101 Nights Box Set: Volume One

by SE Reign

  I bite down on his dick in response.

  He smiles then moves off me, away from me. The sleeve around the shaft of his dick is light blue, and I’m starting to imagine just how incredible it’ll be to experience the massage of those nubs stimulating me in a new, insanely pleasurable way.

  “One more time,” he says. “Touch yourself. Don’t look away from me.”

  Warmth creeps up my neck. It’s one thing to know he’s there, another to hold his gaze while doing it.

  But I obey, as always. I let my hands travel down my breasts, linger at my nipples, and down my belly to my pussy.

  “Penetration. No climax,” he whispers huskily and grips his cock with one hand.

  I slide two fingers into my soaking pussy then let the other two stay over my clit.

  If knowing he’s masturbating beside me is thrilling, watching him pull and stroke his dick while I masturbate is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. His eyes stay pinned to mine, his hand moving in rhythm with mine.

  “Touch your clit,” he orders.

  The vibrating nubs of the finger dildos are driving me insane, pressed hard against my G-spot, shoving me so close to climaxing, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop it this time.

  But I obey and gasp at the incredible pleasure as the vibrators touch my clit. My eyes close.

  “Look at me.”

  I open them and stare at him. He’s moved closer, still masturbating. “I want you to make yourself come, Natalie. Keep looking at me.”

  If masturbating is embarrassing …

  Who cares? At this point, I’m so far over the edge, I’m just waiting for his permission.

  “Now.”

  Gaze locked to his, I arch. My body bucks, and waves of intense pleasure tear through me. I can’t control myself, holding the vibrating digits to my G-spot and clit.

  Elijah moves between my thighs and pushes my hands away, pinning them at my head. His hot skin touches mine the same time he plunges into my seizing pussy.

  I’ve never experienced anything this intense. After the light, teasing touches that made my skin overly sensitive, it’s like an explosion of intense sensation when his heat and weight collide with my tender skin.

  Holy fuck!

  My body moves and bucks beneath him, completely outside my control. Elijah holds me down, fingers interlaced with mine. He rides me hard and fast, the nubs of the sleeve stroking my sensitive G-spot until I feel the second orgasm build.

  I scream his name when I come, and am lost to my senses, not caring how many times I call his name or how hard he pushes us. His scent, the heat of our bodies together, the intensity of the orgasm …

  He gives a cry of release almost as loud as mine and continues to pump then drops on top of me.

  “Oh, god,” I cry hoarsely. I can’t control my body’s reactions at all and simply wait for it to calm, overwhelmed and amazed at what he can do to me.

  “Good … farasha,” he manages. We’re both breathing raggedly and coated with sweat.

  My eyes close and I lay still, my pussy pulsing and his dick convulsing inside me. We lay in silence for a long moment, and I breathe his heady scent, intoxicated by everything Elijah. From his heated looks to his firm touch and the way he makes me come and scream and crave him so much, I can’t control it.

  I’m addicted to this. To him.

  Elijah lifts his head. He releases my hands and rests his on either side of my face, gazing down at me. The glow in his eyes is one of desire and satisfaction, his perfect, chiseled features inches from mine.

  “How are you doing?” he teases, a warm smile on his face. It reaches his eyes, a rarity in our world.

  I love it when he really smiles. “I think you’re a god right now,” I reply.

  “I’d settle for a king.”

  He kisses me hungrily, his lips and tongue working mine with fervor that leaves me feeling even sexier. I’ve never had anyone fuck me the way he does, like I’m the only woman in the world, or maybe, the most beautiful.

  My body is shaking, my thighs trembling too much for me to push them together, even if I wanted to.

  “I can’t get enough of you, Natalie,” he whispers, searching my face. “I don’t know why.”

  “I feel the same,” I reply. “I keep thinking, if we were in a different place …”

  “… we might have a chance.”

  I nod and swallow hard, uncertain why there are tears forming in my eyes.

