Cunning Linguist: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Alexis Angel

  By the time the waiter comes with the food and a bottle of red wine, I’m actually surprised I haven’t started drooling. I’m trying to hide how hard my heart is racing, but if I don’t regain my composure he’s going to notice soon.

  “Thank you,” I tell the waiter as he finishes pouring the wine into both of our glasses and then I breath in deeply. I take a sip of the wine and, changing gears, I get ready for business; maybe that’ll help take my mind out of the gutter. “So, Aidan, any ideas for what our project should be about?”

  “I thought you were the one with the bright ideas,” he teases me, his smart eyes making me feel as if there’s a dagger in my heart.

  “You’re right,” I say without thinking, “and I actually have already started to think about a possible story. I just wanted to know if you have any ideas of your own.”

  “Oh, I have a lot of ideas, and I think they’d all work very well between the covers of a romance novel… or between any kind of covers,” he says with that deep, seductive voice of his, and I lick my lips as I feel a growing wetness between my thighs. I’m doing my best to act professional here, but it’s getting harder by the minute.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about changing my writing style. I think my books are sexy, but there’s something missing … I’m thinking we should focus on what women love the most,” I tell him, trying to ignore the innuendo in his words.

  “And what is that?” he asks me with a grin, one eyebrow slightly arched.

  “Big cocks, what else,” I say in a single breath, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Sure, look, I know that big cocks aren’t really the most important things in the world, but they sure add a kind of joie de vivre to everything, right? Besides, it’s a novel we’re talking about; at least with a book everyone’s allowed to fantasize, no holds barred. That annoying cliché, when writers say that they don’t it for the money but because they must… well, it’s kinda true, you know? Shaping my thoughts and fantasies into words and getting them down on paper, it’s a special kind of release. And when people read my work, which means they’re really peering into the depths of my mind, and love it, well, that’s just the icing on the cake. The money really is the last thing I worry about. Except when I don’t have any coming in, of course, which is why I’m sitting across from Aidan in the first place; I guess there’s a silver lining to my situation.

  “Big cocks,” he repeats, his eyes never leaving mine. Jesus, if he doesn’t look away from me soon enough I’m going to be so wet my fluids are going to drip down my legs and start pooling on the floor. That process has already started, you know? “Is that what most women want?” He speaks calmly, but I can’t tell if he’s truly asking me a question or if he’s just playing with me. “Or is that what you want?”

  “Maybe,” I respond, my heart beating so fast I can feel my pulse speeding up in my temples. “But more important than that, I like a man who knows how to fuck. It’s not all about the size.” I’m trying to tease him, but I think I’m just digging a deeper hole for myself. I might be the writer in here, but in the state I’m in right now I doubt I can match him in a battle of wits.

  “Would you like to see some good fucking then?” he asks me, leaning in toward me. His eyes are narrowed, and I can see a hunger dancing there. Before I can stop myself from doing it, I nod and smile.

  “Write what you know, that’s the number one rule for a writer,” I say, breathing so hard it’s a wonder I got the words out.

  “Then let’s make sure you keep improving as a writer,” he goes up to his feet, pushing the chair back, and offers me his hand. “Follow me, and I’ll show you some good fucking. The kind you’ll never forget.”

  Sorry, Cheryl, I really tried to act professionally.

  But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

  Abby

  We grab a cab out of Del Posto’s, and we’re at the entrance of Aidan's apartment building in a matter of minutes. Well, it probably took a little longer than that, but time flies when you’re having fun.

  “I hope you didn’t say all that just to get me alone,” I tease him as we step out of the cab. I’m pretty sure that he really meant every word of what he said, and that he intends to fuck me in a way I’ll never forget, but I just can’t help myself and stop teasing him.

  “You’ll be the judge of that soon enough,” he merely says without even turning to look at me. We go straight for the elevator and, as the doors close, I start feeling so nervous that I have to grit my teeth in order to stop them from chattering. Calm down, Abby, you got this.

