please?” Kenneth says to me as I stalk to the door. I turn around to look at him. His hands are on my dad’s shoulders, a lascivious smile playing on his lips as he brings out his tongue to lick them. “We’re going to be a little…busy…in here.”

  I don’t have the fucking strength to argue.

  I do as Kenneth asks, close the door, and go toward the front door.

  I need fresh air.

  I need to find Jocelyn.

  Jocelyn

  I've never considered myself a great cook, but looking at the dinner spread on our dining room table, I'm proud. I went all out, planning four courses for the evening—an asparagus, green onion, cucumber, and herb salad, a mushroom and leek soup with thyme cream, grilled lamb chops with a sweet chutney sauce, and to top it all off, I even prepared a rich and decadent chocolate lava cake. You know, the kind of warm cake that oozes in the middle.

  I'll admit that I had some help from the housekeeper, Rosa, but I still feel like I pulled off a miracle. I've been harboring guilt, and I needed something to re-direct my attention to, and today that something happened to be a four-course meal. Michael doesn't seem impressed though. He's limply picking at his plate of salad, his fork pushing the vegetables from one side to the other, but Lance is devouring it all. "You outdid yourself," he says to me. "This is impressive."

  His hands are dancing from the soup, to the salad, and back again, but he also seems to be holding something back. He's lifting his eyes to me in cursory glances. What I wouldn't give to be inside of his brain right now.

  Then he looks up, clearing his throat. "I wanted to say
something," he begins, and a momentary wave of panic washes over my chest. What is he going to say? "I've decided—" he pauses and I can almost feel myself holding my breath. "—I've decided to go to Europe for the summer."

  Europe? For the entire summer? Why is he doing this? I don't respond and I work hard to stifle my surprise. I casually continue to take small and calculating sips of the creamy soup, allowing the earthy flavors to dance around my tongue. Michael merely shrugs his shoulders and wipes his mouth with his napkin, "That's nice Lance."

  I can detect the disappointment in Lance's face. He was expecting something more out of his father. That much is clear. But as quickly as that disappointment appears, he replaces it with an air of indifference. He's trying not to let his father get to him. "I've decided to take a direct flight to Heathrow airport next week."

  I look over at Michael to see if he's going to say anything else. Perhaps he'll ask Lance what his plans are? Why London, of all places? But no, he doesn't say another word. It seems like he's refusing to engage in any kind of conversation with his son. Maybe he doesn't care at all why he's leaving. Instead, he continues to take uninterested bites of his food, his eyes cast down on his plate. I watch as a small sliver of cucumber gets stuck on his bottom lip. Maybe this is what Michael wanted. I'm too shocked to say anything. I never anticipated this happening. So instead, I simply nod at Lance when he glances in my direction. And really, what can I say? There a lot of things that I'd let spill from my mouth, but not in front of my husband.

  Michael takes a few more bites of dinner and then excuses himself from the table, his chair squeaking against the hardwood floor. Lance takes his cue and leaves as well. I watch them both walk off, and with everyone leaving I start to clear the table. As I'm carrying dishes to the kitchen, Michael re-appears. He is slipping his arms into a coat, and seems to be in a hurry.

  "Where are you going?" I ask.

  "Out. Don't bother waiting up for me."