Boxed Set: Rocked by a Billionaire – Vol. 1-3

by Lisa Swann

  I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted him inside of me now. He could tell from my moans and the way my body bent towards him, to bring his sex closer to mine. Sacha came back up, still nibbling on me.

  I noticed that he had slid a condom on his rod. But when and how did he do that? He was incredible, in any case.

  He pulled my hair back, just like he had the first time against the car, and kissed me in an almost savage manner. Then he picked me up off of the ground, I was light as a feather in his powerful arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he entered me with such force that it took my breath away. I cried out. Between pain and pleasure, my pussy seemed ready to fall to pieces, full of an energy radiating in the deepest part inside of me. I staggered from the way he crushed me and could only dig my nails into his shoulders. Pleasure overcame me in waves that grew increasingly more intense, soon I couldn't control it any longer and I orgasmed, letting out a long guttural wail. I hadn't ever felt anything like that. I didn't have any strength left, I was drained, exhausted. Sacha gently placed me on the floor. My legs trembled but I couldn't stand up. He picked up the soap and washed me again. I felt just like a rag doll, completely at his mercy, he could do anything he wanted with me. He dried me off, put on my robe and brought me back to bed.

  We stayed stretched out like that, side by side, me on my back, him on his side. He caressed my hair in absolute silence. I didn't think about anything else but him, his body, me, my body, his heat, his presence. Nothing else mattered to me.

  All of a sudden he let go of a lock of my hair and said:

  “It's getting late, you shouldn't be late for your 11am class (wow, he had asked for my schedule at the university?) Get dressed, I had your clothes brought back up. Meet me downstairs in the lounge by the concierge's desk, we'll have breakfast.”

  I didn't have the time to say thanks before he disappeared. How could he be so present, so close one moment and then become so distant the next moment? He blew hot and cold at the same time, I didn't know what to be prepared for. Moreover, I couldn't predict any of his reactions. Everything about him was a surprise, amazing, something new. What a person, what a personality, what a peculiar man! Everything that I felt was so extreme that I couldn't analyse it. I was under his charm, that was for sure. He was attentive, cultivated, funny, interesting, handsome (as a God), rich (okay, that was just an accessory though)...and what a huge penis! He had made me feel more sensations in two days than all of my little boyfriends and erotic dreams combined. However, something inside of me, something imperceptible, wasn't completely comfortable with this. I could see a few red flags, that I hurried to get rid of. He was going to take a plane back to New York. That was a pretty big red flag, right? I immediately banished the idea of him leaving from my head. We weren't there yet. He was here, in flesh and blood, and was waiting for me at breakfast.

  They'd brought up my clothes? Obviously, he had thought of everything, once again! I couldn't wear the sheath dress to school.

  I went into the empty parlour and picked up the clothes laid out on an armchair: a pair of jeans, a women's undershirt, an opal green angora sweater, satin underwear. I didn't even think about where he had found these or where he had gone to get them. It wasn't worth thinking about. And besides, I didn't really care. I touched the sweater, it was extremely soft, the knickers and bra were just the right type of undergarments – not too sexy, but not too frumpy either!

  But there were no shoes, I noticed while getting dressed. Hey, this isn't like him! I put on my pumps from the night before and left the suite with a shaky step.

  I soon found the room where breakfast was being served. There were servers bustling about everywhere! It was a ballet of coffee pots, teapots and coloured plates. However, only a dozen of the tables were occupied. I immediately found Sacha – my Sacha – at the back of the room. His back was turned to everyone as he read the newspaper.

  I came towards him and twisted my ankle while walking to the table! I caught myself on the back of his chair.

  “Ooops, these heels really aren't for me!” I said, giggling and sliding into my seat.

  “I like women wearing heels, they shouldn't be allowed to walk with anything else on their feet,” he said, without even lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

  Why was he suddenly so cold? He seemed to be annoyed. He wanted heels, he was going to have heels, if that was the only thing that was going to make him happy. I shrugged my shoulders. A server came with a cup of tea for me. Why didn't he offer me any coffee? A mystery. Another blow from Mr. Sacha, the crazy man who organises everything in his path. I took a piece of toast as if nothing was wrong and started to spread butter on it, then, to let him know that his attitude was rather impolite, I asked him:

  “So what's the news this morning? Anything good? The stock exchange? The weather? Your horoscope?”