  I’m looking at Aidan from the corner of my eyes, anxious to have him jump on me right here. But he just waits patiently as the elevator makes the climb upward, and he’s so relaxed that it just makes me more anxious about what’s going to happen. Really, how can he be so calm?

  “You’d a think a romance writer wouldn’t get so nervous,” he says in a mocking tone without turning to me.

  “Who says I’m nervous?” I shoot back, but my words sound as fake as plastic. Crap.

  “Nobody. It’s plain as day,” he shrugs as the doors finally slide open. Thank God. “Come,” he says, taking his key out of his front pocket and sliding it inside the keyhole of one of the doors in the hallway. He steps to the side, waving me inside with a grin, and I walk inside his apartment.

  I stop in the doorway, taken aback at what I see. I expected something… more normal. His apartment isn’t exactly big, but that’s not what has me this surprised anyway. Every piece of furniture looks high end and made of hardwood, a throwback to more cultured eras; the walls are lined with bookcases, and the books in there don’t look like they’re there just for show. From Stephen King and Bukowski to Eddie Cleveland, it seems that Aidan reads a lot—probably a lot more than I do. On the wall there’s a huge painting of small girls in Victorian dresses, and I somehow recall it from my times in college, a piece painted by some Spanish guy, Velazquez or something, from long ago.

  I was expecting something minimalist, not this. A coffee table with fitness and car magazines piled up, and unwashed dishes in the sink. Maybe a few empty bottles of beer too. I mean, isn’t that how most single guys live? But Aidan’s place… Christ, it looks like a writer’s home. I can even imagine Hemingway, in all his ruggedness, setting up shop here.

  “Surprised?” he asks me, closing the door behind us. I take two steps toward one of the bookcases, running my fingers over the neatly stacked books.

  “I didn’t know you liked books,” I say, immediately feeling dumb at my own words.

  “Yeah, I know how to read,” he snorts, “and I also know how to write.”

  “I --”

  “You thought I was just a pretty face? A piece of meat, right?” he asks me with a smile, grabbing me by the arms and turning me around. He takes one step forward, pinning me between the bookcase and his body. I hold my breath then, my eyes wandering down to his lips. Just kiss me already, I think to myself, but he just holds his position. Finally, he starts leaning in, but he stops just before his lips touch mine. He lets go of me and turns around, leaving me short of breath against the bookcase.

  “That’s what you want people to think,” I breathe out, taking one step toward him. “I mean, it’s not like you act like a cultured human being. You just fuck your way into problems.”

  Turning to me, he just grins and shrugs. “Geniuses are tortured souls, aren’t they? Most of them like to drown themselves in alcohol … I just drown myself in pussy. It’s healthier.”

  “You’re so full of yourself. I bet you’re all talk,” I find the courage to grin back at him, and then I just take another step toward him. He closes the distance between us, and I stop dead in my tracks.

  “Don’t act like you’re the main character in a book. This isn’t a book,” Aidan whispers, the corner of his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

  “It isn’t,” I repeat, my chest rising and falling, as I start to breath hard. My heart is po
unding so hard that I can barely hear Aidan’s voice. This isn’t a book, no—this is something far better.

  “And I’m real. Very, very real,” he continues, taking his hand to my face and stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers. I close my eyes as I feel his touch, a burning sensation making its way from my heart to right between my thighs. Turning his hand around, he places one fingertip over my lips and then slides it over gently.

  Taking his fingers off, he leans into me slowly, and my eyelids droop by instinct. I wait for the touch of his lips, but it doesn’t come right away; his mouth hovers over mine for a full second, and only then does he kiss me. His touch is soft and gentle, but when he finally parts his lips and runs his tongue over mine, I can feel a coiled hunger hiding in his movements.

  “So…” I start, pulling back from him and gently pressing my forehead to his. “Are you going to show me how a real man should handle a woman?”

  “Yes. But only if you can handle it,” he teases me, his grin widening.