  Elijah’s smile is gentle. “We’ve got time, farasha. Give us a shot.”

  “Keep fucking me like that, and I’ll believe you,” I reply, drawing a shaky breath. “You make me feel so special in bed.”

  He kisses me in response, and I feel him getting hard again. It’s impossible to go one round with Elijah, no matter how much we fuck during the day. Every time we start again, it’s like we haven’t seen each other in years.

  Elijah begins thrusting slowly.

  He’s right about the sleeve. Within seconds, I feel the climax building, the hard pressure of the nubs against my G-spot driving me crazy.

  “Control,” he whispers, feeling my body tense.

  I raise my hands above my head, the way he likes me to, prepared for another round with the most insatiable man in the world.

  Chapter Six: Elijah

  Sometime later, we lay quietly, recovering. The scent of sex permeates the room, the taste of her in my mouth. The only other time I’ve been this deeply satisfied and physically at peace was the night of the gala.

  I love hearing Natalie pant. She’s resting beneath me, her body still quivering and covered in sweat. I pushed us both hard this time, I think because I needed to see if the connection from the night of the gala remained.

  It’s here. Strong and satisfying and just a little bit scary.

  Because I understand now what makes fucking her so utterly fulfilling. Knowing she wants to be with me – the man and not the rich prince – isn’t something I’ve experienced before. I think she’s wrong, if not delusional, but it reinforces what I’m learning about her.

  Natalie is too good for me, someone I don’t know that I want in my life, because I still feel as though we’re headed towards something that’s about to crash and burn.

  As much as I like being round her and fucking her, I don’t know what to think about the mess we’re in. Or why she found out about Kallista and didn’t pursue, who the stranger today was, whether or not I can actually trust her. She’s got too much going on, and she’s got just as many reasons not to trust me.

  We’re starting something that neither of us is certain we want to work out. That much I can sense. As pleased as I am that she didn’t want out of our agreement, I’m also not convinced we will survive this without hurting each other.

  In fact, I know we won’t. If my father forces my hand again, and it’s not something Natalie agrees to, then I’ll have to walk away.

  I can’t think about that now. I take a deep whiff of her scent then breathe it out. My mind has stopped racing for once and my body is happy.

  “We’re going out,” I murmur.

  “For an event?” she whispers.

  “No. Date.”

  “A date?” The puzzled way she says it makes me shift so I can see her face.

  She offers a sated smile.

  “Yes, farasha.” I don’t want to leave her body but do so reluctantly, pulling my dick free from her warm cunt. “Get ready.”

  I free her hands then move off the bed. I like the way we smell too much to take a shower right now and go straight to my closet.

  A few moments later, she peeks her head in.

  “You’re not going to tell me what to wear?” she asks.

  After a quick moment to think, I answer. “Your choice.” I picked out all her clothes, so unless she tries damn hard, she can’t look bad. I have no doubt the press is going to see us, and no doubt whatever she wears will sell out online in seconds.

  A glance at the doorway reve
als she’s gone.

  Please don’t let me regret this. I’ve spent my life with a personal stylist, so I know how to dress. I don’t have that warm fuzzy about Natalie, though.

  Once ready, I leave and wait for her. When she emerges, she’s smiling. There’s a glow in her features I haven’t seen before, one I don’t recognize. But it renders her beautiful, and somehow takes the heat out of anything I’m tempted to say about her choice of clothing. I rarely – if ever – sensor myself out of concern for what someone else will feel. In business, it’s different. I’m accustomed to being diplomatic where warranted. In personal affairs, it’s never really been warranted at all.

  She’s wearing a trendy, black puff-skirt and a bright green sweater that goes to mid hip. Green makes her gorgeous blue eyes stand out, even if the combination isn’t the first I’d choose for her.

  “Did I do good?” she asks, spinning in a circle.

  “Not as bad as I expected,” I reply.

  She gives a noisy sigh.