  He raised his head, amused. He didn't seem at all vexed.

  “That green looks really good on you, you're very beautiful.”

  “Thanks! And thank you for the clothes. I'll give them back to you, that goes without saying.”

  Again he seemed to have darkened. He took a sip of coffee than plunged his jade eyes into mine. Uh-oh, he looked serious.

  “Elisabeth,” oh no, he wasn't calling me Liz – that wasn't a good sign. “I leave for New York tomorrow, you know.” (Oh great, that was expected, right? It was too good to last. I suppose he's going to start with his fumbling excuses: it was great, but it's not going to work out, better that we leave it here, blah blah blah...)

  I nervously stirred my tea. What an idiot I was. Prince charming! No, but that's what I had believed. I wasn't anything more than a one-night stand. A docile little Parisian woman, you take her out for a nice evening and voila, she's on her back! I tried to seem as dignified as possible but I had a terrible urge to just pick up myself and go. I really didn't want to hear what this guy had to say to me after he'd just taken advantage of me. He'd dazzled me so it'd be easier to get me in bed.

  “Elisabeth? Liz? You didn't put any sugar in your tea, stop stirring it like that.”

  “Sorry, you were saying?” My falsely detached attitude didn't seem very convincing.

  “I know that this may seem despicable, but I promise you, I didn't plan anything (yeah right, sure...). I like you a lot, a lot (he emphasised this word). You're beautiful, intelligent, funny (send in the violins) but – (oh great, the but, it was going to come sooner or later) I'm not the type for you! I'm not a good guy, you know (that's for me to judge, thank you very much). I would hurt you (as if you're not hurting me now). You deserve better than me, Elisabeth (now he was whispering), look at me, tell me that I'm an asshole, if that makes you feel better. Tell me something or I'll fuck you right now on this table!” He almost shouted the last sentence, everyone around us had turned to look at us.

  I leapt up.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Goodman, I really enjoyed your company. Unfortunately I don't think that we'll be meeting again, so I'd like to wish you lots of luck with Goodman & Brown.”

  With a shaky step I headed towards the exit and tripped over the step. But what did it matter, at least he didn't see my face. I was crying tears of rage.

  I went directly home, incapable of going to school, of seeing Jess, of paying attention in class. I cried all afternoon in my bed, then fell asleep, exhausted. When I woke up in the early evening, Maddie was there. She didn't ask me anything, not where I had spent the night, nor why I was crying. She'd had a sufficiently exciting love life to understand everything without any explanations. She ran me a bath, prepared some tea for me and we listened to the Nutcracker over and over all night long.

  My heart was broken but I still had enough of my dignity left to go out and face the world. I put on my best face during the next few days, at school as well as at Courcelles Investments, and resumed the regular rhythm of my (sad) life. During the nights, however, the handsome face of Sacha Goodman came back to haunt me. Sometimes I'd thr
ow rocks at him, sometimes I'd throw my body at him.

  The week after that disastrous breakfast, Mr. Dufresne asked to see me. Finally, my day had come! Maybe he was going to offer me a position? I knocked and entered his huge, entirely marble office decorated in the Louis Philippe style. He asked me to have a seat and said bluntly:

  “Elisabeth, my dear, negotiations with the Goodman & Brown firm are leading to a merger that will no doubt be fruitful for Courcelles Investments. I need to go to New York to spell out the last few points of our agreement. I know that you're just an intern – for the moment”, he added, “but for some reason that I can't figure out Sacha Goodman insists that you come with me. Pack your bags, we're leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  4. En route to New York

  Comfortably settled in my first class seat, I stared dreamily through the window at the tarmac. What extraordinary events! A few days ago, I could never have imagined I would be there, right at that moment, about to leave for New York. I sank deeper into my seat, amazed by its width and comfort. I had never travelled first class before… and needless to say it was as different from economy class as night is from day!