  “I can handle everything,” I shoot back, and he lays his hands on hips, curling his fingers as if they were hooks.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  All it takes is a heartbeat; with his hands on my waist, he forces me to turn around and face the wall. Pinning me there with his body, I support myself by lifting my arms over my head. He takes one hand around my waist, and then lowers it until it’s right over my crotch; he presses it over my pussy, bunching the front of my dress, and I let out a sudden gasp.

  “Pay attention,” he whispers into my ear, his lips brushing against my skin as they move. “You might just become a better writer once we’re done.” His deep voice makes its way toward my brain like a fast acting drug, and I can tell you that, right now, writing is the last thing on my mind.

  “Show me,” I say as I exhale sharply, and he presses harder on my pussy. I’m so wet that the fabric of my thong is completely drenched, and I feel my fluids starting to drip down my inner thighs. Flicking his wrist, he rubs my wetness with the tip of his fingers, and it doesn’t take long for my hard breathing to turn into a long sequence of soft moans.

  Without a warning, he takes his hand out from between my legs. He moves up to my shoulders, grabbing at the straps of my dress; I lower my arms as he tugs on them, pulling my dress down until it’s all bunched up around my waist. Caressing the side of my body with his fingertips, he then traces the contour of my bra, his fingers sliding in a straight line over my shoulder blades until he finally finds what he’s looking for. He unhooks the clasp of my bra, and I sigh as I feel the cups drooping over my breasts, my nipples hardening and begging to be set free.

  When he finally pulls the bra straps down my arms, my nipples are so hard they could cut through glass. Throwing my bra to the floor, he runs his hands up the side of my body once more, stretching his fingers wide and then cupping the lower curve of my tits. I close my eyes and chomp on my lower lip as he squeezes my soft mounds, the flesh molding to his fingers smoothly.

  I press my forehead against the wall, breathing so hard that it feels like I’ve ran a marathon. There’s a pleasant buzz under my skin, waves of anticipation making my muscles tense up and readying my nerve endings for something new, wild, and exciting. We’ve barely started, and I can already tell that Aidan’s going to be one of the best fucks of my entire life.

  There are some men—and they are a rare and dying breed—that can tell you how good they are with just one kiss. Aidan’s one of these men; the moment his lips touched mine I felt a blend of patience and hunger in the way he kissed me, and I realized immediately that he knows what he’s doing. He’s experienced, and so he doesn’t feel a need to rush through things; but, at the same time, there’s that wild hunger inside of him, a desire to just let go of everything and act on his urges furiously.

  “They’re smooth,” he whispers, his fingers going over the curve of my breasts and brushing against my hard rosy tips. “I like that.” He squeezes both my breasts, harder this time, and I let out another sudden gasp. He pinches my right nipple between his thumb and index finger, applying the exact pressure necessary to make a wet mess out of me. It’s hard to believe, but foreplay with Aidan is better than sex with most men; most of them just want to stick their cock inside of me and get off, Aidan actually takes the time to savor every inch of my body. To appreciate it, delighting himself with every perfect imperfection.

  There’s something very sensual about it and, as stupid as it may sound, it’s also very romantic. But maybe that’s just my romantic tendencies acting out; if you take one hard look at Aidan, he seems like he was designed to be the God of Sex, instead of the God of Romance. But oh, these things usually go hand-in-hand, don’t they?

  “You’re thinking,” he tells me, pinching my nipple so hard that I cry out a bit. “You can’t think during sex,” he continues, finally easing up the pressure. “That’s sin number one. You’ve gotta shut down that mind of yours, Abby…”

  “How?” I ask, but his reply doesn’t come in the form of words. He just lets go of my breasts and takes one hand to between my thighs again, this time sliding it under my dress and pressing it right against my drenched thong.

  “Like this,” he whispers, and then flicks my thong to the side. I grit my teeth and shiver as he runs his index finger over the length of my pussy, his touch so soft and maddening that I can barely think straight. He was right; this really helps to shut down my conscious mind.