  “I’m a fan of skirts,” I add. “Easy access.”

  Natalie makes a face at me and slides her feet into flats. “I’m ready.”

  I offer her my hand. I can’t be in the same room with her without touching. It’s just unnatural not to have my prized possession where I can reach it at all times.

  She takes it with a smile and we walk down to the elevator. George and another member of his security detail are waiting in the garage next to my Bentley. We slide into the backseat while the security team gets into a black SUV to follow. The Bentley isn’t quite as intimate as the limo, because of the driver, but Natalie cuddles next to me.

  Recalling what George said earlier, I pull out my phone and text a quick note to the security team for a detour then bring up a photo album.

  “This is my home.” I pass the phone to Natalie.

  She lifts her head from my shoulder. “Oh my god.” She’s staring at the picture of my father’s palace, a place I haven’t been in over five years but which is technically my home nonetheless. Made of white stone, the immense structure with half a dozen domes is often ridiculed by the national press as being an obscene indulgence. It sits on its own beach along one coast in the capital city, behind tall gates, and has over four hundred rooms. It’s about half the size of Buckingham Palace.

  “This is the Winter Palace, which is solely mine,” I say and flip to the next picture of a different, smaller palace. “It’s the smallest of my father’s palaces, about a hundred rooms.”

  “Only a hundred?” She sounds shocked. “EJ, I don’t think I’ve lived anywhere with more than four rooms.”

  I smile. I know she doesn’t understand at all how much money my family has. It’s a charming trait.

  “Is this where the butterflies are?” she asks, peering at the palace.

  “Yes. There’s a private courtyard and garden attached to my apartments. It’s quite peaceful, located away from the cities. They’re the color of your eyes.”

  She looks up at me, and we gaze at each other. Her expression is warm and open, and I can see that she’s happy with me right now from the tender look. I want that look to stay on her face forever.

  I touch my lips to hers, and she melts into me.

  “This is beautiful, EJ,” she whispers. “I’d love to see the butterflies one day.”

  I don’t know why the idea of her going to Nijala bothers me, except that I don’t trust my father around her. I lean away and take back the cell phone. “My father has official residences in a few key cities, and I own my own properties all over the world. Mustique, Beverly Hills, Hong Kong, London. Five in the US, two in Nijala and about a dozen spread out across the world.”

  “But you live in a hotel?” she asks.

  “As of tomorrow, no. I’ve been waiting until it’s done to show you,” I say, still not absolutely certain this is a good idea. “I bought two floors in a building on the Upper East Side. It’s about ten thousand square feet. They’ve been under renovation for six months and are finally ready. Do you want to know how much it cost?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I laugh.

  She gives me a meaningful look. “This is insane, EJ.”

  “It’s my world. It’s your world now, too.”

  “While it lasts.” The way she says it makes me realize both how far we’ve come – and how much we’re both holding out. Trust is a bitch, one neither of us is sure of.

  “Let’s just focus on today,” I reply. It’s a rare day when I’m not certain how to say something. I want to tell her: I don’t know what I want this to be between us, but I’m not ready for it to end.

  I don’t say a word.

  She smiles.

  The driver takes us to the exclusive part of town where a wealthy enclave of billionaires, socialites and celebrities live. We park in the garage under the ultra-modern building and get out of the car. One of George’s security team members hurries ahead of us, using a keycard to open one of ten private elevators with bronze doors and marble walls.

  Taking Natalie’s hand, I lead her into the elevator, and we ascend to the penthouse on the top floor. In truth, I wasn’t certain I wanted to bring her here, mainly because doing so seems to solidify that our relationship has moved from the realm of the temporary into something more permanent. In all my dalliances and short-lived, fiery relationships, I’ve never taken a girl to my home.

  We step out of the elevator into a foyer with marble floors. The penthouse appears deceptively cozy, with the warm, jewel-tone colors of Nijala highlighting dark neutrals. The scent of new paint lingers, even though the place has been ready for move in for about a week now.