  I fastened my seat belt and prepared for take-off. I was excited and nervous at the same time. I had never been afraid of flying, but this time I was flying off into the unknown. Was this a dream? Or a nightmare? My encounter with the enigmatic, the powerful, the magnificent Mr Goodman had turned my world upside down. He had captivated me… to a degree I would never have thought possible. His mere presence next to me in a tiny lift had been enough to arouse all my senses. My knickers were damp and my erotic dreams were getting increasingly naughty, all because of him. He had touched me up in the middle of the street as if it were a normal occurrence, and my body had been aroused as never before. He had revealed to me parts of my body I had never known to be so erogenous. His caresses had left indelible marks on my skin. I felt as if I had been branded by his skilful hands, his tongue and his electrifying body.

  Sacha Goodman, one of the most powerful lawyers in the United States, had made me come like no other man ever had (to be truthful, I had never actually come before I met him)… and then humiliated me like no other man ever had (and yet, I had been humiliated before). I had been bewitched by the heat of his kisses and the extraordinary ease with which he took me to seventh heaven, and I hadn’t seen it coming… He had dumped me like an old pair of shoes as soon as he had finished with me. He had come out with the most pathetic excuses that guys use on women they have just had enough of. It was pitiful… He was such an idiot. I didn’t know who I was more annoyed with, him or myself. I had been stupid to give myself to him so easily. And especially to hope something might come of it. I shook my head and was roused from thinking about the whole tangled mess by a gentle voice; we had taken off a short time ago:

  – Champagne, Miss?

  Chilled champagne, of course, that was bound to help me to see things more clearly! The stewardess placed the glass on a small tray with a tiny bowl of olives… Such indulgence. I could easily get used to such luxury. But there was no question of me going crawling back (literally or figuratively) to the boorish Mr Sacha… Why had he summoned me to America? I could not come up with a satisfactory answer. In any case, if he thought I was going to get undressed for him whenever he clicked his fingers, he was wrong! I wavered between anger, humiliation and, I have to admit, a crazy desire to fall into his arms once again. But if that was what he wanted, why had he treated me like that? Should I forgive him or hate him for ever more?

  Tired of not being able to work out any answers to my questions, I put my headphones on and watched Magic Mike, a wonderful film about strippers, for the simple pleasure of looking at good-looking, half-naked guys for an hour and a half. Anyway, whatever Sacha Goodman’s intentions, I for my part was going for professional reasons only. At least that’s what I had been trying to convince myself ever since Mr Dufresne had ordered me to accompany them to New York to finalise the agreement between the two law firms. Sacha Goodman wanted me to make the journey. So be it. But I had no intention of losing control of either my body or my heart in the Big Apple.

  I was tired, and I fell asleep. When the stewardess gently woke me, we were flying in over New York and I had to fasten my seat belt. I didn’t even have time to freshen up before we landed.

  Once through passport control, I ran to get my bags and then went into the toilets. I hardly had time to brush my teeth… It was not a good idea to keep Sacha waiting as soon as I arrived – best to keep him sweet from the outset! I picked up my suitcase and went into the enormous arrivals hall, looking for his imposing figure and jade eyes. Right. Left. Nothing. Then a man in a dark suit and immaculate white shirt came towards me slightly stiffly.

  – Miss Lanvin?

  – Er, yes!

  – Please follow me.

  Follow me? What? Who was this guy? I didn’t move a muscle and stood rooted to the spot while I tried to organise my thoughts!

  – Miss Lanvin? I'm Mr Goodman’s driver. Please follow me, I have to take you to the company headquarters…

  – Oh! Yes. Of course, I stammered, falling into step with him, still reeling with shock.

  What an idiot I was! I had thought he would come and meet me at the airport. In person. I absolutely had to stop dreaming. Sacha certainly wasn’t an amorous suitor. Shit. He was so good at constantly moving the goalposts. Why had I come? To hand myself to him on a plate? Well I wasn’t going to do that. I felt a lump rise up in my throat. Did he take some kind of malicious pleasure in belittling me all the time? I instinctively grasped the folded piece of paper in my pocket. Jess had written, in capital letters, the name and address of her aunt who lived in New York. When I had told her the full story just before I got the plane, she had pulled a face which spoke volumes about her disapproval.