  When his finger finally finds my clit, he starts circling it smoothly, and a subtle moan flies out from between my lips. Then, moving fast, he flattens the palm of his hand against my pussy. I let out another gasp and, as I do it, he parts my inner lips with one finger and starts pushing it in. Hissing through my gritted teeth, I feel my insides burning up as he pushes his finger all the way in.

  Reaching for my clit with his thumb, he starts fingering me while rubbing there. I thrust back against him, eager to feel his body tightly pressed against mine, and my mind almost explodes as I feel his hard cock. Its shape fits right between my ass cheeks, and it’s even bigger than I imagined it would be. The moment I saw Aidan for the first time I realized immediately that he was special… When he kissed me, I finally had the proof. But now, feeling his monstrous cock pressed against my ass, I don’t even know how to start describing what I feel—and this coming from someone who describes things (cocks included) for a living.

  I don’t have the time—or brainpower—to keep thinking about how huge his cock is. Aidan starts fingering me so fast that all conscious thought fades away. His thumb circles my clit at a frenetic rhythm, and I can already feel my pussy starting to tighten up around his index finger. Upping the ante, he slides one more finger inside of me and starts moving them both even faster. With my eyes still closed, I moan loud and hard, and then fireworks go off behind my shut eyelids.

  “OH! It’s so --” I trail off, a high voltage current making the climb up my spine and striking my brain in a matter of milliseconds. With my forehead still pressed against the wall, I thrust back against him once more, a violent wave of pleasure crashing against me. So far he has only used his fingers, and he has already given me an orgasm so good that I doubt most men would be able to compete, even if they used their cocks, fingers and mouth all the same time. That’s how good Aidan is.

  “Good, isn’t it?” he says, his fingers still inside of me. “And this is only the warm up,” he continues, curling the two fingers he has inside of me like a hook, and pressing his fingertips against that hidden sweet spot.

  “Oh God, oh God,” I breathe out, that wave of pleasure still lapping at me. He presses violently against my G-spot, still rubbing on my clit, and I just lose it. My heart is racing so fast it might just burst, and my brain is having a hard time processing the amount of pleasure I’m feeling right now.

  “Come, baby, come for me,” he whispers into my ear, and that does it. My moaning turns into screaming, and vicious flames of ecstasy consume both my mind an
d body. I don’t even know if I’m still screaming; all I know is that my throat feels raw. My muscles are so tense that it feels like someone has poured concrete inside of my muscles, and they twitch so hard when pleasure hits them that I can almost hear my bones rattling. And he says this is only the warm-up! I already feel completely spent. I don’t think my body is ready for more, but I can’t give up now; I still need to find out what kind of things he can do with his cock.

  Just thinking of the monstrosity dangling between his legs gives me a sudden boost, and I open my eyes. Slowly, he takes his fingers out from my pussy, and takes his hand up to my face. I smell the scent of my pussy, and that makes my knees grow weak; that’s when he brushes his fingers over my lips. He slides them inside my mouth gently, and I act on pure instinct: I suck on them, taking my own fluids inside my mouth.

  “Delicious, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes his fingers out. I just smile, trying to look for the right words and not finding them. I can’t believe I let him do that. And something tells me that, before the night’s over, that I’m going to let him do many other things to me … and that sounds just right.

  He takes a step back and I use the chance to turn on my heels. Facing him, I go on tiptoes and crush my mouth against his, using my tongue to part his lips. He does the same, our tongues dancing and wrestling against one another as I rest my hands on his waist.

  “On your knees, Abby,” he tells me, pulling back from our kiss. The tone in his voice tells me that I have no other option but to do what he says, and so I oblige, going down until my knees are touching the floor of his apartment. “Time to see what you can do.”

  I raise one hand and reach for his crotch hesitantly, my eyes widening as I stare at the thick shape straining under his pants. My God, how the hell is something so big going to fit inside my mouth? And I’m just talking about my mouth; I don’t even want to start thinking about the mechanics of having him inside my pussy. Oh, he’s going to ruin me for other men, that much is certain.