  I take her into the main living area on the upper of the two floors. The floor below is guest and servant quarters, while the six thousand square feet on the main floor is ours. The living room is a mix of lighter neutrals and Nijalan jewel tones, these in dusty purples and blues, offset by pops of earthy emerald and pumpkin. This room has a one hundred and eighty degree view of the New York skyline and balcony beyond the floor to ceiling windows.

  “There’s a small movie theatre on this floor, master bedroom suite, his and hers master baths, one guest bedroom, study, kitchen, jewelry vault, formal dining and living rooms then the more casual family room here with breakfast nook,” I explain.

  “This is amazing, EJ,” Natalie breathes, taking in everything.

  I’ve seen it a million times. It’s small, compared to the palace where I grew up and the larger properties I own around the world. The ceilings here are much lower than those in the Waldorf, which lends to the homey feel. Black marble veined with silver and gold ends at thick hand-woven carpet in the living areas. The kitchen is huge with two separate entrances and glows in black marble and stainless steel.

  Every room in the apartment features native Nijalan artwork or statues, along with the vibrant, warm colors of my desert kingdom.

  “I have to admit – this isn’t what I’d expect you to buy,” she says, gazing up at me curiously. “Very … understated.”

  “It’s comfortable,” I reply. “I don’t always need red carpets.”

  “I learn something about you every day.” Her gaze is on the tanzanite shade of throw pillows and rugs in the living area. “The colors are very happy.”

  “I had them swap in the dark blue-purple,” I say almost absently. “I had pumpkin, but you like this color.”

  Releasing her hand, I go to the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony and open it. The distant drone of the city fills the living room. I step onto the four foot wide space and lean against the railing.

  “Incredible.” Natalie sounds breathless and excited as she joins me. “So we’re … you’re … moving?”

  “Everything will be here by morning,” I reply, choosing to ignore the uncertain way she talks about anything related to us. “You like it.” I twist to face her.

  “Love it,” she murmurs.

  “Good. You’ll be spending a couple mon
ths here at least.” I study her features. “You ready for your event tomorrow evening?”

  She nods. “Your aunt will be there, right?”

  Any mention of my family makes me want to throw something. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” She senses my mood and takes my hand. “I’ll do well. And I can give away your money.”

  The way she says it – with a mixture of satisfaction and cheerfulness – makes me laugh. “Yes, farasha. You can give away my money. Up to two million. Anything else, text me. It comes out of a different account.”

  “That’s just crazy.”

  “You wanted to do charity work.”

  “I do. That part isn’t crazy. The fact you have so much money is,” she explains. “Have you ever thought about giving it all away?”

  “Now that is insane,” I reply, amused. “What good does it do me to get rid of all my money?”

  “Might make you happy.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?”

  “Seriously?” She sounds surprised. “Someone who lives like you can’t be.”

  “Now comes the part where you get on your high horse and tell me how horrible my life is,” I snap, irritated. I expect it outside my home but here …

  “No, EJ.” Her soft voice draws my gaze. “I mean, you’re alone. There’s a part of you that’s very good. I think it’s buried under a great deal of … uh, well I mean, look what you’re capable of doing when you want to. Donating two million to charity? Cancelling your project to save the homes of my family and friends?” She shakes her head. “You could’ve thrown me out this evening, and you didn’t.”

  “Oh, god. Don’t try to save me from myself, either,” I warn her in a mocking voice.

  “I’m not.” She flushes. “I just think …” She stops.

  I wait, unnaturally curious to hear what she’s thinking. It shouldn’t matter what she thinks of me, but for some reason, it’s starting to.

  “What?” I prod when she makes no move to continue.

  “You’ll laugh at me.”

  “No, really.”

  Natalie faces me, crossing her arms. “I think you’re incredible, EJ. I know I probably shouldn’t and that it makes no sense that I do, because you constantly confuse me. But you are.”