  – Lisa darling, don’t trust this guy. It won’t end well with this great lawyer… he must be used to bedding any girl he wants! You're worth more than that, Lisa, you’ve got everything going for you: beauty, intelligence... but you just haven’t had enough boyfriends! This idiot will take advantage of you. Listen, my aunt lives in New York and if things go wrong, promise me you’ll go and see her – she'll look after you like a mother, you’ll see. I’ll call her this evening and tell her you might turn up. Ok?

  – Ok.

  Steven, the driver, put my suitcase in the boot and opened the limousine door for me. I got in mechanically, but my thoughts were still in Paris with Jess. At the time, I had taken the address primarily to please my friend. But as I sat down on the huge leather seat, I felt comforted by the idea that I had a fall-back option in the event of problems.

  The car moved off. For the first few seconds, I felt terribly alone on the cold leather seat, but as we drove I couldn’t help feeling excitement at my new surroundings building up inside me. I pressed my face up against the window and watched the streets pass by and the dazzling, incredible, teeming city reveal itself. My doubts faded and I tried to banish Sacha Goodman to a distant corner of my mind. Suddenly, the tinted window separating the back of the limousine from the driver was lowered and Steven informed me that there was a small parcel for me in the back. And indeed, when I looked down, I saw a stiff paper bag to my left bearing a famous brand logo. I took out the contents: an A-line skirt, a white blouse and a sleeveless pullover. In a small packet, wrapped in silk paper, I discovered a pair of flesh-coloured stockings and some crimson lace suspenders, the perfect accessories for a high-class hooker. Next to them was a box containing a pair of beautiful stilettos… but with heels a good 10 centimetres high. I was reminded of Sacha’s words, “I love women in heels. They shouldn’t be allowed to walk in anything else.”

  I tapped softly on the window, which opened to reveal Steven’s sympathetic smile:

  – Aren’t we going to the hotel?

  – No, Miss. You are expected at Goodman & Brown. We're going straight there…

  – Expected? But… er, h
ow long will it take to get there?

  – Fifteen minutes, Miss.

  Ooh. Everything was happening at once. A small card fell out as I removed the skirt. Bewildered, I had to read it twice before a lump caught in my throat!

  The perfect uniform for a future lawyer! Don’t wear any knickers.

  S.

  The perfect uniform for a schoolgirl, more like! Apart from the underwear, obviously. I was vexed and looked at my rinse wash jeans, Converse and sailor’s t-shirt. I obviously couldn’t turn up looking like this. I didn’t have much choice! On the other hand, there was no chance I was going without knickers. Mr Sacha Goodman would just have to learn that I didn’t take orders from him! I put the suspenders on over my lace knickers. That way, it would be impossible to take them off. I felt energised by this small act of rebellion. As for my top half, on the other hand, I was stuck. I hadn’t put a bra on so I would be more comfortable on the plane. The material of my blouse was pretty much transparent and its slim fit clung to my breasts and waist. Luckily, the sleeveless pullover saved the day. I didn’t have time to do anything else, since the limousine stopped almost as soon as I had put on the pullover. I quickly rolled my own clothes into a ball and put them in the bag. Steven promptly opened the door and held out a reassuring hand:

  – Here you are at your destination, Miss Lanvin. Don’t worry about your things, they will be taken to the hotel.

  I smoothed down my skirt, adjusted the pullover and walked nervously towards the huge steel and glass door. We were in the very heart of the City and I could feel the salty air of the bay tickling my nose. I took a deep breath and entered the building. I introduced myself at the reception desk, and was given a badge to go through security and told which floor I needed: Goodman & Brown occupied three floors of this tower, 42, 43 and 44. I dived into the lift, hesitated for a moment and then pressed number 44, preparing myself mentally for what was to come. On the 44th floor, the doors opened directly onto a reception desk staffed by a blonde with perfect make-up, hair and nails.